Legacy

by James H. Schmitz

  4

  The head of the personnel department of Precol's Maccadon office said,"You don't want me, Argee. That's not my jurisdiction. I'll connect youwith Undersecretary Rozan."

  Trigger blinked. "Under--" she began. But he'd already cut off.

  She stared at the ComWeb, feeling a little shaken. All she'd done was tosay she wanted to apply for a transfer! Undersecretary Rozan was one ofPrecol's Big Four. For a moment, Trigger had an uncanny notion. Somestrange madness was spreading insidiously through the Hub. She shook thethought off.

  A businesslike blonde showed up in the screen. She might be aboutthirty-five. She smiled a small, cold smile.

  "Rozan," she said. "You're Trigger Argee. I know about you. What's thetrouble?"

  Trigger looked at her, wondering. "No trouble," she said. "Personneljust routed me through to you."

  "They've been instructed to do so," said Rozan. "Go ahead."

  "I'm on detached duty at the moment."

  "I know."

  "I'd like to apply for a transfer back to my previous job. The ManonSystem."

  "That's your privilege," said Rozan. She half turned, swung a telewriterforward and snapped it into her ComWeb. She glanced out at Trigger'sdesk. "Your writer's connected, I see. We'll want thumbprint andsignature."

  She slid a form into her telewriter, shifted it twice as Triggerdeposited thumbprint and signature and drew it out. "The applicationwill be processed promptly, Argee. Good day."

  Not a gabby type, that Rozan.

  If not gabby, the Precol blonde was a woman of her word. Trigger hadjust started lunch when the office mail-tube receiver tinkled brightlyat her. She reached in, took out a flat plastic carrier, snapped itopen. The paper that unfolded itself in her hand was her retransferapplication.

  At the bottom of the form was stamped "Application Denied," followed bythe signature of the Secretary of the Department of Precolonization,Home Office, Evalee.

  Trigger's gaze shifted incredulously from the signature to the twowords, and back. They'd taken the trouble to get that signaturetransmitted from Evalee just to make it clear that there were no headsleft to be gone over in the matter. Precol was not transferring her backto Manon. That was final. Then she realized that there was a secondsheet attached to the application form.

  On it in handwriting were a few more words: "In accordance with theinstructions of Commissioner Tate." And a signature, "Rozan." And threefinal words: "Destroy this note."

  Trigger crumpled up the application in one hand. Her other hand dartedto the ComWeb.

  Then she checked herself. To fire an as-of-now resignation back atPrecol had been the immediate impulse. But something, some vague warningchill, was saying it might be a very poor impulse to follow.

  She sat back to think it over.

  It was very probable that Undersecretary Rozan disliked Holati Tateintensely. A lot of the Home Office big shots disliked Holati Tate. He'dstamped on their toes more than once--very justifiably; but he'dstamped. The Home Office wouldn't go an inch out of its way to dosomething just because Commissioner Tate happened to want it done.

  So somebody else was backing up Commissioner Tate's instructions.

  Trigger shook her head helplessly.

  The only somebody else who _could_ give instructions to thePrecolonization Department was the Council of the Federation!

  And how could the Federation possibly care what Trigger Argee was doing?She made a small, incredulous noise in her throat.

  Then she sat there a while, feeling frightened.

  The fright didn't really wear off, but it settled down slowly insideher. Up on the surface she began to think again.

  Assume it's so, she instructed herself. It made no sense, but everythingelse made even less sense. Just assume it's so. Set it up as a practicalproblem. Don't worry about the why....

  The problem became very simple then. She wanted to go to Manon. TheFederation--or something else, something quite unthinkable at the momentbut comparable to the Federation in power and influence--wanted to keepher here.

  She uncrumpled the application, detached Rozan's note, tore up the noteand dropped its shreds into the wall disposal. That obligation wascancelled. She didn't have any other obligations. She'd liked HolatiTate. When all this was cleared up, she might find she still liked him.At the moment she didn't owe him a thing.

  Now. Assume they hadn't just blocked the obvious route to Manon. Theycouldn't block all routes to everywhere; that was impossible. But theycould very well be watching to see that she didn't simply get up andwalk off. And they might be very well prepared to take quite directaction to stop her from doing it.

