Legacy

by James H. Schmitz

  9

  It was really infernally bad luck! Mihul was going to be the least easyof wardens to get away from ... particularly in time to catch a linertomorrow night. Mihul knew her much too well.

  "Like to come along and meet your facsimile now?" Mihul inquired. Shegrinned. "Most people find the first time quite an experience."

  Trigger stood up resignedly. "All right," she said. They were beingpolite about it, but it was clear that it was still a cop and prisonersituation. And old friend Mihul! She remembered something then. "Ibelieve Major Quillan has my gun."

  He looked at her thoughtfully, not smiling. "No," he said. "Gave it toMihul."

  "That's right," said Mihul. "Let's go, kid."

  They went out through the door that had appeared in the wall. It closedagain behind them.

  The facsimile stood up from behind a table at which she had beensitting as Trigger and Mihul came into the room. She gave Trigger abrief, impersonal glance, then looked at Mihul.

  Mihul performed no introductions.

  "Dress, robe and scarf," she said to the facsimile. "The shoes are closeenough." She turned to Trigger. "She'll be wearing your street clotheswhen she leaves," she said. "Could we have the dress now?"

  Trigger pulled the dress over her head, tossed it to Mihul and stood inher underwear, looking at her double slip out of her street clothes.They did seem to be a very close match in size and proportions. Watchingthe shifting play of slim muscles in the long legs and smooth back,Trigger decided the similarity was largely a natural one. Thesilver-blonde hair was the same, of course. The gray eyes seemed almostidentical--and the rest of the face was a little _too_ identical! Theymust have used a life-mask there.

  It was a bit uncanny. Like seeing one's mirror image start moving aboutindependently. If the girl had talked, it might have reduced the effect.But she remained silent.

  She put on the dress Trigger had been wearing and smoothed it down.Mihul surveyed the result. She nodded. "Perfect." She took Trigger'srobe and scarf from the back of a chair where someone had draped themand handed them over.

  "You won't wear the scarf," she said. "Just shove it into a pocket ofthe coat."

  The girl slung the cloak over her shoulder and stood holding the scarf.Mihul looked her over once more. "You'll do," she said. She smiledbriefly. "All right."

  The facsimile glanced at Trigger again, turned and moved attractivelyout of the room. Trigger frowned.

  "Something wrong?" Mihul asked. She had gone over to a wall basin andwas washing out a tumbler.

  "Why does she walk like that?"

  "The little swing in the rear? She's studied it." Mihul half filled thetumbler with water, fished a transparent splinter of something out of apocket and cracked the splinter over the edge of the glass. "Among yourfriends it's referred to as the Argee Lilt. She's got you down pat,kid."

  Trigger didn't comment. "Am I supposed to put on her clothes?"

  "No. We've got another costume for you." Mihul came over, holding outthe glass. "This is for you."

  Trigger looked at the glass suspiciously. "What's in it?"

  The blue eyes regarded her mildly. "You could call it a sedative."

  "Don't need any. Thanks."

  "Better take it anyway." Mihul patted her hip with her other hand."Little hypo gun here. That's the alternative."

  "What!"

  "That's right. Same type of charge as in your fancy Denton. Stuff in theglass is easier to take and won't leave you groggy."

  "What's the idea?"

  "I've known you quite a while," said Mihul. "And I was watching you thelast twenty minutes in that room through a screen. You'll take off againif you get the least chance. I don't blame you a bit. You're beingpushed around. But now it's my job to see you don't take off; and untilwe get to where you're going, I want to be sure you'll stay quiet."

  She still held out the glass, in a long, tanned, capable hand. She stoodthree inches taller than Trigger, weighted thirty-five pounds more. Notan ounce of that additional thirty-five pounds was fat. If she'd neededassistance, the hunting lodge was full of potential helpers. She didn't.

  "I never claimed I liked this arrangement," Trigger said carefully. "Idid say I'd go along with it. I will. Isn't that enough?"

  "Sure," Mihul said promptly. "Give word of parole?"

  There was a long pause.

  "No!" Trigger said.

  "I thought not. Drink or gun?"

  "Drink," Trigger said coldly. She took the glass. "How long will it putme out?"

