The biotic destructor was right where Ugulma’s notes had said it would be—twenty glass carboys full of an evil-looking dark green sludge, all connected to their sonic detonators and each other by wires and tubes. It was a Venusian invention, but it was Fritz who had used it on our doughboys back in the war; we’d called them “mold bombs” and now they were prohibited by the Geneva Conventions. They were extremely touchy; when I served a stint in the ordnance division our CO had ordered us not to attempt to disarm or move one if we should come across it in the field.
I didn’t know for sure why Grossman had hired Ugulma to use his German contacts and biotics expertise to set up a mold bomb under his own factory, but I had my suspicions. In any case, simple possession of just one of these carboys would be enough to put him in jail for the rest of his life, and Ugulma’s notes would tie them to Grossman so tightly even a Cooksport lawyer couldn’t get him loose.
But I couldn’t send him to jail without involving Lillie.
I sat on the filthy basement floor, staring at the evil thing and considering my options.
None of them was very good.
Three days later I was looking at myself in the wardrobe mirror, admiring my new Venusian silk suit. It was comfortable, stylish, cool, and made me look great. I’ll give the froggies this—Cooksport tailors are the best on three planets. They work fast and turn out an excellent product. He’d even thrown in a matching hat, which also suited me perfectly.
Only the dark circles under my eyes spoiled the effect. I hadn’t managed more than two or three hours’ sleep at a snatch since landing on Venus. But I’d done everything I could to set my plan in motion, and now it was time for the final act. Any delay would only increase the risk of something going wrong.
I left the key in the room. One way or another, I wouldn’t be coming back.
But before I departed the hotel, I made three calls from the pay phone in the lobby.
Grossman was inspecting his own reflection in his office window as I entered—with the lights on inside and the night so black outside, the glass made a perfect mirror. Not even the plant, which was of course visible from Grossman’s office, showed any lights; with business so slow, no one was working the third shift.
“Nice suit,” he said without turning around. His reflected eyes met mine without apparent fear. “You can put the gun away.”
“It’s just insurance,” I said. I didn’t lower it.
“I’m not going to try to jump you. I’m an old man, Mr. Drayton. I get what I want with money and power. And I understand from your telephone call that you have something I want.”
“I do.” I set down my suitcase, opened it left-handed, and pulled out Ugulma’s file folder. “Does the name Achilles ring a bell?”
At that he did turn around, though his face showed neither surprise nor concern, just a cold disdain. “I suspected that item was what you were referring to. How did you get it? Did you seduce Lillie the way you did Maria?” My face must have shown my reaction, because he continued, “Oh yes, Mr. Drayton, I know all about Lugwunta Bay.”
“And despite that you hired me for this job.”
“I hired you because of that. Remember how I told you I needed someone of your unique qualities? I wasn’t lying. I needed someone with bravery, wit—but not too much wit—and keen investigative skills, because no one else would put himself in front of Ugulma’s squelcher for me. And I also needed someone I wouldn’t mind seeing dead. You fit the bill for all of those criteria.”
Something about the way he said it reminded me of his priorities. Money over family, over relationships, over everything. “So my death wasn’t the main point of the plan.”
“Only a delightful side effect.” He chuckled. “The point of the plan was to photograph Mr. Ugulma in the process of committing the crime. You do recall what the penalty is for an aboriginal who kills a human, don’t you?”
“Death by desiccation.”
He held up one finger. “And destruction of the murderer’s property.”
Of course! I’d been so stupid to overlook that part—it was the linchpin of the entire scheme. “Which gets rid of the safe, and any other evidence connecting the destructor to you. Very clever. But your plan didn’t quite work out.”
He shrugged one silk-covered shoulder. “It seems to have worked out well enough in the end. With Mr. Ugulma dead, I only need to obtain and destroy his notes, and now you have brought them to me. I assume you will require some form of payment in exchange for them?”
“Yes. Three things.”
“Name them.”
“Item one: money. Payment of my fee, in cash, including the completion bonus and my expenses. Which were rather larger than I’d anticipated.” I pulled a paper from my suitcase and skimmed it across the desk at him.
He picked up the paper, noted the bottom line, unlocked a file drawer, and tossed me a bundle of bills. I caught it left-handed and put it in my pocket without looking.
“Don’t you want to count it?” he asked.
“I trust you when it comes to money. Item two: information. Why blow up your own factory?”
“For the insurance, of course! I’m surprised you even have to ask. I can read the writing on the wall as well as anyone . . . the age of balloons is over. If I destroy the plant now, while it’s still a going concern, the payout will be more than enough to keep me and mine in style for the rest of our lives.”
“Won’t the insurance company find the explosion suspicious?”
Grossman chuckled again. “You underestimate me, Mr. Drayton. With a little help from my friends in the police department—you may know some of them—I’ve planted evidence tying the biotic destructor to the Silk Workers’ Union. Which not only directs suspicion away from me, but under local law it allows me to claim the union’s pension fund as damages.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that information sufficient payment for your item number two?”
