Niels stood perplexed for a moment; he knew he didn't have a reservation. Nervously, he glanced around and then followed the man to a prime table near the re-created waterfall surrounded by tree ferns. He ordered a chardonnay and kept an eye on a wall clock, which displayed the time in both New York and New Zealand. It was all he could do; he had no plan past this point. He didn't even know where he'd sleep this night. All reputable hotels required photo ID and a government Insta-check. Maybe there were still flophouses in the city. But he couldn't bring himself to consider that option.
At seven thirty, he began to worry that his father hadn't understood his clue. At seven forty-five, he was all but certain of it. But at seven fifty, Herrick sauntered in.
Niels rose. “Dad, I was worried."
Herrick chuckled and motioned him to sit. “That I wouldn't understand the clue?"
“Well, yeah. Especially since you're never late."
“The phone eavesdroppers would know I was meeting you at seven thirty, so I made sure I was somewhere else then.” He motioned for a waiter. “And as to the clue, it was rather obvious. The Whiffenpoof Song. Now, really!” He chuckled. “'From the tables down at Mory's,” he sang softly, “to the place where Louie dwells.'” He chuckled again. “Maori's, Mory's. Bit of a stretch. It's good I didn't get sidetracked by wondering where Louie dwelled."
The waiter came to their table. “Mind if I join you?” he said.
“I didn't think waiters were allowed to do that,” said Herrick.
“Do we have any choice?” said Niels, convinced, for some reason, that the man was an operative of the Genetic Security Agency.
Looking hurt, the man pursed his lips. Then he gave a ritual smile, dropped a New Zealand travel brochure on the table, and began to walk off.
“Wait,” Herrick called after. “That was rude. Please forgive us but, you see, my son's been under a lot of stress lately."
The man turned and came back to the table.
“Yes, I apologize,” said Niels, pulling out a chair for the man. “I'm very sorry, but I thought you might be a government official."
“Oh, but I am,” said the man as he sat. “Division of Tourism."
“Tourism and Immigration, I assume,” said Herrick.
The man turned to him. “Are you interested in New Zealand?"
“Yes,” said Herrick. “I think perhaps more than you know."
The man smiled. “Perhaps I know more than you think."
“Such as?” said Niels, “Mister..."
“I'm Gordon Ridgedale,” said the man. “And for starters, I know you are Niels Pederson. You are thirty-seven years old, in good health, a professor of embryonics, and might be considering immigrating to New Zealand."
“How did you ... What makes you think I'm—"
Herrick put a hand on his son's arm. “Let's listen,” he said softly. “This might be a way out."
“And I must say,” Gordon went on, “that you have more than enough New Zealand immigration points."
Herrick cleared his throat, drawing Gordon's attention.
“And you, sir, also have sufficient points to immigrate."
“Thank you,” said Herrick. “It's something my son and I will have to discuss."
“Very good.” Gordon stood. “Why don't you have that discussion now?” He pointed to an inconspicuous door at the rear of the dining room. “Then come visit me in room six. Through that door. The door code is 4444."
“Not very secure, is it?” said Herrick.
“Oh, it's not to keep out foreign operatives and other riffraff; they'd doubtless break in through the back. It's just so as not to tempt honest blokes."
Niels gazed at the man, framed against the waterfall and the tree ferns. “Does every potential immigrant get such royal treatment?"
Gordon smiled. “If they've been recommended by NZ-SIS, they do."
Niels wrinkled his nose in puzzlement, but then he caught sight of Susan walking into the dining area. He waved her over.
Herrick and Niels stood as she approached. Gordon turned to follow their gaze. “Hello, Susan,” he said.
“Oh.” Susan shifted her gaze from Niels to Gordon. “Hi, Gordon. Have I missed much?"
“You know each other,” said Niels. Mentally, he slapped himself for stating the obvious.
“Niels, dear boy.” Susan gave a soft, good-natured laugh. “There are not very many of us Kiwis in New York at the moment."
“Are you here to recommend another restaurant to us?” asked Herrick, coolly.
