The Sam Gunn Omnibus

by Ben Bova

  Then she spotted a face that was obviously phony. A gold turban wrapped around the head of a man whose luxuriant black beard was so thick that all she could see of his face was a generous beak of a nose and tiny, squinty eyes of some indeterminate light color.

  Who else? Jade asked herself.

  The name beneath the image read “Sri Malabar Singh Satay.” Jade laughed aloud. A phony if I ever saw one! she told herself. Just as phony as that snout and beard.

  To make sure, she looked up his biography. It was impressive. If the data could be believed, Malabar Singh Satay was one of Earth’s foremost musicians, a concert pianist, and scion of a fabulously wealthy Sikh family that had fled the biowar that had depopulated the Indian subcontinent and now made their principal residence on the island of Malabar in the East Indies.

  Yeah, right! Jade said to herself. So what’s he doing on the Moon?

  She contacted the Selenite Hotel and was put through to Mr. Satay’s suite with only a minimum of delay. A darkly beautiful woman with large, lustrous eyes answered her call and agreed, in a silky voice that carried an exotic slightly singsong lilt, to allow Jade to interview Mr. Satay that very afternoon.

  Jade laughed to herself all the way to the hotel. He thinks he can fool me with that phony beard and schnozzola, she thought. Fingering the voice analyzer she was carrying in her purse, Jade told herself, I’ve got his voiceprint on the chip; no matter what kind of crazy accent he tries to use, the analyzer will pin him down. Once it chimes, Sam’s game is up.

  The same woman opened the door to Satay’s suite and welcomed Jade in with a bow and a sweeping gesture. Despite the fact that she wearing a perfectly ordinary pants suit and hardly any jewelry at all, she looked exotic and terribly beautiful to Jade. Must be the perfume, Jade told herself as she followed the woman into a sumptuously furnished living room. A massive grand piano stood in one corner, beneath a smart screen that showed a view of the long-destroyed Taj Mahal.

  “I am Indra,” the young woman said. “Mr. Satay’s daughter.”

  Daughter? Jade immediately felt her face flush with emotion. But before she could say a word, Malabar Singh Satay stepped into the room like a Mogul emperor entering his throne chamber.

  He was much taller than Jade had expected, his skin a dark, almost coppery color. The turban adds to his height, she told herself. And the beard hides most of his face.

  “Ms. Inconnu,” said Satay in a low, gravely voice. He pressed his hands together before his face and dipped his chin slightly. The voice analyzer in Jade’s purse remained silent.

  She bowed back, self-consciously. “Mr. Satay,” she murmured. She saw that he was wearing white silk gloves. To protect his pianist’s hands, she thought. And not leave any fingerprints.

  Satay was much taller than Sam would be, Jade realized. Tall and slim and somehow elegant-looking in a thigh-length brocaded jacket with a high, tight collar. He gestured Jade to the striped couch in the middle of the big room, then perched straight-backed on the facing armchair. Indra moved silently behind Jade; she couldn’t tell if the woman had taken a chair or left the room altogether.

  “I am so very glad you asked for this interview,” Satay said. “It is always a pleasure to be interviewed by the news media, yes indeed. I am afraid that I am something of an egotist. It must very likely be an essential part of a concert pianist’s personality.”

  Fumbling for an idea, Jade stammered, “It... it’s not often that we ... the people of Selene, that is ... we don’t get many distinguished musicians visiting us.”

  He seemed to smile. With the beard and luxuriant mustache, it was difficult to tell.

  “Oh my goodness, not at all. On the contrary, Ms. Inconnu, Selene has a very illustrious symphony orchestra. Indeed, many of the finest musicians on Earth have come here to retire and then extended their careers in the low gravity and relaxed social atmosphere of your delightful community. I feel honored to be allowed to perform with them, certainly I do.”

  As they chatted on, Jade became more and more convinced that this elegant man actually was who he claimed to be, and not Sam Gunn in disguise. After nearly an hour of talking, he got up and went to the piano, stripped off the silk gloves, and began to play the languid opening bars of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” for Jade.

