The Legend That Was Earth

by James P. Hogan

  They disposed of the guns and other possibly incriminating articles, and Cade handed over his own ID papers and personal effects for mailing to a collection address where he could pick them up later. A woman from the local network drove him and Marie to downtown Chattanooga, where they got a taxi to the airport. Although, as far as Cade knew, no civilian flights had been affected, much was being made of the dangers of terrorist missile attacks, with signs in the airport warning that passengers flew at their own risk. Cade read it as part of a campaign to promote fear.

  With their official credentials and new identity documents, Cade and Marie cleared the airport check-in routine without incident. They departed an hour and fifteen minutes later on an early afternoon flight to St. Louis, changing at Atlanta.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ON ARRIVAL AT THE ST. LOUIS HILTON, Cade and Marie found themselves booked into a twentieth-floor suite consisting of a comfortably furnished and stocked lounge area in addition to two bedrooms—a typically prim Hyadean consideration, although it suited the circumstances. The desk clerk produced a package for collection by Professor Wintner that contained a phone—presumably with "clean" programmed-in identification and serial numbers—a number at which Vrel could be reached, and two thousand dollars in cash. Cade called Vrel as soon as they got to the suite. Vrel was relieved that they had made it, but was tied up in the city on business right now. He would join them at the hotel later.

  "I see your lifestyle hasn't changed much, Roland," Marie commented. She had been wandering around, inspecting the contents of the mini-bar and refrigerator while he talked to Vrel. "Always the man with the right friends. It's a change from that camper on the farm." She didn't sound entirely approving.

  "Well, suit yourself if you want to stake out a claim on the moral high ground," Cade replied. He picked up the wads of hundreds and fifties and ruffled it at her. "Wearing the same clothes for three days makes me feel kind of grubby. I don't know about you, but I'm going out to do a little shopping, and then freshen up for dinner. Are you coming along, or going to start preaching?" Marie thought about it, sighed, and decided preaching was out for the rest of the day. "So now you're sullying your image by dipping a finger in Hyadean wealth too," Cade said. "What's happening? Are you converting me, or am I corrupting you?"

  "I don't know. But you're right. I just want to feel clean clothes again," she said.

  * * *

  By the time they sat down in the hotel restaurant, they were chattering and swapping banalities almost like old times. Despite the public exposure—or maybe as a consequence of surviving it without incident—Cade felt more secure than he had for days. Inwardly, a part of him was waiting for Marie to get around to politics or principles, because she always had—it was usual. Less usual was his realization that the anticipation wasn't bothering him. In fact, he found he wanted to talk more about such things. The irony was that Marie, for her part, seemed to be heeding his preferences for once by avoiding them. It was Cade, finally, who brought the subject up.

  "What's happened to the fanatic I remember of old? If this goes on, you'll have me thinking we might actually get through dinner without stepping into quicksands."

  "This has been such a change. I didn't want to spoil it." Marie pushed some salad into a wad with her fork and looked up. "Was I always a fanatic?"

  "I used to think so," Cade affirmed candidly. "Now, I don't know. Julia asked about it a lot lately—but I guess we know why now." He chewed thoughtfully for a while. "What makes people do a job like that? . . . Live a life of deception. Could you?"

  "Some people would say our whole lives are nothing else," Marie said, seemingly not to make any particular point.

  "Greed, hatred, and deception," Cade intoned.

  "What about them?"

  "Those are what the Buddhists say are the root of all of life's evils."

  "What's this, a new Roland? How long have you been into stuff like that?"

  "I'm not, really."

  "Yes, I had noticed."

  "It was something that Mike Blair was on about once. Do you remember him—Mike Blair, the scientist?"

  "I only met him a couple of times, I think. Hair with bits of gray in? Wears glasses?"

