The Gateway Trip h-5

by Pohl Frederik

  He shifted over to cold war. "No," he said softly. "You're wrong about that. It's only against the law if a court says it is, after we do it. You're only right if your lawyers are smarter than my lawyer. Honestly, Waithers, they won't be. I pay my lawyers to be the smartest there are."

  I was not in a good bargaining position. It wasn't just that what Cochenour said was true enough. He had help from a very powerful ally. My liver was on his side. I certainly could not spare time for arbitration, because without the transplant his payment was going to buy I wouldn't live that long.

  Dorrie had been listening with her birdlike air of friendly inter-

  est. She got between us. "Well, then, how about this? We just got to where we are now. Why don't we wait and see what the probes show? Maybe we'll hit something even better than that Site C-"

  "There isn't going to be anything good here," he said without taking his eyes off me.

  "Why, Boyce, how do you know that? We haven't even finished the soundings."

  He said, "Look, Dorotha, listen close this one time and then shut up. Walthers is playing games with me. Do you see where we just put down?"

  He brushed past me and tapped out the command for a full map display, which somewhat surprised me. I hadn't known he knew how. The charts sprang up. They showed the virtual images of our position and of the shafts we'd already cut, and the great irregular border of the military reservation-all overlaid on the plot of mascons and navigation aids.

  "Do you see the picture? We're not even in the high-density mass-concentration areas now. Isn't that true, Walthers? Are you saying we've tried all the good locations around here and come up dry?"

  "No," I said. "That is, you're partly right, Mr. Cochenour. Only partly; I'm not playing any games with you. This site is a good possibility. You can see it on the map. It's true that we're not right over any mascon, but we're right between those two right there, that are pretty close together. That's a good sign. Sometimes you find a dig that connects two complexes, and it has happened that the connecting passage was closer to the surface there than any other part of the system. I can't guarantee that we'll hit anything here. But it's worth a gamble."

  "It's just damn unlikely, right?"

  "Well, no more unlikely than anywhere else. I told you a week ago, you got your money's worth the first day, just finding any Heechee tunnel at all. Even a spoiled one. There are maze-rats in the Spindle who went five years without seeing that much." I thought for a minute. "I'll make a deal with you," I offered.

  "I'm listening."

  "We're already on the ground here. There's at beast a chance we can hit something. Let's try. We'll deploy the probes and see what they turn up. If we get a good trace we'll dig it. If not . .. well, then I'll think about going back to Site C."

  "Think about it!" he roared.

  "Don't push me, Cochenour. You don't know what you're getting into. The military reservation is not to be fooled with. Those boys shoot first and ask later, and there aren't any policemen around to holler for help."

  "I don't know," he said after a moment's glowering thought.

  "No," I told him, "you don't, Mr. Cochenour. I do. That's what you're paying me for."

  He nodded. "Yes, you probably do know, Walthers, but whether you're telling me the truth about what you know is another question. Hegramet never said anything about digging between mascons."

  And then he looked at me with a completely opaque expression, waiting to see whether I would catch him up on what he'd just said.

  I didn't respond. I gave him an opaque look back. I didn't say a word. I only waited to see what would come next. I was pretty sure it would not be any sort of explanation of how he happened to know Professor Hegramet's name, or what dealings he had had with the greatest Earthside authority on Heechee diggings.

  It wasn't.

  "Put out your probes," he said at last. "We'll try it your way one more time."

  I plopped the probes out, got good penetration on all of them, and started firing the noisemakers. Then I sat watching the first lines of the cast build up on the scan, as though I expected them to carry useful information. They weren't going to for quite a while, but I wanted to think privately for a bit.

  Cochenour needed to be thought about. He hadn't come to Venus just for the ride. He had planned to dig for Heechee tunnels before he ever left the Earth. He had gone to the trouble of briefing himself even on the instruments he would encounter in an airbo~Iy.