  “Rather appropriate, considering where we are,” he said over the music, “don’t you believe so?”

  Jade had to agree. It wasn’t until Satay had completed the piece with its stirring final movement that she realized she was no closer to finding Sam than she had been before meeting the pianist.

  As the last notes faded away, Jade sat on the sofa, too awed by the music to applaud.

  “That’s ... beautiful,” she breathed, knowing that her words were terribly lame.

  “Thank you so very much,” Satay replied, without moving from the piano bench. He eyed her for a silent moment, then asked, “Are you not the woman who narrated those illuminating biographical shows about Sam Gunn?”

  “Yes,” Jade said. “I am.”

  “They were magnificent, truly,” said Satay. “You captured such a complex personality so well, so faithfully. A magnificent achievement.”

  It was Jade’s turn to say, “Thank you.”

  “You must know him very well, very well indeed.”

  “Actually, I’ve never met him.”

  “Never met him?” Satay’s bushy brows rose almost to the edge of his turban.

  “No. Never.”

  “Would you like to?”

  Jade felt her pulse quicken. “Yes! Of course!”

  “He’s coming here this evening,” Satay said. Then, his face darkening, he added, “He has been courting my daughter.”

  “Sam?” “Sam”

  Jade turned and saw that Indra was not in the room. She had left her father alone with her.

  Slowly, she asked, “When you say ‘courting,’ do you mean that Sam has proposed marriage to your daughter?”

  His face darkening even more, Satay replied, “Not a word about marriage, not one syllable.”

  Jade nodded.

  “The man is notorious,” Satay growled.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “My daughter seems infatuated with him.”

  “Sam can be very... infatuating.”

  His bearded face broke into a fierce smile. “I have it! Why don’t you join us for dinner? We will make a foursome of the evening.”

  Her heart thundering, Jade said, “I’d love to.”

  JADE SCOOTED TO her meager apartment and changed into her best evening wear: a simple sleeveless black frock adorned with a pearl necklace and earrings. Trying to calm the excited pounding of her pulse, she made her way back to the hotel and Satay’s suite.

  The pianist was wearing a splendid gold brocade jacket that made Jade feel shabby. Indra was dressed in a silk sari of deep rose interwoven with glittering silver threads.

  Sam was not there.

  “He is late,” Satay murmured as his daughter poured iced tea for them.

  “He’ll be here,” said Indra as she handed Jade a tall frosted glass. “He must be very careful, you know.”

  “Careful?” Jade asked.

  Indra nodded. “Unscrupulous people are searching for him. They want to—”

  The doorbell chimed. Indra fairly flew to the front door, her sari flapping. Jade saw that her father looked grim.

  Indra opened the door and in he stepped. Sam Gunn.

  He’s an elf! she thought. Jade saw that Sam barely stood as tall as Satay’s shoulder. Even Indra was a few centimeters taller than he. He was smiling widely at her, a gap-toothed grin that looked slightly lopsided. His face was round and freckled, his nose a button. His brick-red hair was neatly combed, except for a couple of cowlicks sprouting from the back of his head.

  My hair’s a little lighter in color than Sam’s, Jade thought. And my face is very different. But we’re almost exactly the same height.

  Sam kissed Indra’s hand a
s he entered the spacious room; she smiled beamingly at him. He clasped his hands in front of his face and bowed politely to Satay, who bowed back, stone-faced.

  Then Sam turned and seemed to realize for the first time that there was one other person in the room.

  He looked at Jade, blinked, then said, “Hey, I know you.”

  Jade said nothing. She couldn’t. Her throat was so constricted that not a word could come out.

  Walking toward her across the thickly luxuriant carpeting, Sam said, “You’re the kid who hosted those bioshows about me. Jane something, isn’t it?”

  “Mr. Gunn,” Satay intervened, “may I present Ms. Jane Avril Inconnu.”

  “She not only narrated your shows, Sam,” lndra added, “she produced them.”

  Sam stepped up to Jade. We’re exactly the same height, she told herself.

  With a grin, Sam said, “You’re a natural redhead, like me. Not many of us around.”