“I beg your pardon?” said Susan.
“You'll have to forgive my father.” Niels pulled out a chair for Susan. “He's somehow gotten the idea that you're a CIA intelligence agent."
“I am an intelligence agent, actually."
“What?"
Susan sat, as did Herrick. Niels, stunned by Susan's admission, remained standing.
“NZ-SIS, New Zealand Intelligence,” said Susan. “Part-time, of course."
“Oh.” Niels slowly sat.
“I've suggested,” said Gordon, “that our guests join me in room six after they've had some time to discuss the situation."
“Am I invited?” said Susan.
Gordon stood. “You're the guest of honor.” He nodded politely to each of them, turned, and walked to the door.
“So.” Niels bit his lower lip. “You're an intelligence agent. And I assume that's how this Gordon person knows all about us."
“Yes. But I'm here as your friend.” Susan placed a hand over his. “You've got to believe that."
“Well, I believe it,” said Herrick. He smiled warmly.
Susan smiled back. “Thank you.” She turned to Niels. “I should let you and your father have that discussion.” She stood. “When you're finished, I'll see you in room six. Did Gordon give you the key code?"
“Yes."
“Good.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I really think you should emigrate. You'd have a great future in New Zealand."
“Could it be arranged?” asked Herrick. “Now? Immediately?"
“Yes. That's the whole idea.” Susan pointed to the unobtrusive door and walked toward it.
When she'd gotten out of earshot, Herrick said, “She's right, of course. There's no future for you in the States at the moment."
“It would solve a lot of problems.” Niels sighed. “But abandoning my country. Do you really think it's the right thing to do?"
“Your country?” said Herrick almost at a whisper. He smiled. “Yes, it's the right thing,” he said with some hesitation. “But I can't say I'm not biased by my desire for grandchildren."
Niels nodded sadly. He knew he should mention the Samenzellenbank, but he felt clinically uncomfortable about bringing up such subjects with his dad.
“You'll marry her, of course."
“What? Dad!"
“I'm not going with you,” said Herrick, softly.
“What do you mean?"
“I'm comfortable with my life here. I'm not in danger—not any more. The government will leave me alone now. And anyway, it would be hard to flee the country with Fleabiscuit."
“I'm certainly not going to leave without you."
“You must.” Herrick leaned forward, eye to eye. “You'd be doing it for me; I do want those grandchildren.” He gazed off toward the door. “New Zealand's not the end of the world.” He turned back to Niels. “Well, maybe it is. But we both have computer-cams."
Niels opened his mouth to protest, but Herrick waved him quiet. “On emigration,” said Herrick, “the government reclaims private Social Security accounts. And, frankly, I need the money."
Niels balled his fists. “Damn this so-called government of ours."
Herrick slumped in his chair. He looked old and tired. “Things will swing back to normal,” he said. “The pendulum always does."
“Pendulum? It's more like a descending spiral."
Herrick drew himself up straight in his chair. “You'd better give me your
house keys,” he said in a business-like tone. “I'll ship stuff to you when you need it. And where did you leave your car?"
“My car. Forget about it. The traffic fine will be more than its value.” Niels sniffed. “Dad, I can't believe it's come to this."
Herrick took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “The pendulum will swing back,” he said. “I'm sure of it. You'll be able to return. Although after living in New Zealand, I'm not sure you'll want to."
“Dad, I..."
“Go. Don't keep them waiting. The decision's been made.” Herrick reached an arm around Niels's shoulder. “I love you, son.” Quickly, as if embarrassed by the show of emotion, Herrick withdrew the arm. “Go! Please!” Then he added in an unemotional voice. “What about your passport?"
“I always carry it. I prefer it to these damned National ID Cards.” Slowly, Niels stood. He exchanged a forced smile with his father, turned, and strode to the door. Before keying the lock code, he glanced back and saw his father idly toying with the remains of his chardonnay.
