Martian Knightlife
Page 13
Sarda shook his head. "No, not like the rest. Never. You're something else . . . `Knight.' "
"And how's Guinness?" Elaine asked.
"Fed, content, and at peace with the limited part of the world that interests him."
"We were thinking you should have called him Sirius," Elaine said. "The Dog Star. Get it? He is one."
Kieran smiled. "That's good. I wish I'd thought of it."
Sarda moved the spectacles a fraction to look around. "Well, it looks as if we're going to have to be moving. It's all been a rush here at the last minute, but I'm glad we had a moment to call. Thanks again from me too. It goes without saying that if there's ever anything we can do . . ."
"I'll want to know what you get into next," Kieran said. "So you'd better stay in touch from time to time. You've always got the number on the card."
"You can count on it," Sarda promised. "So . . . take care for now."
The two figures on the screen waved; then Sarda pressed a button on the unit he was holding, and the image vanished.
"And a happy-looking couple they make, doubtless destined to live so forever after, wherever they end up," Kieran pronounced. "A pity that people will still have to be shut up inside tin cans for weeks or more to get to places, though—for a while yet, anyhow. With Sarda-the-First walking around not knowing what day it is, the word's probably going around the business already that the process is fatally flawed somewhere. No one's going to be interested in touching it now. There simply isn't a marketable technology anymore."
"And it's probably just as well—until somebody comes up with a way of doing it right," June said. "They thought they could pull a fast one, and it backfired. Let's face it, Kieran, the world and beyond isn't ready for something like TX yet, and probably won't be for . . . I don't know, maybe a century. Look at the mess it got into with just one, carefully designed experiment. Even the guy who practically invented it ended up not being convinced. Look what it did to him." She shook her head. "You couldn't turn something like that loose on the public. Can you imagine it going on everywhere at the rate of millions a day? The whole Solar System would be turned into an insane asylum within a week."
"And that's not even part of it," Kieran said.
"What do you mean?" June asked.
"Something I've been thinking about on and off ever since Elaine and I talked about it in the park. We don't know that the deal Balmer was setting up was with another of the trans-system carriers at all. It could have been with interests having totally different aims."
"Other than a light-speed teleporter?"
"Exactly."
"Such as what?"
"How about what you told me it was in the first place?" Kieran suggested. "A people-duplicator. Think of all the things you could do with that. Your life insurance company keeps the record on file. If anything happens to the original, they can provide a replacement. Or if the talents of rare genius are priceless, then why not enrich the condition of the human race thousandsfolds by mass-producing them? Come to that, why expend effort selecting and training lots of near-good experts like sports stars, élite military, and so on, when you can concentrate on getting just a few right and then copy them? What kind of crazy social dynamics might result from people making two of themselves to share the load—or three, or four. . . . See—there's no end to it. That would make what you're talking about seem as sober as a convention of judges."
June frowned at him in the reflexive way that said there ought to be something wrong with it, but then seemed at a loss to pinpoint what. Her expression changed to one of perplexity. "Why does it always take someone else to point out the obvious?" she asked.
"Because it's always the last thing you think of," Kieran replied. "For the same reason that you always find things in the last place you look: Who's going to carry on looking for something after they've found it?" His voice took on a more ominous note. "But there's another side to it too. What if the wrong people got their hands on something like that? How about that bunch who wiped out the people on the Far Ranger and tried taking over Urbek, for instance? Knight's Pest Control Inc. might have taken care of them this time, but what if there were dozens of the leaders loose to start up all over again? See my point?"
"You're thinking that Balmer might have been selling to people like that somewhere?"
"It makes you wonder, doesn't it?"
