by F. M. Busby
“You’re hurting me! No, of course I’m not sure. I heard a lot of stories — who’s to say which were true? I didn’t follow the gossip closely, anyway. I had my own concerns.”
The hand gripped harder. “I’m sure you did — Rissa.”
It was time to act. Past time — the port was near. Maybe the sniffing bitch was only guessing, but the chance wasn’t worth it. She felt the jolt of peril — now, as in the aircar, time slowed. She turned to face the plastic mask, took a breath, and drove the heel of her hand as hard as she could, up to the hidden nose. With luck she could have driven bone splinters into the brain, but the plastic was too rigid; her blow slipped off its bulge. The woman half-screamed — in fear, or was it anger? — and thrust out a meaty hand to squeeze Rissa’s throat. Behind the mask her eyes shone, almost like burning coals. Rissa pointed stiff fingers at those eyes and jabbed.
She did not know how well or ill she wrought; the woman cried out and clapped her hands to her face. Rissa reached across her; overriding the safety interlock she button-punched the door open. She raked a heel down the woman’s shin and drew a yelp of pain; then she braced herself and pushed, until the woman’s head and shoulders were outside, rubbing against the tube wall as the capsule sped. The policewoman screamed — then friction took hold and the capsule swayed with the impact. Rissa heard bones snap as the woman’s body was pulled outside to be crushed in the narrow space and vanish behind. Almost, Rissa followed it — she barely managed to disengage and catch herself against the door frame.
She punched the door closed again and sat back, panting, fighting for calm. A pang wrenched her — she had never killed before. Yet what choice had she?
A minute or so later, the capsule came to a halt. She left it and walked out of the terminal, across the spaceport to the ship.
UET's stockholders had first option on the freeze-chambers. Rissa had considered the matter. Overall time dilation for the trip — not the one she had booked, but the shorter one she intended — was slightly less than eighteen. Twelve years for the price of, perhaps, eight months. Faster ships made better tradeoffs, but none were scheduled to meet her need. The question was, did she want to spend those eight months awake on a cramped ship, all the while alert to keep the role of Lysse Harnain? Not really, she decided. And the freezing and revival procedures, Erika had assured her, posed no threat to her disguise.
So she “bumped” a man who could have bought and sold her ten times over — but who owned less UET stock — and prepared to enter freeze. To justify being revivified at the stopover, she mentioned an investment possibility at Far Corner. Then she went to chilly sleep.
When the ship landed and she was awakened and treated, she went aground with only her essential luggage, content to let the rest go on to a destination that was not hers. So far, she felt, she was well ahead of the game. It remained to be seen what turns that game would take in future.
She did not risk UET’s spaceport hostelry; near the ship she hailed a groundcab, and once inside, took certain precautions with her appearance. The cab took her to and past the town of Second Site, to a ramshackle inn called the First Ever. It catered largely, the driver told her, to miners and trappers.
Inside, signing the register as Tari Obrigo, she paid triple the usual rate because she needed a room to herself. The landlord looked at her — head covered by a hood, her face veiled — and grinned behind his grizzled beard.
“Private doings — eh, Ms. Obrigo?”
“I am accustomed to privacy and willing to pay for it.” Her voice was soft, slightly accented, and she spoke in the precise manner of Tari Obrigo.
“No offense, Ms. Here — I’ll show you your room. Want any help with your duffel?”
“No — well, yes — you might take this one. It is not heavy, but with the other two, awkward to carry.” The man nodded and led her to a second-floor room, complete with bathing and toilet facilities. Going to the room’s one window, he opened the curtains.
“Nice view across town,” he said. “Spaceport just past the valley, and the big trees behind it.” He made no move to leave.
“Yes — thank you.” Far Corner custom, she recalled, added all tips to the final billing, so that wasn’t what he was waiting for. “I think that is all, for the moment.”
“You haven’t said — you want to take your meals here, or out?”
Annoyed, she shook her head. “Can I not do either, as is convenient?”
“Sure. Cost you more, though. Cheaper to sign up for meals with the room.”