  “You have to have the right genes,” Jade heard herself say.

  Satay announced, “I have dinner laid on here. I know how much you want to avoid being seen in public.”

  It seemed to take an effort for Sam to take his eyes away from Jade. “Yeah, right,” he said absently. “Too many prying eyes out there.”

  Indra hooked her arm around Sam’s and guided him toward the dining room. Following them, Jade took Satay’s proffered arm.

  “Why are you afraid of prying eyes?” Jade asked as they took their seats around the square glass-topped dining table. A pair of squat, silvery robots stood along one wall, glasses and pitchers on their flat tops.

  “Yes,” said Indra. “You told me that all those lawsuits against you have been dropped.” She was seated across the table from Jade, and the two men faced each other.

  “I’m involved in a pretty delicate business,” Sam said as one of the robots rolled up beside him. He took a water glass, then asked Indra what she wanted.

  “A martini, please,” Indra replied. Satay asked for a double.

  “And you?” he asked Jade.

  “Is there any wine?”

  The robot’s synthesized voice replied, “There is an excellent Sancerre in my cooler, ma’am.”

  Sam opened the insulated door in the robot’s chest and pulled out a green-tinted bottle. “From France,” he murmured appreciatively.

  Once they had all sipped at their drinks, Jade asked again, “Why all the secrecy, Mr. Gunn?”

  “Call me Sam.”

  “Why all the secrecy, Sam?”

  He laughed; Jade thought it was a trifle forced. “You’re a newshound, all right. A regular bloodhound.”

  “Well?” Jade insisted.

  Sam glanced at Satay, then said, “I’m involved in negotiations to buy the Selene Philharmonic Orchestra.”

  “Buy the orchestra?” Jade asked, surprised. “But you can’t! It’s owned by the people of Selene.”

  “Not really,” Sam said.

  “That is what I thought, also,” Satay interjected. “I was led to believe that the Philharmonic is a municipal organization, not privately owned.”

  “It’s a little tricky,” Sam started to explain. But when he looked at Jade he asked, “What do I call you, anyway? Ms. Inconnu? Jane? What?”

  “Mrs. Johansen,” Jade answered. “You know my husband.”

  “Spence?” Sam’s voice jumped an octave. “You’re married to Spence Johansen? He’s here at Selene?”

  “Yes, to both questions.”

  Sam thought that over for all of three seconds. Then, “Okay, but I can’t call you Mrs. Johansen: too stuffy.”

  “My friends call me Jade.”

  “Jade,” he repeated. Indra cast a less-than-friendly glance at Jade, then touched Sam’s arm possessively.

  “Perhaps we should begin our meal,” Satay suggested. “Before the robots become impatient.”

  They all laughed politely.

  Throughout the dinner Sam regaled them with tales of his adventures with Spencer Johansen, and Larry Karsh, Elverda Apacheta, even his double who—he claimed—had returned to the black hole out beyond the orbit of Pluto. On and on, Sam talked nonstop until they had finished dessert and were sipping cognac from oversized snifters.

  “I still don’t understand about this orchestra business,” Jade said, trying to get back to the subject she was interested in. “Why should you want to buy the Philharmonic?”

  “Sam is a philanthropist at heart,” Indra said.

  “Really?”

  Sam gave her a wry grin. “It’s like this. Legally, the orchestra is owned by a consortium of Selene’s citizens. Its revenues come from private donations—which are never enough to cover its expenses. The difference is made up out of taxes and annual fund drives.”

  “So?”

  “So I figured that if I owned the orchestra I could foot its expenses, whatever they are, and spare the citizens of Selene the annual begging campaign.”

  “And the taxes,” Indra added.

  Sam nodded.

  “But where would the money come from?” Jade asked. “As I understand it you’re broke.”

  Waggling a hand in the air, Sam said, “Well, not exactly broke. I still get a trickle of money from my share of the Hell Crater resort complex.”

  “I thought you signed all that away to Rockledge.”

  With a grin, Sam replied, “So did a certain silver-haired slimeball named Pierre D’Argent. But I kept one percent. He was so glad to get his hands on the complex that he overlooked that little piece of fine print.”