  She would, Trigger decided, leave the method she'd use to get out of theColonial School unobserved to the last. That shouldn't present anyserious difficulties.

  Once she was outside, what would she do?

  Principally, she had to buy transportation. And that--since she had nointention of spending a few months on the trip, and since a privatecitizen didn't have the ghost of a chance at squeezing aboard aFederation packet on the Manon run--was going to be expensive. In fact,it was likely to take the bulk of her savings. Under the circumstances,however, expense wasn't important. If Precol refused to give her backher job when she showed up on Manon, a number of the industrial outfitspreparing to move in as soon as the plant got its final clearance wouldbe very happy to have her. She'd already turned down a dozen offers atconsiderably more than her present salary.

  So ... she'd get off the school grounds, take a tube strip into downtownCeyce, step into a ComWeb booth, and call Grand Commerce transportationfor information on the earliest subspace runs to Manon.

  She'd reserve a berth on the first fast boat out. In the name of--let'ssee--in the name of Birna Drellgannoth, who had been a friend of herswhen they were around the age of ten. Since Manon was a Precol preserve,she wouldn't have to meet the problem of precise personalidentification, such as one ran into when booking passage to some of themember worlds.

  The ticket office would have her thumbprints then. That was unavoidable.But there were millions of thumbprints being deposited every hour of theday on Maccadon. If somebody started checking for her by that method, itshould take them a good long while to sort out hers.

  Next stop--the Ceyce branch of the Bank of Maccadon. And it was luckyshe'd done all her banking in Ceyce since she was a teen-ager, becauseshe would have to present herself in person to draw out her savings.She'd better lose no time getting to the bank either. It was one placewhere theoretical searchers could expect her to show up.

  She could pay for her ship reservation at the bank. Then to a store forsome clothes and a suitcase for the trip....

  And, finally, into some big middle-class hotel where she would stayquietly until a few hours before the ship was due to take off.

  That seemed to cover it. It probably wasn't foolproof. But trying towork out a foolproof plan would be a waste of time when she didn't knowjust what she was up against. This should give her a running start, along one.

  When should she leave?

  Right now, she decided. Commissioner Tate presumably would be informedthat she had applied for a transfer and that the transfer had beendenied. He knew her too well not to become suspicious if it looked as ifshe were just sitting there and taking it.

  She got her secretary on the ComWeb.

  "I'm thinking of leaving the office," she said. "Anything for me to takecare of first?"

  It was a safe question. She'd signed the day's mail and checks beforelunch.

  "Not a thing, Miss Farn."

  "Fine," said Ruya Farn. "If anyone wants me in the next three or fourhours, I'll be either down in the main library or out at the lake."

  And that would give somebody two rather extensive areas to look for her,if and when they started to look--along with the fact that, for allanyone knew, she might be anywhere between those two points.

  A few minutes later, Trigger sauntered, humming blithely, into her roomand gave it a brie
f survey. There were some personal odds and ends shewould have liked to take with her, but she could send for them fromManon.

  The Denton, however, was coming along. The little gun had a veryprecisely calibrated fast-acting stunner attachment, and old RunserArgee had instructed Trigger in its use with his customary thoroughnessbefore he formally presented her with the gun. She had never hadoccasion to turn the stunner on a human being, but she'd used it ongame. If this cloak and dagger business became too realistic, she'dalready decided she would use it as needed.

  She slipped the Denton into the side pocket of a lightweight rain robe,draped the robe over her arm, slung her purse beside it, picked up thesun hat and left the room.

  The Colonial School's kitchen area was on one of the underground levels.Unless they'd modified their guard system very considerably sinceTrigger had graduated, that was the route by which she would leave.

  As far as she could tell they hadn't modified anything. The wholekitchen level looked so unchanged that she had a moment of nostalgia.Groups of students went chattering along the hallways between thestorerooms and the cooking and processing plants. The big mess hall,Trigger noticed in passing, smelled as good as it always had. Bellssounded the end of a period and a loudspeaker system began directingClass so and so to Room such and such. Standing around were a fewuniformed guards--mainly for the purpose of helping out newcomers whohad lost their direction.

