“I hate the way HV cuts off parts of people,” Wraggon grumbled as a jungle of truncated hands and forearms along the edges of the HV field competed frantically for Rensselaer’s attention.
“Why don’t ya just have a drink, Charlie?” Barnard urged, shoving the bottle of whiskey at Wraggon.
“Quiet!” Tauber said firmly, and the others watched silently as Nitinol Development’s Dr. Edgerton and NiPoCo’s Dr. Karlen demonstrated the properties of the valuable wire that had been diverted from Earth.
“You did a good job on those robots, Charlie,” Tauber said as the three-dimensional image of a model Nitinol engine spun rapidly on its axis within the HV projection field. “It all went just the way it was supposed to.”
Wraggon nodded. “Just like I said. We send a few signals to scramble the programming of the original robots in R-4, and then, when the bowl-squatters ask for replacements, we give ’em the ones I built at the plant—the ones that respond only to our instructions.”
“The real beauty of it,” Barnard put in with a smug laugh, “is that the rock farmers still don’t have any idea what’s going on!”
“With the steady supply of Nitinol wire that we have enjoyed in the past, none of this would pose any problems,” the man from the United Nations was saying. “However, diversion of this shipment of wire already is causing some unrest in certain parts of the world.”
“Are you talking about war?” a voice called out.
“Hey, that’s Jim Allison,” Barnard said. “What’s he doing there?”
“Just exactly what he was told to do,” Tauber said.
“Yeah? What’s that?” Wraggon asked.
“Allison and Casey Flynn and a few others are planting some seeds for us.”
“Seeds?”
“Yes, Vince. Seeds. We’re seeding the clouds now. The storm will come in due time.”
Barnard looked at Tauber blankly. Wraggon seemed about to comment, but at the last moment, he simply licked his thin lips and squared his shoulders.
“This is an act of war!” shouted a disembodied voice from the edge of the HV field. They all recognized the voice as Casey Flynn’s.
“Listen to that,” Tauber said against the uproar that followed Flynn’s statement. “This is the first time in years anyone on Earth has even considered the possibility of war.” His mouth stretched into a tight smile, and he pounded his right fist into his left palm. It was all going perfectly. “Right now, they all think war’s an outrageous idea. Tomorrow, it might still seem unacceptable. But after a few more messages from ‘the colonies’ like that ultimatum we faked, well.... Pretty soon the thought won’t seem so impossible.”
They watched quietly for a few minutes.
“That Rensselaer looks pretty impressive, Hank,” Wraggon said. “Any chance he’ll figure out what we’re doing?”
“Let me worry about Rensselaer. You two just do your jobs. The robbies out in R-4 are your responsibility, Charlie.” Turning to Barnard, he added, “And you did great recruiting merchanters to help us spread the diversion story, Vince. After my little escapade out there, they won’t let me near any active-duty merchanters on Asteroid Belt runs. So we really need you as a contact inside the Fleet.” He paused, letting the sounds of the HV broadcast fill the void.
“You just remember what you’re supposed to do,” he told Barnard. “And what you’re not supposed to do. No more crap like Saturday night at Eduardo’s. You stay away from outsiders until we’ve got this thing well under way. Especially, stay away from women. We can’t afford to go around with our brains between our legs.”
Tauber looked hard at the big, grinning merchanter, but Barnard didn’t seem to be paying much attention. “You got another bottle, Hank?” he asked suddenly, finishing off what had been a full bottle of Spacefarer’s and rising to search for more.
Tauber shot up from his chair, face hot with anger, and knocked the glass from Barnard’s hand. “You asshole! Can’t you think about anything but your next drink?”
Tauber gritted his teeth and tried to calm himself as the others stared.
“I thought you were going to keep him away from the hooch, Wraggon,” Tauber said accusingly.
“I’m not the one who brought out the bottle this morning,” retorted an irate Wraggon. “You’re the guy who said we ought to celebrate!”
Tauber inhaled, bent his head and tugged gently on what remained of his right earlobe. Goddamn drunk! he thought.