  "Eight to nine hours." Mihul stood by watchfully while Trigger emptiedthe tumbler. After a moment the tumbler fell to the floor. She reachedout and caught Trigger as she started down.

  "All right," she said across her shoulder to the open doorway behindher. "Let's move!"

  * * * * *

  Trigger awoke and instantly went taut with tension. She lay quiet a fewseconds, not even opening her eyes. There was cool sunlight on hereyelids, but she was indoors. There was a subdued murmur of soundsomewhere; after a moment she knew it came from a news viewer turnedlow, in some adjoining room. But there didn't seem to be anybodyimmediately around her. Warily she opened her eyes.

  She was on a couch in an airy, spacious room furnished in the palest ofgreens and ivory. One entire side of the room was either a window or asolido screen. In it was a distant mountain range with many snowy peaks,an almost cloudless blue sky. Sun at midmorning or midafternoon.

  Sun and all had the look of Maccadon--they probably still were on theplanet. That was where the interview was to take place. But she alsocould have been sent on a three-day space cruise, which would be arather good way to make sure a prisoner stayed exactly where you wantedher. This could be a spaceliner suite with a packaged view of any one ofsome hundreds of worlds, and with packaged sunlight thrown in.

  There was one door to the room. It stood open, and the news viewer talkcame from there.

  Trigger sat up quietly and looked down at the clothes she wore. Allwhite. A short-sleeved half-blouse of some soft, rather heavy, verycomfortable unfamiliar stuff. Bare midriff. White kid trousers whichflared at the thighs and were drawn in to a close fit just above theknees and down the calves, vanishing into kid boots with thick, flexiblesoles.

  Sporting outfit.... That meant Maccadon!

  She pulled a handful of hair forward and looked at it. They'd recoloredit--this time to a warm mahogany brown. She swung her legs off the couchand stood up quietly. A dozen soft steps across the springy thick-nappedturf of ivory carpet took her to the window.

  The news viewer clicked and went silent.

  "Not bad," Trigger said. She saw a long range of woodlands and openheath, rising gradually into the flanks of the mountains. On the farright was the still, silver glitter of two lakes. "Where are we?"

  "Byla Uplands Game Preserve. That's the game bird area before you."Mihul appeared in the doorframe, in an outfit almost a duplicate ofTrigger's, in pearl-gray tones. "Feel all right?"

  "Feeling fine," Trigger said. Byla Uplands--the southern tip of thecontinent. She could make it back to Ceyce in two hours or less! Sheturned and grinned at Mihul. "I also feel hungry. How long was I out?"

  Mihul glanced at her wrist watch. "Eight hours, ten minutes. You woke upon schedule. I had breakfast sent up thirty minutes ago. I've alreadyeaten mine--took one sniff and plunged in. It's good!" Mihul's hair,Trigger saw, had been cropped short and a streak of gray added over theright side; and they'd changed the color of her eyes to hazel. Shewondered what had been done to her along that line. "Want to come in?"Mihul said. "We can talk while you eat."

  Trigger nodded. "After I've freshened up."

  The bathroom mirror showed they'd left her eyes alone. But there was avery puzzling impression that she was staring at an image considerablyplumper, shorter, younger than it should be--a teen-ager aroundseventeen or eighteen. Her eyes narrowed. If they'd done flesh-sculptingon her, it could cause complications.

  She str
ipped hurriedly and checked. They hadn't tampered with her body.So it had to be the clothes; though it was difficult to see how even themost cunning cut could provide such a very convincing illusion of beingmore rounded out, heavier around the thighs, larger breasts--justmissing being dumpy, in fact. She dressed again, looked again, and cameout of the bathroom, still puzzled.

  "Choice of three game birds for breakfast." Mihul announced. "Neverheard of any of them. All good. Plus regular stuff." She patted her flatmidriff. "Ate too much!" she admitted. "Now dig in and I'll brief you."

  Trigger dug in. "I had a look at myself in the mirror," she remarked."What's this now-you-see-it-now-you-don't business of fifteen or sopounds of baby fat?"

  Mihul laughed. "You don't really have it."

  "I know that too. How do they do it?"

  "Subcolor job in the clothes. They're not really white. Anyone lookingat you gets his vision distorted a little without realizing it. Takes awider view of certain areas, for example. You can play it around in alot of ways."