  Cade nodded. "That's him—except the hair's probably a bit grayer now. He's been getting into Eastern philosophy as well as science. It seems our religions are making a big impression with some of the Hyadeans. They don't have deep philosophical views about things. They just look at what the basic facts are saying and leave it right there. Mike says it has something to do with why they're flying starships and we're not. I didn't really follow it."

  Marie stopped eating for a moment to frown dubiously. "In that case, why should they care about deeper philosophies? What do they need one for?"

  "Because they live their lives stressed out on treadmills tied to getting better ratings on this `entitlement' system of theirs, which I don't understand either."

  "Right. Like taking a day out fishing in a boat off California."

  "I told you, a few like Vrel are different. . . . Well, they're changing. To them, a view of life that values other things beyond just status and material success is a revelation—literally. They've never heard of anything like it. Krossig—he's another Hyadean, who works with Vrel in LA, being moved to Australia—says it's catching on among the kids back home. They talk about Earth as the home of a deeper spirituality: ways of getting in touch with reality that the Hyadeans had once, but lost."

  Marie pulled a face. "I guess I'm a little more cynical with regard to human spirituality. I've been too much in touch with conventional reality these last few years." She eyed him for a moment before spearing more of her salad. "Isn't this a bit out of your line, Roland? Are you changing or something, or did I just never see it?"

  Cade shrugged in a way that said surprises happen all the time. "I see a lot of aliens."

  Marie studied him curiously. "I don't think you realize what an unusual insight it's giving you into alien psychology," she said. "I'll admit, I've tended to see them as all alike—and not all that nice."

  "I do an unusual job," Cade replied.

  * * *

  Vrel arrived later in the evening and joined Cade and Marie in their suite. To show off his expanding repertoire of acquired Terran tastes, he started off by refreshing himself after the day with a cool beer, and then settled down to follow it with black, unsweetened coffee. Marie's manner was guarded to begin with, in the presence of possibly the first alien she had spent any time with at close quarters, but she loosened up as time went on.

  Vrel was anxious to make it clear that Dee hadn't known Rebecca was a setup. Even with his exposure to Terrans, he didn't seem to grasp that the possibility that she might have had never crossed Cade's mind. His concern seemed to imply that a Hyadean in Dee's position might have sold Cade out knowingly if it gained points somehow in the game-plan calculus that they lived by, and hence by their norms some defense of Dee should be necessary. Cade didn't really follow but accepted it as well meant. It was beyond Marie's experience or comprehension.

  Then they got down to the reason why Cade had needed to contact Vrel so urgently. They related the true story of the assassinations of Senator Farden, Lieutenant General Meakes, and the two Hyadeans who had died with them. Vrel listened with growing incredulity, then outrage as Marie explained how the U.S. security services themselves had been responsible, with the implication of possible high-level Hyadean knowledge and collusion. The Hyadeans' nature was not to question what they were told, Cade concluded. It seemed that an unprincipled faction among them were taking advantage of the fact to enrich and empower themselves. Vrel knew the Hyadean system better than they did. There had to be ways of making the truth known in the right places for things to change.

  "And you can substantiate it all with evidence?" Vrel said when they were done.

  "Not by producing Reyvek anymore," Marie replied. "Although the way he was taken out should be evidence enough. But
we have the names and the details, and we know where the documents in Baltimore are."

  "Sovereignty will put the story out here," Cade said. "But how much will find its way back to Chryse? That's where any change in policy will have to come from. How can we get a channel back to there?"