* * * *
Room six seemed to be half office and half lab. Cold fluorescent lights illuminated a desk, some chairs, a worktable, and a few wooden cabinets. A mountain landscape filled almost an entire wall in the thirty-by-twenty-foot, windowless room.
Gordon had just set up a forearm scanner on the worktable. He motioned Niels to come over. “Susan,” he said, without taking his eyes from his work, “how would you feel about a summer vacation back home—at your government's expense? Our embryonics professor here could well do with a guide."
Niels inserted his arm in the reader and looked over at Susan. She sat in a swivel chair, a bemused expression on her face.
“It's good timing, actually,” she said, looking at Niels. “There's no summer money for postdocs—not for foreign nationals, at any rate.” She transferred her gaze to Gordon. “So yes, I'd be happy to spend a few months back on free soil if the agency will foot the bill."
“I think we can do that,” said Gordon, “considering the nature of the catch.” He glanced at Niels. “No offense, of course."
“It's all right. I don't mind being treated like a prize trout."
Gordon smiled, then turned his attention to the reader. “It's an advanced Level-II biochip,” he said. “Can't mask it. It'll have to come out."
Niels jerked his head around to look at the screen. “I thought only government agencies could read those."
Gordon, his eyes locked on the monitor, smiled. “You thought that, did you?” He flipped off the scanner and swiveled around to face Niels. “Not to worry,” he said. “We have a good doctor attached to the mission."
“Not a veterinarian, I hope."
“What?” Gordon seemed puzzled for a moment, and then said, “Ah, you're referring to New Zealand sheep. Yes, we do have a lot of them. But I think you'll find New Zealand rather more advanced than you imagine.” He laughed quietly, seemingly to himself. “You Americans don't much travel abroad these days, do you?"
Niels shook his head.
“Pardon me for lecturing,” said Gordon. “But your politicians like to say that the US is at the forefront of science. That might have been true once, but not anymore. In New Zealand, we don't turn our backs on science. Instead of your Genetic Security laws, we employ science to strengthen the genes and to—"
“Not my laws, if you please,” said Niels.
Gordon gave a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry. Even we diplomats have to vent sometimes."
“Excuse me,” said Susan. “But how are you planning to get me, us, home?"
“We'll get you into Canada, then book you on a plane to Auckland.” Gordon turned to Niels. “We'll arrange for you both to be on the same flight."
The same flight. Niels felt a furtive flush of pleasure.
“The Genetic Patriotism Act allows your government to act outside the law,” said Gordon, “and that works to our advantage. Since you're not officially charged with any crime, you can enter Canada—that is, if we can get you there."
“And can you?” said Niels.
Gordon sprung to his desk and opened a drawer. “We can find the little mouse holes in the fortress wall. We've done it frequently.” He withdrew a file folder. “We've, just as a contingency, already arranged your papers.” Opening the folder, he motioned Niels and Susan to the desk. “We'll slip you through at Niagara Falls. You'll pose as newlyweds.” He looked up from the folder and into their faces. “Objections?"
Niels feeling himself blush, shook his head. Suddenly, he thought of his father. The man would be laughing himself silly.
Sitting at his desk, Gordon took a long breath. “Speaking for my country, we'll be very happy to have you as a new citizen.” He pulled a form from the file folder and placed it on the desk, facing Niels. “But, I'm afraid one can't escape paperwork. If I could just ask you to fill this out."
“Ka máte, ka máte,” said Susan, looking over Niels's shoulder at the form. “There's always paperwork, isn't there?"
“Give that girl a chocolate fish,” said Gordon, a smile on his face.
Niels gazed quizzically at them both.
“It's death. It's death,” said Susan. “In Maori."
Niels persisted with his puzzled gaze.
“Haka,” said Gordon as if that would explain everything, “and the chocolate fish: Kiwiana—New Zealand culture, so to speak, popular culture."
Still, Niels glared.
“The haka is a rich, Maori ritual dance,” said Gordon. “And since the All Blacks adopted the haka, pretty much all of us have."
“All Blacks?"
“Our national Rugby team,” said Susan.