“It is. I’m impressed—not only do you put your own workers out of a job, you steal their pensions.”
“Thank you, Mr. Drayton. I’ve always suspected we have more in common than our taste in women.”
“Which brings us to item three.” I tightened my grip on the pistol. “Maria.”
“Really, Mr. Drayton.” He seemed disappointed. “After all these years?”
“That item is nonnegotiable. Divorce her, or I take Ugulma’s notes to the police. No—the union.”
“What makes you think she still wants you?”
“I only hope that she does. But even if she doesn’t, at least this way she’s out from under your thumb.”
His brown eyes held mine for a long, considering moment. Then he nodded. “Done. You can have her. I’ll file the papers with my lawyer in the morning.”
I blinked. “I didn’t expect it to be that easy.” Frankly, I still didn’t believe it.
“Even the shiniest toy palls with age. I’ll even buy you a ticket to California for her.” I didn’t mention that I’d already included her ticket, and a few other things, in my heavily padded expense report. “So, may I have the file now?”
I handed it over. But there was a fourth item, which I hadn’t mentioned until now because if I called too much attention to it, he might not say what I needed him to say. “Just one more thing. How could you send your own daughter to do your dirty work for you?”
He didn’t look up from flipping through the papers. “Don’t be disingenuous, Mr. Drayton. I know whose daughter she really is. Surely you don’t think I’d send my own flesh and blood into such a dangerous situation?”
“You’re even colder than I’d thought.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Drayton.” He closed the file folder, and now he did look up. “I trust you can find your own way out? I have important business to attend to.”
“Of course.” I tipped my new silk hat. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
I closed the door without any appearance of undue haste, th
en rushed as fast as I could down the stairs to the reception area.
Where I found Lillie crying at the front desk, the intercom’s green light reflecting off her beautiful, tear-streaked face. She’d heard the truth, just as I’d promised her in my second phone call. “Sorry you had to get the news this way,” I said, “but I knew you wouldn’t believe it if you didn’t hear it from his own mouth.”
“He won’t really give her up,” she sobbed. “He’ll just have you killed.”
“I’m sure that’s his plan.” I took her hand, pulled her toward the front doors. “But I know his priorities: money over family. Now that the evidence is in his hands, he’ll want to blow up the plant right away. Come on, move!”
She stumbled along behind me, not resisting me but not really cooperating either. I think she was still in shock from the news. “Why do we have to leave?”
“The bomb has a sonic detonator,” I said as I hustled her out the front door and down the walkway to the street where the cab I’d come in waited. “A certain frequency of whistle sets it off. It has a range of up to a mile.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
We had just reached the cab when a strange high-pitched sound caught our ears and made us both look back.
A moment later came a horrible squelching bang, and the illuminated window of Grossman’s office was suddenly splattered with green. Green with streaks of red.
The green immediately began to spread, oozing through the cracks the explosion had made in the office windows, creeping over the outside surface of the building. Inside, I knew, it would be even worse, all that shining aluminum and steel vanishing under a rapidly spreading carpet of highly corrosive mold.
And what it did to human flesh and bone . . . well, it was a crime.
“Come on!” I said, and hustled Lillie up into the cab’s howdah.
I’d moved just one of the carboys from the factory basement into Grossman’s office, disconnecting the detonators from the others. I hoped it would destroy only the office block, leaving the plant intact. At least then the workers would still have their jobs, for a few more years at least, and their pensions after that. But I couldn’t be sure, so I wanted to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible.
Moving the carboy hadn’t been easy, or safe, but it wasn’t the first time I’d disobeyed my CO’s orders and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
“Take us to the port,” I told the cabbie. “We have an airliner to catch.”
When I saw Maria in the terminal bar, the tension that had been gripping my temples eased . . . and then immediately returned, even stronger.
I’d been too chicken to phone her directly. Instead, I’d called an old mutual friend and asked her to pass a message. I’d been worried she wouldn’t follow through, or that the message wouldn’t reach Maria in time, or that she’d get the message and pass on it. But she was here, sitting on a bar stool, clad all in black silk, with those magnificent legs crossed at the ankle. Smoking a cigarette, staring off into space, just waiting. Waiting for me at the bar, the way we used to do for each other back in happier times.
But when she heard what I had to say, she’d probably want to kill me.
As we approached, Lillie took away any opportunity I might have had to break the news gently. As soon as she saw Maria she ran toward her, sobbing over and over, “Daddy’s dead!”
Maria took the girl into her arms and held her tight. It made my heart ache, remembering those arms around my own shoulders, but I held back to give the two of them a moment together.
After a time, Maria raised her head from her daughter’s shoulder and looked me right in the eye.
She was dry-eyed.
“Mike,” she said. Just that, just my name, even as she patted her baby girl on the back.
“Maria,” I replied in kind. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has.” She squeezed Lillie again, gave her a silk handkerchief from her purse, and led her to a booth. They sat on one side, the daughter sobbing with her head on her arms, the mother stroking her back; I sat opposite them, noticing how similar and yet how different they were. Maria ordered gin-and-tonics for both of us—our favorite tipple, back when—and ginger ale for the girl.