  She came out on the equally familiar big and brightly lit platform ofthe loading ramp. Some sixty or seventy great cylindrical vans floatedalongside the platform, most of them disgorging their contents, somestill sealed.

  Trigger walked unhurriedly down the ramp, staying in the background,observing the movements of two ramp guards and marking four vans whichwere empty and looked ready to go.

  The driver of the farthest of the four empties stood in the back of hisvehicle, a few feet above the platform. When Trigger came level withhim, he was studying her. He was a big young man with tousled black hairand a rough-and-ready look. He was grinning very faintly. He knew theways of Colonial School students.

  Trigger raised her left hand a few inches, three fingers up. His grinwidened. He shook his head and raised both hands in a correspondinggesture. Eight fingers.

  Trigger frowned at him, stopped and looked back along the row of vans.Then left hand up again--four fingers and thumb.

  The driver made a circle with finger and thumb. A deal, for fiveMaccadon crowns. Which was about standard fare for unauthorized passageout of the school.

  Trigger wandered on to the end of the platform, turned and came back,still unhurriedly but now close to the edge of the ramp. Down the line,another van slammed open in back and a stream of crates swooped out,riding a gravity beam from the roof toward a waiting storeroom carrier.The guard closest to Trigger turned to watch the process. Trigger tooksix quick steps and reached her driver.

  He put down a hand to help her step up. She slipped the five-crown pieceinto his palm.

  "Up front," he whispered hoarsely. "Next to the driver's seat and keepdown. How far?"

  "Nearest tube line."

  He grinned again and nodded. "Can do."

  Twenty minutes later Trigger was in a downtown ComWeb booth. There hadbeen a minor modification in her plans and she'd stopped off in a storea few doors away and picked up a carefully nondescript street dress anda scarf. She changed into the dress now and bundled the school costumeinto a deposit box, which she dispatched to Central Deposit with aone-crown piece, getting a numbered slip in return. It had occurred toher that there was a chance otherwise of getting caught in a ColonialSchool roundup, if it was brought to Doctor Plemponi's attention thatthere appeared to be considerably more students out on the town at themoment than could be properly overlooked.

  Or even, Trigger thought, if somebody simply happened to have missedTrigger Argee.

  She slipped the rain robe over her shoulders, dropped a coin into theComWeb, and covered the silver-blonde hair with the scarf. The screenlit up. She asked for Grand Commerce Transportation.

  Waiting, she realized suddenly that so far she was rather enjoyingherself. There had been a little argument with the van driver who, itturned out, had ideas of his own about modifying Trigger's plans--acomplication she'd run into frequently in her school days too. As usual,it didn't develop into a very serious argument. Truckers who dealt withthe Colonial School knew, or learned in one or two briefly horridlessons, that Mihul's commando-trained charges were prone to ungirlishmethods of discouragement when argued with too urgently.

  The view screen switched on. The transportation clerk's glance flickedover Trigger's street dress when she told him her destination. Hisexpression remained bland. Yes, the Dawn City was leaving Ceyce Port forthe Manon System tomorrow evening. Yes, it was subspace express--one ofthe newest and fastest, in fact. His eyes slipped over the dress again.Also one of the most luxurious, he might add. There would be only twothree-hour stops in the Hub beyond Maccadon--one each off Evalee andGarth. Then a straight dive to Manon unless, of course, gravitic stormshifts forced the ship to surface temporarily. Average time for the DawnCity on the run was eleven days; the slowest trip so far had requiredsixteen.

  "But unfortunately, madam, there are only a very few cabins left--andnot very desirable ones, I'm afraid." He looked apologetic. "Therehasn't been a vacancy on the Manon run for the past three months."

  "I can stand it, I imagine," Trigger said. "How much for the cheapest?"

  The clerk cleared his throat gently and told her.

  She couldn't help blinking, though she was braced for it. But it wasmore than she had counted on. A great deal more. It would leave her, infact, with exactly one hundred and twenty-six crowns out of her entiresavings, plus the coins she had in her purse.

  "Any extras?" she asked, a little hoarsely.