“Your national team has only black players?” said Niels in astonishment, wondering if New Zealand was quite as enlightened a nation as he'd assumed.
“What?” Now Gordon looked confused. “Oh,” he laughed, “I see what you mean. No. All Blacks refers to the color of their uniforms."
Gordon and Susan exchanged amused, knowing glances.
Suddenly Niels felt a deep sadness come over him. For the first time, he appreciated that New Zealand really was another country, with its own traditions, its own culture. Maybe he was being hasty. Yes, he felt like an outsider in his own country; how would he feel in another? Perhaps he shouldn't rush into this.
“The form,” said Gordon.
“What?” Niels stared down at the sheet of paper, an island of lined whiteness on a sea of black mahogany. “Oh."
“This is an important decision you're making,” said Gordon, gently. “If you're having second thoughts, this is a good time to have them."
“No, not really second thoughts.” Niels paused. “But I'm torn,” he said. “On one hand, I want to get the hell out. But my instinct says to stay and fight."
“Fight?” Susan scowled. “How can you, single-handed, fight the entire United States? They can do bad things to you."
“I've made a deposit at the Zurich Samenzellenbank.” Niels balled his fists. “I'm ready to take on the bastards."
“The what bank?” said Suzan, her head canted in puzzlement.
“It's ... I'll tell you later."
“You are having second thoughts,” said Gordon. “Aren't you?"
“No, I...” Niels bit his lip. “I wonder if we might invite my father in; this concerns him, too."
“Certainly.” Gordon stood.
“Thank you."
“I can appreciate your misgivings.” Gordon waved Susan to stay seated, then led Niels toward the door. They passed into the corridor and then on to the door to the restaurant. Gordon opened it and took a step out. Abruptly, he backed up, forcing Niels to retreat into the corridor. He closed the door quietly and then turned to Niels.
“By chance, were you or your father expecting company?"
“No. Why?"
“There are a couple of chaps in black suits sitting with your father.” Gordon led the way down the corridor to a different room, one filled with electronics. Ins
ide, he pulled a chair up to a video display and motioned Niels to do the same.
The monitor showed the seating area of the restaurant. Using a joystick, Gordon zoomed in on Herrick's table. There, one on each adjacent chair to Herrick's, sat two men, all but identical save for their different colored ties.
“I wish I could hear what they're saying,” said Niels. “Especially the red-tie guy. He seems to be threatening my dad."
“Mox venit.” Gordon moved his hand toward a bank of switches. “Coming right up."
“More Maori?"
“Latin.” Gordon threw a switch.
"...easier for you if you cooperate with us,” said red-tie.
"Go to hell,” said Herrick. “I've done nothing to warrant your loving attention."
“The tables are bugged?” said Niels.
“Unfortunately, it is necessary,” said Gordon. “Self-defense, in a manner of speaking."
The man in the blue tie spoke. “We just want to speak to your son."
"I told you,” said Herrick. “He hasn't arrived yet."
"Then we'll wait with you,” said blue-tie. “We'll even buy you another drink."
"Thank you,” said Herrick. “But my son is notoriously imprecise concerning time. It might be a long wait."
“Your father should be in my line of work,” said Gordon. “He has a talent for it."
Red-tie pounded a fist on the table. "This is serious, Dr. Pederson. Your son is wanted for questioning for criminal violations of the Genetic Terrorism Act."
"What are you talking about?” said Herrick.
Just then, Susan walked into the room. “I wondered what happened to you two."
Niels shushed her and pointed to the screen.
"Conspiring to propagate defective genes,” said red-tie. “His sperm bank account has been impounded."
“Sperm bank?” said Susan.
"Sperm bank?” For a moment, Herrick seemed bemused. Then he took on a more aggressive expression. “You can't do that,” he said. “That's a clear violation of banking laws."
“Violation!” Niels shouted at the screen. “I've been violated."
"Well, we've done it,” said red-tie. "You can take it up with your congressman."
Analog SFF, January-February 2007 Page 25