  Vrel left, promising to contact other Hyadeans that he knew. In the meantime, Cade and Marie could remain in the Hilton at Chryse's expense. Vrel even gave special instructions to the on-site Hyadean security personnel who watched over their official guests to make a particular effort to keep "Professor Wintner" and "Dr. Armley" out of sight and incommunicado. He explained that CounterAction had them listed as Hyadean collaborators, and they were possible targets for retaliation. The hotel's regular security staff were notified and agreed to keep the presence of the two academics highly confidential.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CASPER TODDREL HAD ONCE FIRED an assistant who referred to Laura as his "hooker." She could discuss Dostoevsky or Freud, Hegel or Brahms, Dow Jones or the Bolshoi Ballet in four languages, knew how to get a floorside table or instant theater ticket anywhere in New York, and had preferred accounts at Tiffany's, Bendel's, and Saks. The Upper East Side apartment suite that he provided for her had come in at half a million and cost two thousand a month to maintain. He didn't object to how she used it when he wasn't in town, so long as she was discreet. The place had more than paid for itself in the information it yielded from loose-tongued business rivals, whom Laura was an expert at playing. She seemed to get a kick out of it—as if it put her in a role of intimate collusion with Toddrel. Since he never detected any similar ploy being made toward himself, he felt reasonably safe in concluding that she wasn't overextending by trying any double-agent games.

  A coalition of churches had staged a demonstration in Dallas to protest the passing of new laws aimed at curbing the dissemination of politically subversive material from pulpits and in parish magazines, and the local police had responded too zealously for prudence. Toddrel sat at the desk in the suite's den, brooding at a picture that had come in over the net, showing a priest holding his arms up protectively against a riot trooper brandishing a baton. This couldn't be allowed to get out. He finished composing a message putting a hold on media release and ordering the removal of the official responsible for security arrangements in Dallas. As he sent it off, Laura's hands began massaging his shoulders through the robe that he was wearing.

  "Hey, Big Guy, haven't you had enough of that for one day?" her voice murmured. The scent of perfume touched his nostrils. A lace-covered breast rubbed the side of his head. "Tammy's in the Jacuzzi already. We've got a surprise."

  Toddrel slid his hand up to find hers and smiled distantly. "This was urgent. But you're right. . . . There are times when enough is enough." He returned fully to the present and rose from the chair, his manner lightening. "Have you really? This sounds interesting. . . ." And then his phone emitted the tone for his priority-secure channel. "I have to take this."

  "Oh, Casper. . . ."

  "It probably won't take a minute. Run along and wash Tammy's back." Laura knew better than to argue further and disappeared. Toddrel patched the call through to the desk unit. The screen showed the face of Francis Denham, a British investment banker whom Toddrel had talked to during a recent European visit. The effect on world prices gave Denham his own reasons for wanting to curb the Hyadean mining operations in Bolivia. Before Toddrel departed, they had agreed on the need for a face-to-face meeting with representatives of like-minded Hyadeans. With Senator Farden out of the way, the time was ripe for coordinating further action.

  "Good day, Casper—or whatever time it is wherever you are," Denham began. "I trust you had a pleasant trip back?"

  "Good enough. What's the news?"

  "I've heard back from our friends." He meant Hyadeans who were raising Terran currency by marketing Terran skills back home rather than undercutting Terran industry. "We seem agreed in principle. The official agenda will be on armaments movements." Toddrel had suggested that as the ostensible reason for getting together. Preventing Hyadean and foreign-manufactured Terran weapons from reaching subversive groups was a concern both in the U.S. and Europe. In the latter case, overland movement from Asia was becoming a major problem, and closing of the Canadian and Mexican borders was being considered on the other side of the Atlantic. Another potentially controversial measure that had been proposed was the stopping and searching of ships bound for U.S. or European waters.

  But that would be a smokescreen. Denham went on, "One thing that we have to give due consideration to beforehand, I think, would be the question of, how would we say? . . . extending the principle exemplified by Echelon to more general operations."

  Toddrel smiled. Even over a secure line, the Englishman couldn't bring himself to state a delicate matter directly. Echelon was code for the action taken to eliminate Farden and Meakes. What Denham meant was engineering ways of not only concealing but publicly blaming the other side for actions that could not be admitted to. "We'd both like to see the scale of activity in Bolivia cut back," Toddrel supplied. "And there's a guerrilla war going on down there. What I'm hearing is that some destabilization in that part of the world would work to our advantage."