He had his fill of drunks three years ago when a headstrong and slightly tipsy miner in R-4 Sector’s Beta Colony insisted on trying to use Merchant Fleet laser equipment for which he was untrained. Tauber was lucky to wind up with nothing worse than a slight scar on the cheek and a partly missing earlobe. Derek Marsden, Tauber’s best friend, was nearly beheaded when the drunken colonist got careless with the laser welding tool he had persuaded Tauber to let him try.
Fortunately, the colonies were equipped with the most advanced, high-tech medical facilities. Specialized computers monitored and regulated Derek’s vital organs. Replacement skin, nerves and cervical reinforcements were manufactured in the colony’s bio-labs. Directed by sophisticated computer programs and all the medical knowledge and techniques stored in the Consolidated Data Network, robot surgeons put Derek Marsden back together.
The merchant crew had to leave Derek behind on that trip. Taking him back to Earth in his condition would have meant transporting a corpse. It took months, but Derek recovered. When Tauber next saw him, however, his friend seemed different. It wasn’t anything you could see. It was the intangible changes that bothered him. Derek was no longer the fun-loving, happy-go-lucky pal of their Academy days. He was cautious and sober and almost unbearably philosophical about life. As far as Henry Tauber was concerned, Derek Marsden died that day in Beta Colony.
“You hear what I said?” Wraggon challenged, glaring. “You may be top dog when it comes to running Operation Strong Man, but don’t get the idea that makes you better than the rest of us. When I talk to you, Hank, you damn well better listen! I had enough of being ignored when I was a kid!”
Tauber folded his arms and fixed Wraggon with a steady, unblinking gaze.
“My parents,” Wraggon continued with a sneer, “they thought my brother was the light of the world. He was smarter, and stronger and, all around, better than me. They told me that every day in lots of little ways. If I did good in school, Terry did better. If I tried to do something nice for somebody, Terry did more and better and faster. I wind up running a King Robotics plant. Well, so what? Terry is Southern Region director of the National Technology Institute.”
Wraggon’s expression softened ever so slightly.
“The only one ever paid any attention to me was my grandfather, and my parents ignored him, too. But me, I listened to Gramp. He knew how things are supposed to be. Some folks are meant to take charge, and others are meant to take orders.” Wraggon’s facial muscles tightened once more. “Gramp and me, we knew we were supposed to be the ones in charge. And when we are, people like Terry and my parents won’t ever be able to ignore us again!”
Tauber nodded impassively, his mind carefully noting and assessing Wraggon’s outburst. “I understand,” he said.
“Make sure you do. I didn’t get involved with Operation Strong Man just so you could switch places with my family and start ignoring me like they do! It better not happen again!”
Tauber looked at Wraggon in ominous silence. Slowly, his mouth formed itself into an icy smile. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Let’s just say I know things about those robots we sent to R-4 Sector that I didn’t tell even you. You may be the senior partner in this arrangement, but I’m still a partner. You need me. Don’t forget that!”
Tauber studied Wraggon with new respect—and wariness. “Don’t worry, Charlie. I’ll remember.”
Wraggon nodded sharply and shook Tauber’s hand.
The press confere
nce was over now, and the regularly scheduled HV program on gardening was on the air.
“Hey,” Barnard said, pointing to the potted geraniums that filled the HV projection field. “I always did think Rensselaer was a pansy, but I didn’t figure it would show up on national holovision!”
Tauber took a deep breath, shook his head and used the remote control to end reception.
“You hear the latest?” Wraggon inquired as the HV field collapsed and disappeared. “They say that Althea Milgrom dame from CDN is going to run for the Senate and maybe later for President. President! A woman, a kike, and a cripple all in one! A real triple threat! Shit! It’s bad enough we already got that son of a spic as President. I figured we’d at least have a shot at somebody decent when Garcia finished his second term.”