"Then I'm even more sure that it's better with things the way they are for a long time yet." June leaned back along the couch with a faraway look on her face, stretching out a hand automatically as Teddy jumped up, wanting attention. "You know, the only thing I feel bad about is Herbert and Max. They put everything they had into it; worked as hard on their end of the operation as Leo did; compensated him for the risk he was taking. . . . It doesn't seem right that he and Elaine should fly away to start anew, while they're left to count the losses. It's just feels, somehow . . ." She caught the look on Kieran's face. "What's so funny? I don't happen to think they deserved it. They got it right, for heaven's sake, Kieran! Their project worked! Only now, they'll probably never even know."
"Well, there is one more little detail I didn't want to go into until I was sure the money transfers had gone through," Kieran said. "A quarter of a billion would be a bit much for Leo to handle. Sums like that do strange things to people, and always to the detriment of their personality. Take Brother Henry, for example . . . Oh, don't get me wrong. Leo and Elaine will have more than enough to keep the autochef stocked and start up their own operation—and if my instinct is anything to go by, it won't be long before Leo's into something far-out again. And naturally the KT retirement fund has benefitted not inconsiderably. . . . But on top of that, some time this afternoon, Herbert and Max should have found a substantial credit paid into Quantonix's account from an anonymous source that will be impossible to connect with anything that happened yesterday. It should be ample to get them going again. I just hope they pick something a bit less zany, and think it all the way through next time."
June threw her head back with a laugh of delight, then leaned forward to fling her arms around Kieran. "I should have known! It's just like those guys you played cards with at the terminal, coming in. You're just too soft to leave it any other way. Please don't ever stop being soft."
"Well, I guess it means I'll never end up running something like Three Cs," Kieran commented. "But I think I prefer life better this way, nonetheless." He eyed June circumspectly. "Would you be interested in a ten-million-a-year Three Cs CEO?"
She shook her head. "Too self-important and serious. It would probably mean hearing about nothing but money all the time. And besides, who'd think up the silly rhymes?"
Kieran leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. "Fine. I've been here five days, and look what you've got me into already. So now what are we going to do about this vacation I was supposed to be coming here to have, where absolutely nothing untoward or out of the ordinary was going to happen?"
THE KHAL OF TADZHIKSTAN
1
The residents' association of the complex of which Park View Apartments were part was considering a proposal for a neighborhood restaurant and bar with dance floor, to be added down by the lake. The dance floor could also be used for classes during the day. Of course there were objectors, who believed that such a construction would be a first step toward destroying the rural atmosphere of the area. A countergroup had formed and was collecting signatures of support.
Kieran tossed down his pen as June came over to the breakfast table with the coffee pot to refill their cups, reversed the sheet of paper that he had been writing on, and slid it next to the copy of the petition list that June had left laying out. "What do you think?" he asked. The paper showed his own renderings of the last six names to have been added.
June studied them. Each signature was reproduced flawlessly in its own distinctive style, as if photocopied. "Scary," she pronounced. "Remind me not to leave my checkbook laying around while you're here."
"Have you ever heard of handwriting being hereditary?" June asked as she sat down. "Mine's practically the same as my mother's, yet we went to school and grew up in totally different places. I've heard other people say the same thing too."
"Hm. I really don't know. . . . Can't think of any obvious reason why it should be."
"Neither can I. That's why I was curious."
"That's something we should have asked Leo. It sounds like his department." Kieran picked up his coffee mug and sat back. He looked at June, his eyes twinkling mirthfully. "Speaking of which, I wonder how much sense they're managing to get out of Sarda-the-First back at the firm." June would be going in to Quantonix that morning. The news from the day before was that the incoherence of the Sarda who had been collected from Balmer's office, and his evident memory loss of practically everything that had happened since the experiment, were causing consternation. Everyone there naturally believed he was the one thought to have been transported through the process successfully, since none other was supposed to exist. It was generally assumed, therefore, that some calamitous flaw was revealing itself, and an air of gloom had settled over the project. Kieran hoped that his anonymous donation to the solvency fund would help make the gloom not quite as deep as it might otherwise have been.
