by Dave Duncan
STARS would fight back, of course, and in thirty millennia it had never lost a battle. She must make plans to counter its lies. More than lies—she must prepare defenses against all kinds of dirty tricks, even raw violence. People as rich as those behind STARS could bribe nearly anyone to do nearly anything, and they need never soil their own fingers. They must spend mind-boggling trillions every year just keeping out of the public eye. Never once had the Ayne Senate managed to force STARS personnel to testify at a hearing. She did not know one single STARS employee by name, other than young Braata, and that had not been his real name.
And the odious Glaum, of course, but she suspected he had been a stand-in, a bit player, not one of the True Stock. They never revealed themselves. He was a boor, and They… What sort of people must They be? Surely They would belong to the Beautiful People, the sector elite, the top families. They would be physically perfect, mentally brilliant, rich by birth, sons and daughters of STARS employees, because wealth and power on that scale were always handed down in families.
Much like that man in her bed right now, with his thick sweaty leg pressed against hers.
She remembered what she had said two days ago: On Pock’s World enlightenment can come very quickly.
Why had she taken so long to see the obvious truth? Linn was rich as rich could be; his family had owned a piece of everything since time began. Linn might even be the head honcho of the whole swarm, because STARS’s CEO for the Ayne Sector would almost certainly live on Ayne, the commercial and political hub. And Linn Lazuline could twist anything to serve his own purposes, even the death of a planet. If Linn was STARS, he had known about the pirate probe that very night at Portolan, when he had propositioned her. He would probably have been disappointed if she had accepted right away. This deception would have been much more fun. He had staged it for his own amusement.
But now he was seeing the victims with his own eyes and wishing he had not come, hence the drinking and the frenzied copulation.
He had been the loudest STARS critic on the commission ever since he turned up on Ayne 3, spouting explanations of why he had not been ferried up with the rest of them. Even tonight, he had let slip a few revelations about Monody’s faith that were certainly not available in the Ayne Brain. Athena’s research before she left home had failed to turn up that story about the boy called Feaze only three years ago. Linn’s research had accessed some other source.
Then there was one. She had no evidence, but her suspicions were dangerous. Somehow she must keep her knowledge a secret until she was safely home. Until she collected her ill-gotten twenty million? Why not? When you owned a piece of the galaxy, what was twenty million? Linn could give her that much out of one pocket and her opponents two hundred million out of another. It would amuse him to organize the puppet show. As head of Lazuline, Inc. he could complain loudly about STARS’s tariffs, while as CEO of STARS he threatened to hold whole planets to ransom.
Suppose she told her suspicions to the Monody clique? Suppose she slipped away now and informed Oxindole or Bedel or Duty herself? Would STARS blast the planet when its own leader was held hostage? Likely it would. He was no prince of the blood, just an officer on a corporate board; he could be replaced. His death on Pock’s might be seen as fitting punishment for incompetence. Impact might truly be inevitable, as he had been insisting.
One thing was certain: if she went public with her suspicions and they were true, then STARS would never let her leave Pock’s World. She could not hope to prevent the tragedy, only avenge it, and to do that she must return to Ayne and fight on her own turf.
Chapter 2
Ratty was breakfasting alone on a terrace beside a gently steaming pool. Ravenously hungry, he was gobbling like a New Winish swamp dragon. It was a fine morning, almost too hot already, although the grass was wet and shining like diamonds. The sun was higher than yesterday; Javel had already set.
Athena Fimble came strolling out to join him. She took a chair and they exchanged greetings. She was wearing a bra, although yesterday she had gone topless like the natives. Her eyes were red as if she had not slept enough, and there were a couple of conspicuous hickeys on her neck. A page came running out, and she told him to bring the same as Friend Ratty had, only one third as much.
“No Joy this morning?” she asked.
There had been so much Joy that he’d thought for a while he would have to order some booster from the medic in their room. Fortunately he’d risen to the occasion just in time. “She’s been called to a family conference. Riots are breaking out all over.”