  My sales talk about Heechee treasures had been wasted on a customer whose mind had been made up to buy at least half a year earlier and tens of millions of miles away.

  I understood all that. But the more I understood, the more I saw that I didn't understand. I wished I could slip Cochenour a couple of bucks and send him off to the games parlors for a while, so I could talk privately to the girl. Unfortunately there wasn't anywhere to send him. I forced a yawn, complained about the boredom of waiting for the probe traces to build up, and suggested we all take a nap. Not that I would have been real confident he would be the one to turn in-but he didn't even listen. All I got out of that ploy was an offer from Dorrie to watch the screen and wake me up if anything interesting developed.

  So I said the hell with it and turned in myself.

  I didn't sleep well, because while I was lying there, waiting for

  sleep to happen, it gave me time to notice how truly lousy I was beginning to feel, and in how many different ways. There was a sort of permanent taste of bile in the back of my mouth-not so much as though I wanted to throw up as it was as though I just had. My head ached. My eyes were getting woozy; I was beginning to see ghost images wandering fuzzily around my field of vision.

  I roused myself to take a couple of my pills. I didn't count the ones that were left. I didn't want to know.

  I set my private wake-up for three hours, thinking maybe that would give Cochenour time to get sleepy and turn in, leaving Dorne perhaps up and maybe feeling conversational. But when I woke up there was the wide-awake old man, cooking himself a herb omelet with the last of our sterile eggs. "You were right, Walthers," he grinned. "I was sleepy, at that. So I had a nice little one-hour nap. Ready for anything now. Want some eggs?"

  Actually I did want them. A lot. But of course I didn't dare eat them, so I glumly swallowed the nutritious and very unsatisfying stuff the diet department of the Quackery allowed me to have and watched him stuff himself. It was unfair that a man of ninety could be so healthy that he didn't have to think about his digestion, while I was-Well, there wasn't any profit in that kind of thinking. I offered

  to play some music to pass the time. Dorrie picked Swan Lake, and I started it up.

  And then I had an idea. I headed for the tool lockers. They didn't really need checking. The auger heads were close to time for replacement, but I wasn't going to replace them; we were running low on spares. The thing about the tool lockers was that they were about as far from the galley as you could get and still be inside the airbody.

  I hoped Dorrie would follow me. And she did.

  "Need any help, Audee?"

  "Glad to have it," I told her. "Here, hold these for me. Don't get the grease on your clothes." I didn't expect her to ask why they

  had to be held. She didn't. She only laughed at the idea of getting grease on her clothes.

  "I don't think I'd even notice a little extra grease, dirty as I am. I guess we'll all be glad to get back to civilization."

  Cochenour was frowning over the probe and paying no attention. I said, "Which kind of civilization do you mean? The Spindle, or all the way back to Earth?"

  What I had in mind was to start her talking about Earth, but she went the other way. "Oh, the Spindle," she said. "I never dreamed I'd get to this planet, Audee! I loved it. I thought it was fascinating the way everybody got along together, and we really didn't see much of it. Especially the people, like that Indian fellow who ran the restaurant. The cashier was his wife, wasn't she?"

  "She was one
of them, yes. She's Vastra's number-one wife. The waitress was number three, and he has another one at home with the kids. There are five kids, all three wives involved." But I wanted to turn the conversation around, so I said, "It's pretty much the same as on Earth. Vastra would be running a tourist trap in Benares if he wasn't running one here, and he wouldn't be here if he hadn~t shipped out with the military and terminated here. I guess if I weren't on Venus I'd be guiding in Texas. If there's any open country left to guide hunters in-maybe up along the Canadian River. How about you?"

  All the time I was picking up the same four or five tools, studying the serial numbers and putting them back. She didn't notice.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well, what did you do on Earth, before you came here?"

  "Oh, I worked in Boyce's office for a while."

  That was encouraging. Maybe she'd remember something about his connection with Professor Hegramet. "What were you, a secret ary?"