“I cannot help that. My plans are . . . flexible.”
“Suit yourself, Ms. Well — anything you need, just ask.”
“Yes. I will. Thank you,” and finally the man left. She locked the
door, reclosed the curtains and removed her veil and hooded cloak. The next hour she spent transforming Lysse Harnain to Tari Obrigo — age twenty-two — dark brown eyes, black hair falling in loose curls around her face and brushing her shoulders. Her nose was Rissa’s own, but with a small fleshy mole alongside the left nostril. The crooked tooth-cap was replaced by one that gave prominence to the upper front incisors. Tweezers emphasized the arching of her brows. And she did not forget to change her fingerprints.
The mirror satisfied her. Now she was ready to show her face — Tari Obrigo’s — on Far Corner.
Osallin's office, she knew, was in the Independent Brokers’ warehouse; she had seen the looming structure from the groundcab. She guessed its distance at roughly three kilometers and decided to walk. Stepping out into cool early-afternoon sunlight, she enjoyed the use of her muscles in Far Corner’s gravity, nearly a fourth slighter than Earth’s. She faced a breeze; from the forest beyond the spaceport she smelled strange, pleasant fragrances.
She approached the building from the warehouse side and walked another two hundred meters to reach the office section. Entering, she came into a lobby that contained several receptionists’ desks — three occupied and one occupant not busy. Rissa approached; the thin, elderly woman looked up.
“I would like to meet with Broker Osallin.”
The woman cleared her throat. “I must approve all the Broker’s appointments. Your name?”
Rissa smiled. “If you would inform him, please, that I bring greeting from Erika?”
The other paused, then nodded. “Oh, yes — certainly.” She spoke into a hushtalk handset, then said, “It will be only a few minutes, Ms. Be seated, if you like.”
“Thank you.” But Rissa had no desire to sit; she strolled around the lobby, looking at pictures and at glass-enclosed exhibits of Far Corner’s produce. After perhaps ten minutes, the woman called to her and gave directions to Osallin’s office, two floors above. Again, she decided to walk.
The office was small, cluttered, and brightly lit. The man was short and wide, with a face to match. When he smiled she saw three gold teeth and a space where a bicuspid was missing. He held out his single hand, the left. “Erika sent you? From Earth?”
She found the handshake awkward. He released her hand and motioned for her to sit, facing him across the desk. “Not exactly,” she said. “Erika was my mentor and my friend. She is not my employer; I have none.”
Osallin pushed graying hair back from his forehead. “This is a social call, not business? And I don’t know your name yet, do I?”
“It is business, also. I am going farther out. Erika suggested that she — her Establishment — and I, work through you as our relay point, for financial and other communications.”
“All right — fine. On all transactions I charge five percent of gross. Other communications, courtesy of the house. You still haven’t said who you are, though.”
“Establishment secrecy applies. Agreed?” The man nodded. “I am here as Tari Obrigo. Other names that may apply in our dealings together and with Erika’s group are Lysse Harnain, Cele Metrokin, and Rissa Kerguelen.”
Abruptly, he sat straight. “You’re that one!”
“I do no
t understand. You have heard something? How?”
“You landed today with the MacNamara; right? Well, there’s faster ships. One that left Earth not long after you did, arrived here — oh, call it two months ago. With a packet for you from Erika, for one thing. And, for another, a UET agent.
“You can forget two of those names. Harnain’s red-tabbed here and on Terranova — by the time you could get there, I mean — at the least. As well as on Earth. Mostly on suspicion, Erika thinks, but still — there it is. The other, though — Kerguelen — I’m forgetting I ever heard that one, and I suggest you do the same.”
Her hand made a sidewise, brushing motion. “Yes — perhaps — probably. But what about the UET agent? No one followed me today.”
“You were booked through to Terranova; he went on to there. I checked around, as Erika’s letter requested, and I’m pretty sure he hired some local talent to watch for you when the MacNamara showed up. Would he have a picture of you to give them?”