“How did it happen?” Maria asked me after the waiter left. She didn’t look happy, but she wasn’t devastated either, just subdued.
The G&T sat in front of me like an accusation. I folded my hands on the worn Formica and composed my thoughts before proceeding. “Grossman was planning to destroy the factory for the insurance money,” I explained. “I caught him at it, but he went ahead with his plan anyway, there was an accident with the bomb, and he was killed. The office block is a total loss, I’m sure. The plant might be okay.” Was there anything important I’d left out? Oh, yeah. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
She didn’t even acknowledge my pathetic attempt at solace. “It isn’t just a coincidence that you’re here,” she said.
“No, it isn’t. He brought me here as part of his plan—he was hoping to kill me as well as blow up the plant. But I got away.” I was trying to tell the truth, but in a way that wouldn’t hurt anyone more than necessary. I was failing miserably on both counts. “Oh, and one other thing. Before he died, he admitted in Lillie’s hearing that he isn’t her real father.”
Lillie raised her head from her arms. There was mascara all over the sleeve of her white silk jacket. She looked at her mother accusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Maria’s face changed completely as she turned to her daughter, showing the deep, unbending love she’d once given to me. “I couldn’t, darling. I couldn’t hurt you like that. If you’d known, you would have had to choose . . . all day, every day. Do you pretend a love you don’t feel, and maintain the luxurious lifestyle to which you’ve become accustomed? Or do you admit your true feelings, and get thrown back into the swamp with the other little fish . . . with the enmity of one of Cooksport’s richest and most powerful men as an additional weight around your neck?” She returned her attention to me, her expression going back to neutral. “I would never wish that choice on anyone.”
“You don’t have to choose any more,” I told her, and reached into my jacket pocket. “I got us tickets to L.A. on the San Pablo, leaving tonight.” I laid the envelope on the table, pushed it toward her. “It’s not first-class accommodations, but I got us a family suite, with two bedrooms. For the three of us. A real family, finally, after all these years.”
Maria’s face softened into the one I remembered . . . a little older, a little wearier, but still as full of hope and love as the one I’d known before the war.
And then it hardened again, and she slid the envelope back to my side of the table.
“I made my choice twenty years ago, Mike,” she said, and took a sip of her G&T. “Now I’m a society matron. I have responsibilities. I can’t just run away for love.” She looked down into her drink. “Someone has to keep Superior Silk running, for another few years at least, or this whole town will fall right into the swamp. “
“Who cares?”
“I care, Mike. The workers . . . the aboriginals need us. We’ve taken so much from them . . . I couldn’t just abandon them.”
“You don’t have to do this . . .”
“I don’t know how to be a detective’s wife!” she snapped. “I can’t make a happy home on just sunshine and oranges.” Then she seemed to gather herself up, and reached out and took my hand. “I’m sorry, Mike,” she said, with a sweet, sad smile that showed she really meant it. “I’m too set in my ways to change now. Just leave me here with my mansion and my swimming pool and my million-dollar life insurance payout. I’ll struggle through.”
I picked up my G&T, tilted it back and forth. Watched the way the alcohol beaded on the inside of the glass.
Then I set it down.
“What about Lillie?” I asked.
They both looked at me. Both of their eyes so blue.
“It
’s not too late for her,” I went on. “Let me take her out of this overcast, overheated swamp and back to L.A. where it’s sunny and clement all year round. I can’t offer her a mansion, but I make a decent living.” I turned to my daughter. “And I could use a good secretary.”
Lillie looked at her mother. Her mother looked back.
The connection that I saw pass between them was something I’ve never felt in my whole life—not with a woman, not with my own mother or father, not even with my wartime buddies.
And Maria nodded.
“Now boarding,” came the amplified voice of the terminal announcer, echoing across the terminal’s chipped terrazzo, “the A. S. San Pablo for Los Angeles. All aboard!”
The two women hugged and kissed and promised to write while I paid the tab, gathered up my suitcase, and marveled at what I’d seen pass between them.
It was a moment of shared sacrifice, mutual respect, and deep trust that would tear my cynical heart apart like a two-stroke lawnmower trying to run on high-test aviation fuel.
And I hoped to God that living with Lillie would teach me how to trust like that.
Maria let go of her daughter and, finally, gave me a hug. “If you let anything happen to her,” she whispered in my ear, “I’ll kill you.”
“I’ll do my best,” I murmured back.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” And she let go of me, except for one hand, and continued in a normal voice. “Take good care of my daughter, Mike.”
“She’s my daughter, too.”
“All aboard!” repeated the announcer, and we skedaddled. I looked back one last time as we walked away, but she was already gone.
It was still night when the airliner broke through the clouds, and for the first time in weeks I saw the stars—clean and bright and pure. A gleaming white pinprick for every regret in my life.
The Year’s Best Military SF & Space Opera Page 10