  "I never heard of that one," Trigger said. "You'd think it would besensational in fashions."

  "It would be. Right now it's top secret for as long as Intelligence cankeep it that way."

  Trigger chewed a savory morsel of something. "Then why did you tell me?"

  "You're one of the gang, however reluctant. And you're good at keepingthe mouth shut. Your name, by the way, is now Comteen Lod, just turnedeighteen. I am your dear mama. You call me Drura. We're fromSlyth-Talgon on Evalee, here for a few days shooting."

  Trigger nodded. "Do we do any shooting?"

  Mihul pointed a finger at a side table. The Denton lay there, lookinglike a toy beside a standard slender-barrelled sporting pistol. "Betyour life, Comteen!" she said. "I've always been too stingy to try out afirst-class preserve on my own money. And this one is _first_ class."She paused. "Comteen and Drura Lod really exist. We're a very fair copyof what they look like, and they'll be kept out of sight till we're donehere. Now--"

  She leaned back comfortably, tilting the chair and clasping her handsaround one knee. "Aside from the sport, we're here because you're aconvalescent. You're recovering from a rather severe attack of DykartFever. Heard of it?"

  Trigger reflected. "Something you pick up in some sections of the Evaleetropics, isn't it?"

  Mihul nodded. "That's what you did, child! Skipped your shots on thelast trip we took--and six months later you're still paying for it. Youwere in one of those typical Dykart fever comas when we brought you inlast night."

  "Very clever!" Trigger commented acidly.

  "Very." Mihul pursed her lips. "The Dykart bug causes temporaryderangements, you know--spells during which convalescents talk wildly,imagine things."

  Trigger popped another fragment of meat between her teeth and chewedthoughtfully, looking over at Mihul. "Very good duck or whatever!" shesaid. "Like imagining they've been more or less kidnapped, you mean?"

  "Things like that," Mihul agreed.

  Trigger shook her head. "I wouldn't anyway. You types are bound to haveall the legal angles covered."

  "Sure," said Mihul. "Just thought I'd mention it. Have you used theDenton much on game?"

  "Not too often." Trigger had been wondering whether they'd left thestunner compartment loaded. "But it's a very fair gun for it."

  "I know. The other one's a Yool. Good game gun, too. You'll use that."

  Trigger swallowed. She met the calm eyes watching her. "I've neverhandled a Yool. Why the switch?"

  "They're easy to handle. The reason for the switch is that you can'tjust stun someone with a Yool. It's better if we both stay armed, thoughit isn't really necessary--so much money comes to play around here theycan afford to keep the Uplands very thoroughly policed, and they do. Butan ace in the hole never hurts." She considered. "Changed your mindabout that parole business yet?"

  "I hadn't really thought about it," Trigger said.

  "I'd let you carry your own gun then."

  Trigger looked reflective, then shook her head. "I'd rather not."

  "Suit yourself," Mihul said agreeably. "In that case though, thereshould be something else understood."

  "What's that?"

  "We'll have up to three-four days to spend here together before Whatzzitshows up."

  "Whatzzit?"

  "For future reference," Mihul said, "Whatzzit will be that which--or heor she who--wishes to have that interview with you and has arranged forit. That's in case you want to talk about it. I might as well tell youthat I'll do very little talking about Whatzzit."

  "I thought," Trigger suggested, "I was one of the gang."

  "I've got special instructions on the matter," Mihul said. "Anyway,Whatzzit shows up. You have your interview. After that we do whateverWhatzzit says we're to do. As you know."

  Trigger nodded.

  "Meanwhile," said Mihul, "we're here. Very pleasant place to spendthree-four days in my opinion, and I think, in yours."

  "Very pleasant," Trigger agreed. "I've been suspecting it was you whosuggested it would be a good place to wait in."

  "No," Mihul said. "Though I might have, if anyone had asked me. ButWhatzzit's handling all the arrangements, it seems. Now we could havefun here--which, I suspect, would be the purpose as far as you'reconcerned."

  "Fun?" Trigger said.