  She gave me an unfriendly look. "Something like that," she said.

  Then I was embarrassed. She thought I was prying-I was, of course, but I wasn't looking for sordid details about how a pretty

  young thing like her allowed herself to be seduced into being bed-mate for a dirty old man. Not least because Cochenour, old though he was and nasty as he might be when he chose, was also obviously a pretty powerfully attractive figure to women. I said, trying to be placating, "It's none of my business, of course."

  "No," she said, "it isn't." And then she said, "What's that?"

  That was an incoming call on the radio, that's what that was.

  "So answer it," Cochenour snarled from across the airbody, looking up from his eggs.

  I was glad enough for the interruption. The call was voice-only, which surprised me a little. I kept it that way. In fact, I took the call on the earjack, since it is my nature to be cautious about some things. Anyway, there isn't much privacy in an airbody, and I want what little crumbs of it I can find.

  It was the base calling, a Communications sergeant I knew named Littleknees. I signed in irritably, watching Dorrie go back to sit protectively with Boyce Cochenour.

  "A private word for you, Audee," said Sergeant Littleknees. "Is your sahib lurking about?"

  Littleknees and I had exchanged radio chatter for a long time. There was something about the bright cheeriness of the tone that bothered me. I turned my back on Cochenour. I knew he was listening-but only to my side of the conversation, of course, because of the earjack. "In the area but not tuned in at present," I said. "What have you got for me?"

  "Just a little news bulletin," the sergeant purred. "It came in over the synsat a couple of minutes ago, information only as far as we were concerned. That means we don't have to do anything about it, but maybe you do, honey."

  "Standing by," I said, studying the plastic housing of the radio.

  The sergeant chuckled. "Your sahib's charter captain would like to have a word with him when found. It's kind of urgent, 'cause the captain isrighteously pissed off."

  "Yes, Base," I said. "Your signals received, strength ten."

  Sergeant Amanda Littleknees made an amused noise again, but this time it wasn't a chuckle. It was a downright giggle. "The thing is," she said, "his check for the charter fee for the Yuri Gagarin went bouncy-bouncy. Do you want to know what the bank said? You'd never guess. 'Insufficient funds,' that's what they said."

  The pain under my right lower ribs was permanent, but right then it seemed to get a lot worse. I gritted my teeth. "Ah, Sergeant Littleknees," I croaked. "Can you verify that estimate?"

  "Sorry, honey," she buzzed in my ear, "but there's no doubt in the world. The captain got a credit report on your Boyce Cochenour fellow, and it turned up n.g. When your customer gets back to the Spindle there'll be a warrant waiting for him."

  "Thank you for the synoptic estimate," I said hollowly. "I will verify departure time before we take off."

  And I turned off the radio and gazed at my rich billionaire client.

  "What the hell's the matter with you, Walthers?" he growled.

  But I wasn't hearing his voice. I was only hearing what my happy sawbones at the Quackery had told me. The equations were unforgettable. Cash = new liver + happy survival. No cash = total hepatic failure + death. And my cash supply had just dried up.

  x

  When you get a really big piece of news you have to let it trickle through your system and get thoroughly absorbed before you do anything about it. It isn't a matter of seeing the implications. I saw those right away, you bet I did. It's a matter of letting the system reach equilibrium.

  So I puttered for a few minutes. I listened to Tchaikovsky's swan hunters tooling up to meet the queen. I made sure the radio switch was off so as not to waste power. I checked the synoptic plot the thumpers were building up.

  It would have been nice if there had been something wonderful beginning to show on it, but, the way things were going, there wouldn't be, of course. There wasn't. A few pale echoes were be. ginning to form. But nothing with the shape of a Heechee tunnel, and nothing very bright. The data were still coming in, but I knew there was no way for those feeble plots to develop into the mother lode that could save us all, even crooked, dead-broke, bastard Cochenour.