“I should not think so. Only a description, if that.” Osallin’s fingers worried his left earlobe. “After you got off the ship, how long were you visible as Harnain?” “Hardly at all. I came aground wearing a cape with the hood up, and obtained a groundcab almost immediately. Once inside it I donned a veil; before that, I coughed occasionally to give me the excuse to hold a handkerchief to my nose and mouth. The driver would not recognize me — and the next time anyone saw my face, it was this one.”
“Hmm.” The man’s fingers drummed on the desk. “If UET’s locals don’t have boarding clearance, likely they didn’t spot you. If they do, they’re employees and can’t get off-port until their shifts end. Either way, they can’t connect Harnain with Obrigo. Except . . .”
“Through the driver?” She shook her head. “That one was too busy arguing with some functionary about where it was permitted to park and to pick up passengers. She did not look at me — more than a brief glance — until I was veiled.”
“But if an employee paid by UET saw you and saw the driver? Your clothing — ”
Rissa laughed. “Osallin, there is no such thing as assured immunity. But Erika taught me to gauge odds, and here I adjudge them good. Only one thing perturbs me — why should UET go to so much trouble regarding the person whose name we have agreed to forget? Not the money, surely — to UET, that must be a trifle.”
Osallin scowled. “Erika didn’t give you enough background. Perhaps even she doesn’t realize how rigid the UET’s policies are.”
“And neither do I. Will you tell me?”
“It’s simple — they won’t lose face. You got fame when you won the lottery, and notoriety when you escaped North America — now you’re an Underground hero until they catch you. They don’t like that.”
“No.” Rissa managed a shaky laugh. “I suppose they don’t. But out here — so far away, so many years?”
“If you’re caught, they profit. A trifle, you say? Perhaps not so trifling, with Erika handling your affairs over the course of years. But that money on Earth is untouchable until you’re in custody or proved dead. Then, with a little routine chicanery, it’s UET’s.” He Waved away her protest. “And don’t forget — you paid your way but their agents ride free, except for the wasted years of their lifetimes. To UET, the cost of pursuit is trivial.”
She shuddered. “They are not human, are they?”
“Of course they are.” His tone was cheerful. “Wherever did you get the idea that ‘human’ is a synonym for ‘good’?” She could find no answer.
“Well, then, Tari Obrigo, it’s time you looked at what Erika sent you.” She leafed through the papers; all was as she and Madame Hulzein had agreed. One-half the profits of Rissa’s investments, after commission, forwarded to — and later through — Osallin’s agency. Any net loss over a given period would be carried against future gains, but this initial profit voucher was over 1,000,000 Weltmarks. She calculated five percent and wrote a draft to Osallin’s credit before inspecting the other material.
She sensed that the man was looking at her and raised her head to return his gaze. He said, “Are Erika’s reports satisfactory?”
“Oh, yes.” She paused, frowning. “Need I tell you that I trust Erika — and by her word, you also?”
Osallin exhaled a deep breath. “Hah!” Gently his closed fist thumped the desk. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, then — what comes next? Where do you go? Or do I need to know that?”
She nodded, swinging the dark curls. “Of course you do, if we are to work together. But where? I do not yet know.”
“You don’t? I would have thought — ”
“Where do the Escaped Ships go? The Hidden Worlds . . .”
Silently he looked at her, then said, “So that’s it. I should have known.”
“I do not understand you. Where else would I wish to go?”
His hand kneaded the stump at his right shoulder. “She’s been wanting a look-in there — I knew that, of course — and why not? And so here you are.”
“Erika? She will not be alive, Osallin, when I get . . . there, wherever. Or at least, not when word from me could reach Earth. This is entirely my idea, not Erika’s.”
“The Hulzeins aren’t too proud to use others’ ideas. And of all people, they’re specially equipped to take the long view.”
Rissa pondered his words. “What do you mean?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you know who Erika is — and Frieda? Do you know about the others?”
“What others? What has anyone else to do with it?”
“Erika’s mother, Renalle. And Heidele, her grandmother.”