Athena nodded pensively.
He wondered who’d done the hickeys. Linn Lazuline, probably. Athena Fimble would not go for one-night stands with strangers.
She said, “How was the service last night? Obviously nobody offered your beating heart as a sacrifice to the Mother.”
“Most people accuse me of not having one. No,” he admitted, “it was really very moving, apart from the rain. The music was superb. Not a large congregation, but about a hundred reporters, so there were probably many millions cognizing. Tomorrow night will be the big show. Impact is due shortly after the start of eclipse. That’s the holy hour. You think STARS arranged that deliberately?”
He nibbled another of the brown things. Very tasty, but probably better not to ask what they were.
“I would put nothing past the bastards,” Athena said. “On the other hand, Pock’s has two hours of eclipse every day, so it could be just coincidence.” She thanked the waiter who brought her food. As the boy left, her eyes wandered as eyes often do when their owner is about to reveal a confidence. “Something you should know…”
“I’m listening.”
“Who runs STARS?”
“You think I wouldn’t shout it from the rooftops if I knew?”
“What have you heard?”
He shrugged and swallowed. “Ayne sector is one unit, with its headquarters on Ayne. It denies having any contact with other sectors, but who believes anything STARS says? Who the high panjandra are—search me.”
“Describe them.”
What was she getting at? He racked his brain up a couple of watts. “Rich, of course. Secretive, but with a good cover so that… Gawdamity!”
She nodded.
“Linn Lazuline?” Ratty whispered, aware of his heart sinking stone-wise. “You got any evidence?”
Again she nodded. “Very slight, but last night he let slip something about a human sacrifice here a few years ago, a boy called Feaze. That fact isn’t in the Ayne Brain.”
“It makes sense!” Oh, yes, it made sense. Why had he never joined those few obvious dots? “It even explains why STARS is so dedicated to destroying cuckoos. Remember your hearings on monopolies a few years ago? Gravy, Inc. especially?”
Athena nodded, frowning. “We uncovered precisely nothing. We couldn’t find out who owned Gravy or why none of its competitors ever thrived. There were too many suspicious deaths, both in the past and even during the hearings. I called off the investigation before any more people got slaughtered.”
“Well, guess who owns a big part of Gravy?” Ratty said, and chuckled at her shocked expression. “Yes, Lazuline the Vulture. I found out enough to be sure, but I couldn’t nail down evidence to prove it. Now, listen. Gravy’s gravity shaft was the last big tech breakthrough, thirty or forty years ago. A tiny research company suddenly filed a heap of critical patents and ballooned into a huge industrial giant in no time, sector-wide. Where they got their initial financing was never explained and many of the reputed inventive geniuses died young. With me so far?”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“Let’s suppose, just for the sake of argument, that STARS, Inc. has its equivalents in Canaster Sector and Avens Sector and so on. All over the human bubble, no doubt. And also suppose that they keep in touch secretly. They may use private entanglement links or just radio beams—they have all the time in the galaxy, after all.”
“You mean they
trade news of technical breakthroughs!” Athena Fimble was a smart lady. “I’ve often wondered if there are secret leaks between sectors. Gravy, Inc. wasn’t the only one, you know. Brain implants followed much the same pattern, a few centuries ago. A whole technology appeared like magic, sprang up fully armed.”
“A wonderful racket,” Ratty said. “But it depends on keeping the sectors isolated. That’s why the cuckoos must never be allowed to spread and tell tales. That’s why STARS can’t afford to give Pock’s World time to hunt down the invaders—because of what the invaders might tell them.”
“When I get home,” she said, “I’m going to call for hearings on the geocide of Pock’s World. It’s a sector crime, but there are Ayne citizens involved. I’ll subpoena Sulcus Immit, if he can be found, and Linn Lazuline. And I’ll call for him to be interrogated under brain scan.”
Ratty whistled. “Good luck.”
“Meanwhile, keep that under your hat.” She hesitated. “This may be bad news for you, friend. I thought I’d warn you.”