  He shrugged. "There's Traveler's Rest," he said negligently. "Ninehundred for the three dive periods. But Rest is optional, of course.Some passengers prefer the experience of staying awake during a subspacedive." He smiled--rather sadistically, Trigger felt--and added, "Tillthey've lived through one of them, that is."

  Trigger nodded. She'd lived through quite a few of them. She didn't likesubspace particularly--nobody did--but except for an occasional touch ofnausea or dizziness at the beginning of a dive, it didn't bother hermuch. Many people got hallucinations, went into states of panic or justgot very sick. "Anything else?" she asked.

  "Just the usual tips and things," said the clerk. He looked surprised."Do you--does madam wish to make the reservation?"

  "Madam does," Trigger told him coldly. "How long will it hold?"

  It would be good up to an hour before take-off time, she learned. If notclaimed then, it would be filled from the last-minute waiting list.

  She left the booth thoughtfully. At least the Dawn City would be leavingin less than twenty-six hours. She wouldn't have to spend much of herremaining capital before she got off Maccadon.

  She'd skip meals, she decided. Except breakfast next morning, whichwould be covered by her hotel room fee.

  And it wasn't going to be any middle-class hotel.

  There was no one obviously waiting for her at the Bank of Maccadon. Infact, since that venerable institution covered a city block, withentrances running up from the street level to the fifty-eighth floor, asmall army would have been needed to make sure of spotting her.

  She had to identify herself to get into the vaults, but there was asolution to that. Seven years ago when Runser Argee died suddenly andshe had to get his property and records straightened out, a gray-hairedlittle vault attendant with whom she dealt with had taken a fatherlyinterest in her. When she saw he was still on the job, Trigger wascertain the matter would go off all right.

  It did. He didn't take a really close look at her until she shoved hersignature and Federation identification in front of him. Then his headbobbed up briskly. His eyes lit up.

  "Trigger!" He bounced out of his chair. His right hand shot out. "Goodto s
ee you again! I've been hearing about you."

  They shook hands. She put a finger to her lips. "I'm here incog!" shecautioned in a low voice. "Can you handle this quietly?"

  The faded blue eyes widened slightly, but he asked no questions. TriggerArgee's name was known rather widely, as a matter of fact, particularlyon her home world. And as he remembered Trigger, she wasn't a girl who'dgo look for a spotlight to stand in.

  He nodded. "Sure can!" He glanced suspiciously at the nearest customers,then looked down at what Trigger had written. He frowned. "You drawingout everything? Not leaving Ceyce for good, are you?"

  "No," Trigger said. "I'll be back. This is just a temporary emergency."

  That was all the explaining she had to do. Four minutes later she hadher money. Three minutes after that she had paid for the Dawn Cityreservation as Birna Drellgannoth and deposited her thumbprints with theticket office. Counting what was left, she found it came to just under ahundred and thirty-eight.

  Definitely no dinner tonight! She needed a suitcase and a change ofclothing. And then she'd just better go sit in that hotel room.

  The street level traffic was moderate around the bank, but it began tothicken as she approached a shopping center two blocks farther on.Striding along, neither hurrying nor idling, Trigger decided she had itmade. The only real chance to catch up with her had been at the bank.And the old vault attendant wouldn't talk.

  Half a block from the shopping center, a row of spacers on planet-leavecame rollicking cheerily toward her, uniform jackets unbuttoned, threeCeyce girls in arm-linked formation among them, all happily high.Trigger shifted toward the edge of the sidewalk to let them pass. As theline swayed up on her left, there was a shadowy settling of an aircar atthe curb to her right.

  With loud outcries of glad recognition and whoops of laughter, the lineswung in about her, close. Bodies crowded against her; a hand wasclapped over her mouth. Other hands held her arms. Her feet came off theground and she had a momentary awareness of being rushed expertlyforward.

  Then she was in the car, half on her side over the rear seat, two verystrong hands clamping her wrists together behind her back. As she suckedin her breath for a yell, the door snapped shut behind her, cutting offthe rollicking "ha-ha-ha's" and other noises outside.

  There was a lurching twist as the aircar shot upward.