She shook her head. “No. She said nothing of them. Why — ?”
“The Hulzein Establishment,” he said. “Founded by Heidele, inherited by Renalle and then Erika, with Frieda next in line. And what has Frieda named her daughter?”
“I did not know she had one. Does she? And how can you know it would be a daughter?”
“She’ll have one by now, if she can. And the Hulzeins have no sons
— parthenogenesis doesn’t work that way.” She gasped. “Of course. I know about Erika and Frieda, yes. But — how many?” His chuckle conveyed no humor. “Frieda’s daughter would be the
fifth of the line. That’s why I’m worried.”
“Again, Osallin, I do not understand you.”
“The copy-machine effect,” he said. “What happens when you make a copy of a copy of a copy? You lose the fine detail; that’s what. And when it’s genetic endowment you’re dealing with . . .”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t a problem with the one-parent children late in the previous century, the fad that sprang up among the extreme elements of Female Liberation. Those offspring were — haploid, I think the term is — and infertile.”
“I have heard of the movement, but very little about it.”
“It died under UET, with all the rest of freedom.” He scratched his nose. “Anyway, I’m not sure whether it was Heidele herself or someone else who developed the gene-replication system of parthenogenesis, to produce fertile offspring. But I know the rest of the history pretty well.
“The method never worked perfectly, but Heidele was lucky; she got Renalle on the first try, I hear. Renalle had two miscarriages and one monster — destroyed, of course — before Erika. And Erika — I don’t know the details but it took her fifteen years to produce Frieda — with some serious congenital defects.” “I — I did not know . . .” “Well, you wouldn’t — they were correctible, mostly. But my point is, if Frieda doesn’t introduce outside genes — have herself a two-parent child — the Hulzein line may end with her. And then what happens to the Establishment? How do we trust someone we’ve never met, who’s not essentially our friend Erika, or even personally selected by her?”
The idea was new; she considered it. Time and space; yes. “We will have to. Just as I will someday have to trust — whoever succeeds you here, if I travel between worlds to any extent.”
He
grinned. “True. Except that I’m relying on my judgment, not my genes, when it’s time to choose that successor.”
Slowly, she nodded. “Yes, I see the difference. But you have a reason for telling me all this. What is it?”
“I suggest that you transfer more of your assets out of Hulzein hands and Hulzein knowledge. And build yourself at least one identity that’s not in Erika’s records. Just in case. That’s what I’m doing.” Once more he grinned. “And if you think a convincing, operative prosthetic arm isn’t costing me a packet — think again!”
She frowned, they slowly nodded. “Yes, of course. Erika would approve, if she allowed herself to see the problem.”
“Maybe she does see it. I’m merely providing against the chance that she doesn’t.”
“Yes.” She thought. “Perhaps, Osallin, you can help me with the new identity before I leave here?”
“Certainly. You have a name in mind, and other details?”
She considered. “Laura Konig — blue eyes, light brown hair, native to this planet or brought here as an infant. Other details as you choose. All right?”
“Good enough. And I don’t keep detailed records of such matters. Only the names — no cross-references, except in my head.”
“Good. It is settled then. Now — can you get me contact with an Escaped Ship? And if so, how soon?”
“Hmmm — you missed one here, by about a week. The next — ”
“Last week? No — I saw the board at the port. The only recent departure was UET’s J.E. Hoover.”
Osallin laughed. “Our part of Far Corner knows, so no harm in telling you. The Hoover — if it were known to be Escaped it wouldn’t appear on the port’s docket. But Bernardez, the new captain — he’s smart enough to forward faked reports to Earth. Quite handy — until UET eventually catches on — for an Escaped Ship to keep its pipeline open to information and Weltmarks.”
“Then Escape is on a larger scale than Earth realizes?”
“Considerably. Erika — the Hulzeins — will know about the Hoover when they get my next dispatches. But with luck the Committee may be fooled for a long time yet.” He opened a drawer and brought out a bottle and two glasses. “Let’s drink to luck!”