Obviously. If Linn Lazuline had enough influence with STARS to slam the shuttle door in Ratty Turnsole’s face, then Ratty Turnsole wasn’t going to be going anywhere. How the sleazy scum bucket would enjoy that! Yet the news did not feel like quite the utter disaster it should. He muttered thanks as he tried to work out just what crazy notion was twirling inside his head now. He knew the sensation of a flash of brilliance trying to hatch. Give it a little while….
“I think I’ll tell Oxindole what we suspect,” Athena said. “If the Pocosins have Linn locked up here and there is any way at all to prevent that impact, then maybe STARS will relent.”
“I doubt if STARS can or would. Look out.”
Lazuline himself was striding toward them, big and virile, leering. “What a wonderful day! I wonder where the nearest good beach is?”
By the time Linn had pulled up a chair, Ratty was satisfied that his companions had indeed been sleeping together, as he had suspected yesterday. But no more! The emotional cinders of a recently exploded affair were unmistakable. Smiles were faked, greetings flimsy, and no doubt the hickeys had been deliberate.
“I doubt if you’ll find any surf on Pock’s World, Friend Linn,” he said. “The odd tidal wave is all. Don’t let me talk you out of trying those.”
“Depends when the shuttle will leave. Is whatever you’re eating approved for human consumption too?”
Linn gave his order. Then he and Athena made small talk while Ratty admired in silence. They were real pros, both of them. The world was about to end, they were probably not an hour past a raging quarrel, and yet they could talk calmly and politely about nothing at all.
When was the shuttle due to leave? What time was it now, anyway? He had no functional implant to answer his questions.
Father Andre was the next to arrive, looking haggard, as if he had not slept at all. “I am told that the shuttle has been delayed. No new deadline was supplied. Those look good. Bring me half a dozen swallet, please,” he told the boy.
Athena said, “They are delicious. They must be sinful, they taste so good.”
“Gluttony is a sin, sister, but nothing in the Good Book prohibits the enjoyment of good food in moderation.”
Ratty eyed some storm clouds building beyond the temple grove and decided that they probably weren’t heading in his direction. “How are things at St Mike’s?” he asked.
“Much as you would expect.”
“Forgive me, Brother. That was an extremely stupid question.”
Mollified, Andre said, “Obviously you survived your visit to Quassia. Did you witness any angels this time?”
“None. But the singing was wonderful. Love and Duty prayed. Javel was mostly hidden by clouds, and it rained a lot. It was interesting, but not very.”
“Not as much fun as your previous visit?” Linn said.
“Nothing could ever match that,” Ratty said.
The mood was brittle.
Athene put it into words. “We are the survivors. We did not choose this. We did not condemn everyone else to die. Why do we feel guilty?”
The question was obviously aimed at Andre. He said, “Because the presence of death makes us appreciate life, just as sickness makes us appreciate good health.”
“Or,” Linn said, “the absence of Friend Millie Backet makes us appreciate the good things of this world. Where is our beloved, interstellar celebrity leader? Anyone know?”
“Sleeping off a surfeit of sightseeing, I expect,” Athena suggested. “Or preparing the report.”
“With her name at the top?”
“Of course.”
But Millie’s absence was strange. If anyone was certain not to miss the shuttle, it was Backet.
The next arrivals were First Minister Oxindole, accompanied by a Monody. For a moment Ratty thought she was Duty, then he recognized Joy—he had never seen her looking glum before. He jumped up to find a chair for her and give her a kiss. It must be at least thirty minutes since they parted, after all.
The gownsman took a seat also, but he pulled it back a couple of meters so that he was not part of the group. He waived away the pages.
“Bad news?” Linn inquired.
“More and more bad news. I deeply regret to inform you that your comrade, Millie Backet, has been brutally murdered.”
For a moment the only reaction came from Brother Andre, who bent his head in silent prayer. Ratty expected Linn to come out with some abrasive comment, and he was not disappointed.