Tauber shrugged. “It’s much too early to worry about Presidential politics, Charlie. That election’s three years off. The political climate’s in for some big changes before then.” He jerked his head in the direction of the HV receiver. “You heard that reaction to the Nitinol diversion. This is just the beginning. By election day, Nitinol and Earth’s relationship with the colonies are liable to be the only issues that really matter. Milgrom’s not very likely to make it to the Senate, much less the Presidency.”
Tauber snickered. “After all,” he said, his manner fading into an affected solemnity, “the colonial arm of CDN is used in programming the robbies. If robots are involved with the Nitinol diversion, the CDN and dear Mrs. Milgrom might just be implicated, too.”
Wraggon smiled. “Not bad, Tauber. I got to hand it to you. You really got this thing figured out. Did you know she was going to run for office?”
“Let’s just say I have pretty good sources on the political scene. I don’t like leaving things to chance. Besides, some of our people have their own political plans.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Wraggon,” said Tauber. “I told you we hooked up with some pretty important people. Amazing the things our ex-merchanter friends are doing these days. We have some powerful allies.”
“If they’re so powerful, why do they need us?” asked Wraggon.
Tauber looked at Wraggon and smiled. “Isn’t it obvious, Charlie? There’s no such thing as enough power.”
Chapter 15: Roots
This is silly, Rayna thought, but she continued to sniff the air nevertheless. The elevator off this foyer carried too many unpleasant memories, all wrapped up in one delicate scent. She pushed from her mind the recollection of that same scent lingering suggestively in Keith’s bedroom the last time she visited his apartment. At least, she tried to banish the thought. That afternoon in late May had marked the beginning of a very cold spell in their relationship. She took a deep breath, entered the elevator and keyed it for the third floor.
Keith had been quite mysterious about his reasons for inviting her here this morning. Even stranger, while he’d insisted that she be here between 9:30 and 10 a.m., he hadn’t wanted her to stay the night. Too much work to do, he’d claimed, making it quite clear that she would constitute an altogether too pleasant distraction. Rayna had agreed, her curiosity fully piqued. She liked surprises—as long as they were positive ones. Some three months ago, she recalled, it had been Keith who was surprised, and Rayna’s unexpected arrival hadn’t turned out well for either of them. She exhaled with a slight shiver.
Keith was waiting for her as she approached his door. He greeted her with a warm caress and a kiss.
“My, my,” Rayna teased after he had released her. “Right out here in the hall? What will the neighbors think?”
His eyebrows bobbed up and down playfully. Then he led her into his apartment, tapping a touchpad to shut the door behind them.
“Have you learned any—”
Keith’s second and much more emphatic kiss turned Rayna’s words into a thick mush of indecipherable syllables, and his embrace lifted her feet from the floor.
“Welcome back to chez Daniels, Shorty.” He grinned as he lowered her so that she could stand once more.
She put her arms around him and rested her head contentedly against his chest. “I’m very happy to be here,” she murmured as his heartbeat tapped out a steady rhythm against her ear. “The management definitely knows how to make a guest feel welcome.”
They stood there silently, basking in the mood, until Essie’s computer-generated voice broke the spell: “We have the communication link you requested with London, England, sir. Do you wish to speak with Mr. Judson now?”
Instead of answering, Keith smiled and addressed Rayna: “This is why I wanted you here on time. It’s a little tricky coordinating the hours for international calls, what with London’s being eight hours ahead of us.”
Rayna frowned and shook her head in confusion.
“Arthur Judson’s been helping me with your adoption records. He may have some news, and I thought you’d like to be here for the latest report.”
A lonely butterfly flapped its wings insistently in the general region of Rayna’s breastbone. Without thinking, she raised her right hand and wrapped a lock of her short, thick hair around her index finger.
“Nervous?” Keith asked.
Her hand quickly dropped to her side. “I’m fine.”
He looked at her doubtfully, then flashed his familiar, winning smile and gave her a reassuring hug.
“Get Arthur on the line, Essie.”
Keith settled into the chair before the terminal/communicator screen. “Ready,” Essie announced.