  "To put you into a good frame of mind for that interview, might be theidea," Mihul said. "I don't know. Three days here should relax almostanyone. Get in a little shooting. Loaf around the pools. Go for rides.Things like that. The only trouble is I'm afraid you're nourishing darknotions which are likely to take all the enjoyment out of it. Not tomention the possibility of really relaxing."

  "Like what?" Trigger asked.

  "Oh," Mihul said, "there're all sorts of possibilities, of course." Shenodded her head at the guns. "Like yanking the Denton out of my holsterand feeding me a dose of the stunner. Or picking up that coffee potthere and tapping me on the skull with it. It's about the right weight."

  Trigger said thoughtfully, "I don't think either of those would work."

  "They might," Mihul said. "They just might! You're fast. You've beentaught to improvise. And there's something eating you. You're edgy as acat."

  "So?" Trigger said.

  "So," Mihul said, "there are a number of alternatives. I'll lay them outfor you. You take your pick. For one, I could just keep you doped. Threedays in dope won't hurt you, and you'll certainly be no problem then.Another way--I'll let you stay awake, but we stay in our rooms. I canlock you in at night, and that window is escape-proof. I checked. Itwould be sort of boring, but we can have tapes and stuff brought up. I'dhave the guns put away and I'd watch you like a hawk every minute of theday."

  She looked at Trigger inquiringly. "Like either of those?"

  "Not much," Trigger said.

  "They're safe," Mihul said. "Quite safe. Maybe I should.... Well, theheat's off, and it's just a matter now of holding you for Whatzzit.There're a couple of other choices. One of them has an angle you won'tlike much either. On the other hand, it would give you a sporting chanceto take off if you're really wild about it. And it's entirely in linewith my instructions. I warned them you're tricky."

  Trigger stopped eating. "Let's hear that one."

  Mihul tilted the chair back a little farther and studied her a moment."Pretty much like I said before. Everything friendly and casual. Gun abit, swim a bit. Go for a ride or soar. Lie around in the sun. Butbecause of those notions of yours, there'd be one thing added. Anun-incentive."

  "An un-incentive?" Trigger repeated.

  "Exactly," said Mihul. "_That_ isn't at all in line with myinstructions. But you're a pretty dignified little character, and Ithink it should work."

  "Just what does this un-incentive consist of?" Trigger inquired warily.

  "If you make a break and get away," Mihul said, "that's one thing.Something's eating you, and I'm not sure I like the way this matter'sbeen handled. In fact, I don't like it. So I'll try to stop you from
leaving, but if it turns out I couldn't, I won't hold any grudges. Evenif I wake up with lumps."

  She paused. "On the other hand," she said, "there we are--together forthree-four days. I don't want to spend them fighting off attempts toclobber me every thirty seconds. So any time you try and miss, Comteen,mama is going to pin you down fast, and hot up your seat with whateveris handiest."

  Trigger stared at her.

  She cleared her throat.

  "While I'm carrying a gun?" she said shakily. "Don't be ridiculous,Mihul!"

  "You're not going to gun me for keeps to get out of a licking," Mihulsaid. "And that's all the Yool can do. How else will you stop me?"

  Trigger's fingernails drummed the table top briefly. She wet her lips."I don't know," she admitted.

  "Of course," said Mihul, "all this unpleasantness can be avoided veryeasily. There's always the fourth method."

  "What's that?"

  "Just give parole."

  "No parole," Trigger said thinly.

  "All right. Which of the other ways will it be?"

  Trigger didn't hesitate. "The sporting chance," she said. "The othersaren't choices."

  "Fair enough," said Mihul. She stood up and went over to the wall. Sheselected a holster belt from the pair hanging there and fastened itaround her. "I rather thought you'd pick it," she said. She gave Triggera brief grin. "Just make sure it's a good opening!"

  "I will," Trigger said.

  Mihul moved to the side table, took up the Denton, looked at it, andslid it into her holster. She turned to gaze out the window. "Nicecountry!" she said. "If you're done with breakfast, how about going outright now for a first try at the birds?"

  Trigger hefted the coffee pot gently. It was about the right weight atthat. But the range was a little more than she liked, considering theun-incentive.

  Besides, it might crack the monster's skull.

  She set the pot gently down again.

  "Great idea!" she said. "And I'm all finished eating."