“Trust Millie! Granted that the Sector Council is a gaggle of galactic nonentities, you would think it could have found someone with a few brains to represent it on a matter as important as this.”
“You mean that Millie wasn’t a genius like the rest of us are?” Ratty said. “Perhaps not, but she was sincere; she took her duties seriously and would have worked hard on that report. I don’t think you should sneer at stupid people, Friend—I use the word ceremonially of course—Lazuline. You need stupid people to buy all the shit you sell, just as Athena needs their votes and Brother Andre and I need them to believe what we tell them.”
For a moment there was silence.
Father Andre looked up and smiled. “There is hope for you yet, Friend Ratty.”
“I’m getting religion, Brother.” That wasn’t all he was getting, either.
“We sent her off with a priestess we believed to be totally reliable,” Oxindole said. “And two guards. Tracking the fliers, we know that they visited a few of the usual attractions and then went to Tourist Quassia. For once it was deserted, because of the crisis. The sergeant left them there. He claims he could see no danger and he wanted to comfort his family. I think he knew very well what was going to happen. He has been placed under arrest.”
“What did happen?” Linn demanded, showing his teeth.
“They threw her down on the Altar Stone and cut her throat.”
“Like the boy Feaze?”
The gownsman sighed. “Yes. And others. But may I say right now, especially to Brother Andre, that this barbarism has nothing to do with our faith. Your church claims to be the original Christian church, and you are not responsible for every crackpot cult that has split off during the centuries. That Quassia may have been holy to the Querent, a million years ago, but to us it is a place for milking tourists, nothing more.”
“I understand,” Andre said. “I was cursed and spat at few times last night. STARS brought us here, and they blame STARS.”
Oxindole nodded and said, “Thank you,” softly. “And more bad news. Another solar flare has recharged the Javelian magnetosphere. In other words, the radiation storm has failed to dissipate. Your departure has been postponed until tomorrow.”
“And if space is still hot tomorrow?” Ratty inquired.
“Then you will need therapy when you return to Ayne. As it is, you will be issued prophylactic anti-rad tonic prior to takeoff. Gownsman Sperry assured me last night that you need fear nothing worse than a fe
w days’ nausea and perhaps some temporary hair loss.” He pulled a wan smile and stood up. “Meanwhile, the palace is at your disposal. I can no longer spare Joy to be your hostess, I’m afraid. She is officially of age now, and we need her for more pressing duties.”
“A moment, Gownsman,” Athena said. “How is Gownsman Sperry today?”
The big man frowned, as if the question were intrusive. “Still dying. Why do you ask?”
“I am concerned about his son, Solan. His mother is dead, I understand. Has he any other family?”
“I believe not. Monody will see him placed in a good home.”
“I have nothing to do today, and I’m sure you all have your hands full. With your permission, I’ll make sure he isn’t left alone to mope.”
Oxindole nodded. “That would be very generous of you, Senator.”
So now it was Ratty’s turn. He had grasped that brilliant idea that had been flitting around his cerebellum. Releasing Joy’s hand, he jumped to his feet. “Another moment, Gownsman. I have a request. I wish to be inducted into your church so that I may be eligible for permanent appointment as consort to the incarnation presently known as Joy.”
Joy screamed shrilly and threw herself on him.
Which was a pity, because he missed Linn Lazuline’s reaction. Had Ratty’s suicidal announcement managed to spoil his day?
Linn said, “You must have fucked all your brains away.”
“Well!” Oxindole said. “That is a surprise. Joy can accept your vows, Friend Ratty, and I certainly won’t try to stop her appointing you to the position you crave. You’d better come with us, then, because we have much to do.”
He had done it! He was still shaking, still trying to detach Joy, who was embracing him like a tree octopus on a monkey puzzle. Even he found it hard to believe that Ratty Turnsole had thrown away his life for love, or even for the pleasure of balking Linn Lazuline of the pleasure of murdering him personally.
Chapter 3