"The last I heard, he was being thoroughly obnoxious and uncooperative," he said. "It's uncanny how different sides of him seem to have polarized into two different individuals. I wonder if—" A tone from Kieran's comset announced an incoming call. He reached across to lift the unit off the breakfast bar and drew out the handpiece.
"Hello. Knightlife Enterprises."
"Er, Dr. Thane?"
"This is he."
"Walter Trevany."
"Ah, Walter! Good morning, indeed!"
"The woman you sent me the picture of: Elaine. I've remembered something else. She was some kind of nurse. It's not a lot, but I said I'd let you know if anything more occurred to me."
"And I appreciate it. But actually, Walter, we've traced her. And a big part was thanks to you. I told you that what you said was more useful than you realized."
"Oh—I'm glad to hear it. So how is Leo now? Has his memory improved at all?"
"Well, a lot of people are currently working to help him in that direction," Kieran said truthfully. "Elaine was even more helpful than I'd hoped. We'll see what happens. So how is the expedition to Tharsis shaping up? You must be getting close to leaving."
A sigh came over the phone. "Oh . . . there's a mechanical problem with the Juggernaut. We're—"
"Juggernaut?"
"That's what we've christened the mobile lab. We're having trouble getting a part. Something always gets you at the last minute. I'm new here. Do you happen to know any good places to try?"
"Do you have Alazahad Machine on your list?"
"Yes, but I haven't tried that one yet. Are they good?"
"It's the place I rented the car from when I came out to see you. Mahom Alazahad, the owner, is an old friend of mine. He's also a magician. If anyone in Lowell has your part, it'll be him. Otherwise he'll conjure you one out of thin air."
"Thanks for the tip. We'll give it a shot."
"Mention my name. And good luck."
Kieran expected Trevany to clear down, but a short pause followed. Then Trevany said, "There was something else I wanted to ask. Our expedition's medic has had to drop out. His main work is in biological research. He thought he'd have some spare time, but it turned out that some work he's involved with in Lowell is at a crucial point. What kind of doctor are you? I wondered if it was something you'd be able to help out with at short notice. We could offer pretty good remuneration . . . if you were interested."
Kieran smiled. "It's nice of you to think of me. But to be frank, my calling to the curative arts is not of the physicians' kind. I suppose it would be better described as remedying wrongs that ought to be put right." June caught his eye with a questioning look.
"Oh . . . okay," Trevany said. "Maybe this Elaine might know someone, if she's a nurse."
"Possibly," Kieran said. "But I'm afraid she left Mars yesterday. She's going to be gone for a long time. But I know other people too, Walter. Let me ask around. If I come up with someone who might be able to take it on, I'll have them get in touch."
"Well, if it wouldn't be a lot of trouble . . ."
"Not at all. It's my turn to do the favor. Leave it to me."
"Thanks a lot. I'll be hoping to hear from someone then."
"Bye for now, Walter."
"So what was that about?" June asked after Kieran had cleared down. "I presume the `Walter' was Walter Trevany."
"Yes. He had another detail about Elaine that he'd remembered. Also, they're having trouble finding a part to fix something on the Juggernaut—that's what they've called their mobile lab."
"Hm. I kind of like it."
"Anyway, I put him on to Mahom."
"So what was the bit about curative arts and physicians?" June asked. "I take it he still thinks you're a doctor."
Kieran explained the situation. "I'll try calling Donna for a start. She might be able to put me on to some ships' doctors who are laying over between trips right now. A jaunt out across the surface might be appealing. It sounds as if they could find themselves involved in some quite interesting things, too."
June looked at him thoughtfully while he drank from his cup and then began folding the paper with the forged signatures into an origami form. "Then why don't you?" she said finally.
"What?"