  I even looked out at as much of the sky as I could manage through the windows, to see how the weather was. It didn't matter, but some of the big white calomel clouds were scudding among the purples and yellows of the other mercury halides; the sun was getting ready to rise in the west.

  It was beautiful, and I hated it.

  Cochenour had put away the last of his omelet and was watching me thoughtfully. So was Dorrie, back at the parts rack, once again holding the augers in their grease.paper wrap. I grinned at her. "Pretty," I said, referring to the music. The Auckland Philharmonic was just getting to the part where the baby swans come out arm in arm and do a fast, bouncy pas de quatre across the stage. It has always been one of my favorite parts of Swan Lake .. . but not now.

  "We'll listen to the rest of it later," I said, and switched the

  player off.

  Cochenour snapped, "All right, Waithers. What's going on?"

  I sat down on an empty igloo pack and lit a cigarette, because one of the adjustments my internal system had made was to calculate that we didn't need to worry much about coddling our oxygen supply anymore. "There are some questions that have been bothering me, Cochenour. For one, how did you happen to get in touch with Professor Hegramet?"

  He grinned and relaxed. "Oh, is that all that's on your mind?

  No reason you shouldn't know that. I did a lot of checking on

  Venus before I came out here-why not?"

  "No reason, except you let me think you didn't know a thing."

  Cochenour shrugged. "If you had any brains at all you'd know I didn't get rich by being stupid. You think I'd travel umpty-million miles without knowing what I was going to find when I got here?"

  "No, you wouldn't, but you did your best to make me think you would. No matter. So you went looking for somebody who could point you to whatever was worth stealing on Venus, and then that person steered you to Hegramet. Then what? Did Hegramet tell you that I was dumb enough to be your boy?"

  Cochenour wasn't quite as relaxed, but he hadn't turned aggressive, either. He said mildly, "Hegramet did mention your name, yes. He told me you were as good a guide as any if I wanted to look for a virgin tunnel. Then he answered a lot of questions for me about the Heechee and so on. So, yes, I knew who you were. If you hadn't come to us I would have come to you; you just saved me the trouble."

  I said, feeling a little surprise as I said it, "You know, I think you're telling me the truth. Except that you left out one thing."

  "Which was?"

  "It wasn't the fun of making more money that you were after, was it? It was just money, right? Money that you needed pretty badly." I turned to Dorotha, standing frozen with the augers in her hands. "How about it, Dorrie? Did you know the o
ld man was broke?"

  It wasn't too smart of me to put it to her like that. I saw what she was about to do just before she did it, and jumped off the igloo crate. I was a little too late. She dropped the augers before I could take them away from her, but fortunately they landed flat and the blades weren't chipped. I picked them up and put them away.

  She had answered the question well enough.

  "I see he didn't tell you about that," I said. "That's tough on you, doll. His check to the captain of the Gagarin is still bouncing, and I would imagine the one he gave me isn't going to be much better. I hope you got it all in fur and jewels, Dorrie. My advice to you is to hide them before the creditors want them back."

  She didn't even look at me. She was only looking at Cochenour, whose expression was all the confirmation she needed.

  I don't know what I expected from her, rage or reproaches or tears. What she did was whisper, "Oh, Boyce, dear, I'm so sorry." And she went over and put her arms around him.

  I turned my back on them, because I wasn't enjoying looking at the way he was. The strapping ninety-year-old buck on Full Medical had turned into a defeated old man. For the first time since he'd walked cockily into the Spindle, he looked all of his age and maybe a little bit more. The mouth was half-open, trembling; the straight back was stooped; the bright blue eyes were watering. Dorrie stroked him and crooned to him, looking at me with an expression filled with pain.

  It had never occurred to me that she might really care about the guy.

  I turned and studied the synoptic web again, for lack of anything better to do. It was about as clear as it was ever going to get, and it was empty. We had a little overlap from one of our previous

  soundings, so I could tell that the interesting-looking scratches on one edge were nothing to get excited about. We'd checked them out already. They were only ghosts.