  “One percent of the gross,” Indra said, with a tiny giggle.

  “Is that true?” asked Jade.

  He looked deeply into her eyes before answering. “More or less,” he said at last.

  Satay spoke up. “I must say that it will be quite an experience for the orchestra to be under your management.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Sam said absently, still staring at Jade. “You know, kid, you remind me of somebody ... but I can’t put a finger on who it is.”

  Jean Margaux, Jade replied silently, her insides trembling. But she said nothing.

  A long awkward silence filled the sumptuous room. Sam kept staring at Jade, as if trying to fathom her innermost secrets.

  At last Indra said sharply, “There are people here in Selene who would not want to allow Sam to gain control of the orchestra.”

  “The notorious Sam Gunn,” Satay murmured.

  “That’s why I’ve got to be careful,” Sam said, still unable to take his eyes off Jade.

  At last she found her voice. “There’s also the Beryllium Blonde, isn’t there?”

  Sam frowned. “La Marlowe? She came all the way here to nail me with a phony breach of promise suit.”

  “Breach of promise?” Indra’s dark eyes flashed.

  “I never promised her anything,” Sam said, patting her hand. “She’s just a lawyer trying to make an ill-gotten buck.”

  “What about Jill Meyers?” Jade blurted.

  Sam’s eyes snapped wide with genuine surprise. “Jill’s here too?”

  Realizing she had blundered, Jade tried to retreat. “She’s got more claim to marriage than the Blonde.”

  With obvious irony, Satay asked, “Sam, are you perhaps a Moslem? How many wives can you have?”

  “That is not funny, father,” said Indra.

  Sam looked from father to daughter and then back to Jade. “You can see why I have to be careful,” he muttered.

  THE DINNER ENDED on a definitely sour note. Jade excused herself at last and headed back toward her apartment, two levels above the hotel. As she walked disconsolately along the long, gray-walled corridor, she heard someone call her name.

  Turning, she saw it was Sam pushing his way past a strolling elderly couple.

  “Wait up a minute,” he said, hurrying toward her. “You can’t just walk away from me, can you?”

  “Not from you,” Jade admitted. “It’s just...”

  “Just what?�
� He seemed sincerely troubled that Jade was obviously so upset.

  “You’re in real danger, Sam,” she temporized. “Marlowe and Jill Meyers both intend to get you to marry them. And Satay wants you to marry his daughter—or get out of her life.”

  “I’ve been in trouble before. I can handle it.”

  “But why—”

  “Look,” he said, waving his arms as they walked along the nearly deserted corridor, “I cuddled up to Indra so I could get to meet her father. I need Satay on my side to help impress the committee that’s running the orchestra.”

  “Impress the committee?”

  “Those stuffed shirts think I’ll steal the orchestra and take it to the other end of the Milky Way or something. They don’t trust me!”

  Jade started to laugh, but then she saw that he seemed genuinely hurt.

  She said, “Can you blame them? Your reputation doesn’t put you on track for sainthood.”

  “Aw, Jade! From you? You’ve followed my life and you know what I’ve done: the good, the bad, and the so-so. You think I’m a bum too?”

  That made her smile. “No, I don’t think you’re a bum, Sam.”

  “Half the things I’ve been blamed for I never did. Honest!” He clapped one hand to his heart and raised the other over his head.

  “The other half is quite enough,” Jade countered. “You’re no saint, Sam.”

  Breaking into a grin, he replied, “Who wants to be?”

  They were only a few meters from Jade’s front door. As they walked up to it, Jade asked, “Sam, what’s your real reason for wanting to buy the orchestra? And how can you handle it, financially?”

  “You going to invite me in?” he asked, with a sly grin.

  “No.”

  “Scared?”

  “Yes, but not in the way you think.”

  He cocked his head to one side, his grin slowly vanishing. “Okay. I’ll answer your questions, but not out here in the corridor.”

  Jade knew she had to out-maneuver him. Thinking swiftly, she said, “Let’s do lunch tomorrow. There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

  “Not the Blonde.”