June leaned forward to the table, intent on making her point. "Perhaps you ought to disappear for a while. I'm probably going to be tied up for some time in whatever repercussions develop at Quantonix. But more importantly, it's very likely that there are people still here in Lowell who might recognize you—with very awkward consequences. Making yourself scarce might be a good idea." The movements of Kieran's hands slowed as he considered what she was saying. He looked up. There was, of course, one small detail that she couldn't have overlooked: he wasn't a doctor. As if reading his mind, she went on, "Didn't you have some training in that line when you were with the military? If what Walter needs is someone on hand for accidents, emergencies and that kind of thing, you might be able to fit the bill as a kind of corpsman. And backup is never far away these days. I think you should think about it."
Kieran sat back, rubbing his chin. The look on his face already said there was nothing to argue or disagree with. It also said he was becoming more taken with the thought by the moment. "I'd probably have to leave Guinness with you," he said at last. "Walter was a bit stodgy about having dogs around when I was out there. In any case, Guinness would have to be shut up inside all the time if he went. . . . I wonder if they'll ever make dog suits."
"That's not a problem. Patti and Grace could have him some of the time. They'd love it."
Kieran let the proposition shuffle through his head one last time. Then he picked up his comset again, drew out the handpiece, and called Trevany's number. "Walter," he said when Trevany answered. "Kieran Thane again. Look, I've been thinking more about this problem of yours. There's a chance I might be able to help after all. What kind of thing are you looking for, exactly? . . ."
2
Henry Balmer was a short, squat man with a fleshily jowled face, searing eyes set beneath immense eyebrows, hair combed straight back, and a dark, trimmed mustache. As was often the way with small men, he tended to overcompensate with aggressiveness what he lacked in stature. On the rare occasions when he found himself forced onto the defensive, his shoulders hunched protectively, imbuing him in form and manner with the salient attributes of a cannonball. Just at the moment, in Herbert Morch's office at Quantonix, confronted by Herbert and Max, and the p
roject's chief physician, Stewart Perrel, he felt very much on the defensive indeed.
After Herbert Morch's call two days previously he had panicked, entrusting the bemused Sarda to the care of his receptionist, Fay, and deciding suddenly that Mrs. Jescombe was a patient with a critical condition who couldn't be ignored. Since then, he had gone into hiding, keeping away from his office and ignoring Fay's frantic calls, torn between a self-preservation instinct responding to distant places beckoning far from Mars, and a deeply rooted part of his nature that balked at the thought of walking out on any prospect that might remain of netting a quarter of a billion Zodiac Bank-underwritten, offworld, inner-system dollars. However, before he had reconciled his dilemma, a terse note in his mail system from "The Auditor," suggesting pointedly that his longer-term health might benefit from his making himself visible and condescending to communicate again, had induced his eventual appearance at Quantonix. That was where Sarda was, and about the only chance Balmer had of placating certain netherworldly go-betweens who weren't feeling amused just now depended on unlocking information that he hoped still resided somewhere inside Sarda's skull.
"If Leo Sarda has been a client of yours, we should have known about it, Dr. Balmer," Herbert said, looking disgruntled and not a little suspicious. "He's key in our main project here. You say he's been disturbed for some time. Then possibly that's the reason for the condition we're seeing now. But the project is being blamed. The market value of our whole program has collapsed to nothing."
Balmer forced a parody of a smile through clenched teeth, fighting down the urge to scream that if the people at Quantonix had kept adequate tabs on the Sarda they were supposed to have been dealing with, none of this would have happened. "A matter of professional ethics and client confidentiality. I sympathize with your situation, but . . ."—he shrugged—"your internal affairs here are hardly my affair. My obligation was to my patient."
"What kind of problems was he experiencing when he first came to you?" Stewart Perrel asked. Balmer had cited rising apprehension about the forthcoming experiment as the root cause of Sarda's becoming unhinged. Although not widely publicized, the nature of the TX Project was not a closely guarded secret that Sarda would never have discussed—hence, it was acceptable for Balmer to reveal that he had known about it. And if it helped give the Quantonix people a feeling of responsibility for what had gone wrong, then so much the better.