“Daniels!” said Judson. “I’m glad you called! I’ve had a devil of a time reaching you. You’ve been busy lately.”
Keith grinned and glanced at Rayna, who now stood beside him, barely within range of the camera that was transmitting a video image to Judson’s London office.
“I see,” Judson laughed. “You old fox!”
Rayna’s face grew hot, and she tried to move out of camera range, but Keith grabbed her hand.
“No, Rayna. Stay here.”
“Rayna?” asked Judson. “Rayna Kingman?”
Rayna nodded stiffly.
“My apologies, Miss Kingman. My remark was crude, uncalled for and entirely inappropriate.”
Rayna clenched her teeth and directed her gaze at the keyboard in front of the screen.
“Arthur,” Keith said after clearing his throat, “have you been able to get Rayna’s adoption records unsealed?”
“Well, I have had a bit of luck, but only just a bit. Whoever arranged this matter covered his tracks very thoroughly. I’ve never encountered anything quite like it. It’s more than just a question of sealing records. There seems to have been a concerted effort to cover up your origins, Miss Kingman.”
Rayna looked up, startled. “But why?”
“Why was your background covered up, or why do I think it was?”
“Either. Both, I guess.”
“Well,” Judson began, “for one thing, the records were processed through many more layers of the bureaucracy than was necessary. That sort of thing used to be done only for security reasons. That’s why I’m convinced there was a cover-up. As to why anybody would want to do that, it’s a matter of pure conjecture.”
“What have you been able to find out?” Keith wanted to know.
“Only that Miss Kingman’s mother and father were never married to one another. I would also guess, Miss Kingman, that your mother was under the age of majority. That may be one of the reasons for all this effort to keep the records sealed. Someone close to your mother may have wanted to protect her.”
Rayna sighed. “Is that it, then? Is this as close as I can get to finding out who I really am?”
Judson smiled with his eyes as much as his mouth. “I’m not ready to call it quits just yet, Miss Kingman. “I’ve one final avenue to explore. I hope to provide you with your mother’s name within a week. But Daniels there asked me to look into this matter some time ago. Just consider this a progress report.”
/> Rayna inclined her head. “Thank you for your efforts, Mr. Judson. You’ve already told me much more than I knew 10 minutes ago.”
“I thank you, too, Arthur,” Keith said. “You’ll call when you learn something more?”
“Of course.”
“Talk to you then,” Keith said, breaking the connection.
He swiveled his desk chair around to face Rayna and grasped her about the waist.
“Well, at least we’re making some headway.” He looked closely at her. “This whole thing’s pretty hard on you, I know, but—”
“I don’t mind being adopted, Keith. Really, I don’t. Mother and Dad—the people I’ve always known as Mother and Dad—couldn’t have been better to me. But I feel incomplete. Unreal. Sort of insubstantial. Like a holographic image of a tree rather than the tree itself. Does that make sense to you?”
Keith nodded slowly. “I think so…. Look,” he said, rising from the chair, “Arthur’s doing all he can with the adoption search. Why don’t we forget it for a while.”
Rayna thought for a moment, then agreed. She took a deep breath and walked to a pale green easy chair in Keith’s living room, about 10 feet away from the computer console.
“Did you ever listen to those tapes I gave you?” she asked as she dropped into the chair, kicking off her shoes and resting her feet on the matching ottoman.
Keith gave Essie a few simple instructions to keep the computer working on other business matters, then joined Rayna.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he told her. Rayna moved her legs so that he could sit down, allowing his lap to act as her footrest. “I haven’t heard all the tapes, but I did listen to quite a few.” He shook his head and whistled softly. “It sure fits in with what you showed me on that trend analysis of yours.”
“If Al was sane.”
Keith’s frank blue eyes met Rayna’s inquiring look. “Well,” he began, gently massaging one of her feet, “I can’t say for certain whether old Al was crazy, but after looking over some of the other material in that permastore box—like that guy Zorne’s book, and Al’s written journal, and his log of experimental results—after looking at all that, I’m inclined to say something was actually going on.”
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