  "Er, yes. . . . I think we are on the same wavelength," Denham agreed.

  "I'll get proposals from our experts in that department," Toddrel said. "I assume that's what this meeting is for." He bit his lip as he spoke. He still wasn't happy about the security situation concerning Echelon. The ISS's confirmation that Reyvek had been among those killed in the Chattanooga raid had come as some relief; on the other hand, the loss of their undercover operative in the motel meant that nobody knew how much information the two who had escaped might have taken with them. He didn't want to divulge any of that now.

  "Yes. . . . Exactly," Denham said.

  "Where will this meeting be? Do we know yet?" Toddrel inquired.

  "Not for sure. I thought we might go to them this time, and make it somewhere in South America. That sounds like an interesting trip, and to be honest I've never been there. What would you say?"

  Peals of laughter accompanied by splashing noises came from along the passageway beyond the door. "Well, New York does have its attractions, but there are times when I could use a change too," Toddrel said. "Sure. Put me down as seconding it."

  * * *?

  Vrel reappeared intermittently for two days, during which Cade and Marie remained out of sight in the hotel. Gradually, they opened up, talking more about their lives in the years since they had gone separate ways—he having nothing to conceal; she, more circumspect for obvious reasons. They had drifted apart into different worlds. Now, suddenly and unexpectedly, they were thrown together in the same world. Cade began to remember Marie again as he had known her—living life with an intensity that made each day a unique experience. The difference now was that he was sharing it in a way that he would never have thought possible. Marie, for her part, had to accept that her world hadn't protected them, and their security now stemmed from Cade's world which she had once contemned.

  Cade couldn't decide if the erosion of barriers between them was simply a pragmatic reaction to the situation or signified something deeper and more personal. Even in his own case, he wasn't sure. One night, after they had sat up late in the suite talking over a bottle of Grand Marnier and then gone separate ways, he returned and stood outside Marie's door undecidedly. The drink and the closeness had left him mellow, and he found it easy to create scenarios in his mind of reliving lost intimacies. But in the end he turned away and went back to the other room. Something didn't feel right. He marveled at this apparently newfound sensitivity that he was able to muster. Udovich would surely have approved.

  * * *

  The next morning, Vrel appeared and announced that they were going to Bolivia. Marie wasn't used to the Hyadeans' blunt, unceremonious way of going about things once they had set their mind.

  "Just like that. Out of the
blue. We're going to Bolivia," she repeated lamely.

  "Roland, do you remember Corto Tevlak? Wyvex talked about him at that last party of yours," Vrel said.

  "The art promoter who was developing Chrysean outlets, right?"

  "Yes. He's been worried for some time about the way things are going here in the U.S. and on Earth generally, too. Erya talked to him on her way back. He knows others down there who feel the same way, including some Chrysean media people. The public back on Chryse is being misinformed, but questions are starting to be asked. Earth and its cultures are big news right now. This could be a good moment for getting attention in the right places." Vrel paused to let them absorb that much, then shrugged. "You're not safe here in the U.S. in any case. I'm told that from South America it would be easier to get you somewhere where you can stay out of the way for a while."

  Just like that.

  "Well, it's a nice thought, Vrel," Cade agreed. "But just how do you imagine you'll get us to Bolivia—when every security agent and surveillance computer in the country will be looking for us?"

  "In the same way that we're hosting you now," Vrel replied. "As guests of the Hyadean government. We fly you there ourselves, VIP class." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think that Terrans just look for problems, not solutions."

  Cade stared at him strangely. "You do realize what you're doing, Vrel?" he said. "A pure favor, probably at considerable risk, with no immediate payoff. Doesn't it feel just a little bit odd?"

  "The idea of being motivated by helping others. Yes, I agree— it's very odd." Vrel paused to consider the question fully. "My honest answer is that I find it . . . strangely uplifting." He grinned apologetically. "I can't explain it either."

  * * *