by Mike Resnick
I did not know, but experience had taught me that if a human being acted from one of two possible motives, the more selfish motive was probably valid. With a sigh, I instructed my computer to erase the letter I had been writing her.
I worked until lunchtime and then, instead of going to my usual restaurant, I walked to the most affluent section of the city and came at last to the Far London Towers.
I received a number of hostile stares as I walked through the lobby, but no one tried to stop me as I summoned an elevator and entered it. I did not know the number of the Presidential Suite, but I reasoned that it had to be on the top floor, and so I directed the elevator to take me there.
I emerged into an opulent corridor, filled with exquisite sculptures from all across the galaxy, and finally came to a large hand-carved door of Doradusian hardwood.
“Who's there?” demanded Heath's voice as the security system informed him of my presence.
“It is Leonardo,” I answered.
An instant later the door slid silently into the wall, and I entered a lavishly furnished room. Heath got up from a form-fitting chair and walked across the plush carpeting.
“You look even worse than you did this morning,” he commented. “Come in and sit down.”
“Thank you,” I said, walking over to a sofa that hovered a few inches above the floor.
“Are you all right?” he asked solicitously. “Your color keeps darkening.”
“It is the Hue of Shame.”
“Oh?”
I nodded. “I have come to tell you what you want to know,” I said.
PART 4
The Man Who Got It All
19.
My craving for feed was greater than it had ever been in my life.
Gradually, as consciousness returned to me, I remembered that I was inside the Deepsleep chamber, I opened my eyes, winced as the light struck them, winced again from the pain of movement, and lay perfectly motionless as I silently counted to three hundred. Then, stiff but no longer in agony, I sat up, clumsily swung my legs over the side of the module, and carefully stood up.
Heath was sitting on the edge of the other module, his usually well-groomed hair wild and unkempt, a disoriented expression on his face. He flexed his arms tentatively, then lowered his feet gently to the floor.
“Good morning, Leonardo,” he said, noticing me for the first time.
“How are you feeling?”
“Hungry,” I replied.
“Not without cause,” he replied. “You haven't eaten for thirty days.”
“And how are you, Friend Valentine?” I inquired.
“Starving!”
Heath headed off toward the galley, groaning when his muscles didn't respond as he wanted them to, and I fell into step behind him, trying to ignore the shooting pains in my limbs.
“Oh, am I stiff!” he complained.
We reached the galley and ordered our food, then sat down at the tiny table and proceeded to eat voraciously and silently for the next few minutes. Finally Heath leaned back on his chair and sighed contentedly.
“God, that was good!” he said devoutly. “I'm so full I may just go back into Deepsleep and take a little nap while I digest it all.”
“That is not necessary, Friend Valentine,” I said. “The human body digests its food in— ”
“That was a joke, Leonardo,” he interrupted.
“Oh,” I said. Then, because I did not wish to hurt his feelings, I added, “It was very funny.”
“Thanks,” he said wryly.
“You are most welcome, Friend Valentine.”
“You know,” said Heath, “I used to wonder why someone didn't just deposit one hundred credits in a bank at eight or nine percent— or even two percent, for that matter— and then go into Deepsleep for a few centuries. He'd wake up the richest man alive.” Heath grimaced. “Then I went into the chamber for a month or two, and I realized that you could die of starvation in less than a year. There's a big difference between shutting down your systems completely and just slowing them down to a crawl.”
“Also, the Oligarchy has decreed that no investment shall accrue interest while the investor is in Deepsleep,” I pointed out. “That is why the Deepsleep process is a government monopoly: so that each chamber can be programmed to report the duration of each being's Deepsleep experience to the Treasury computer at Deluros.”
“But that's a relatively recent ruling,” he replied. “It didn't exist during the Republic or the Democracy, and Deepsleep's been around almost twenty-five hundred years. No, I'm convinced that more than one man must have tried it and starved to death before coming out of Deepsleep.”
There was a momentary silence.
“Where are we now, Friend Valentine?” I asked at last.
He shrugged. “We should have reached the Albion Cluster about two days ago,” he responded. “I can check our exact position with the computer.” He activated the computer with a voice command. “Computer, please give me our present position.”
“We are in the Albion Cluster, and will pass the Maximus system at a distance of three light-years in approximately seventy-nine minutes.”
“Right on schedule,” said Heath with a smug smile. “We must be a couple of days ahead of Venzia.”
“But he left almost thirty-six hours before we did,” I said.
Heath smiled confidently. “There aren't too many ships around that are as fast as this one— and Venzia doesn't strike me as the kind of man who'd own one of them.” He ordered a glass of wine from the galley, then asked the computer if it had recorded any messages while we were in Deepsleep.
“Yes,” replied the computer. “I have stored three messages in my memory banks.”
“Give them to me in the order you received them,” said Heath.
“The first is from Louis Nittermeier,” announced the computer.
“My lawyer,” explained Heath.
“Valentine? Valentine?” said a man's high-pitched voice. “Damn! Why are you always in Deepsleep when I want you?” There was a momentary pause. “All right— let's see what I've got. All charges against you have been dropped, and you're free to return to Charlemagne. They confiscated about half your artwork— everything that wasn't registered with your insurance company— but we're negotiating to get it back. I think half a million credits will do it; there's one more guy I've got to see at police headquarters, but I've been told on reasonably good authority that he's not unwilling to bargain. What else?” Another pause. “Oh, yes— you lost your apartment on the west side of town, the one you rent under one of your aliases. Evidently you've neglected to pay your rent for the past four months. I've managed to tie it up in court so nobody else can move in; if you want it back, send me forty thousand credits for your back rent and maybe another ten thousand for a security deposit. And don't forget to pay your hard-working attorney. End of message.”
“It wasn't much of an apartment anyway,” said Heath with an eloquent shrug. “Computer, play the next message.”
“Valentine,” said Louis Nittermeier, sounding terribly agitated, “what the hell did you do on Far London? The police have been in touch with me three times today.” A pause. “Some guy named Abercrombie is screaming bloody murder, and from the little I've been able to find out about him, he doesn't seem to be the kind of man who can be bought off. I'm sure you're as innocent as a newborn babe... but just in case you aren't, you'd better not get within five hundred light-years of Far London until you get yourself a good lawyer there— and I emphasize the word good. I'm not licensed to practice out there, and I wouldn't know what buttons to push even if they let me in.” Another pause. “Just between old friends, don't you ever get tired of this? I mean, does every toothpick you own have to be made of gold— and twenty-four-karat gold at that? One of these days you're going to bite off more than you can chew, and they're going to land on you so hard that you never get up. For all I know, it's already happened with this Abercrombie.” A weary sigh. “Well,
good luck, and don't forget to pay your faithful attorney. Out.”
“How could he have known it was me?” asked Heath, frowning. “I've never met the man in my life.”
“He knows that you were the seller of the Mallachi painting, and that you returned to Far London with me,” I replied.
He shook his head. “Lots of people come to Far London every day. Why me? As far as he knows, I'm a legitimate dealer who sold him the piece he wanted.” He seemed to lose interest in the subject. “Computer, play the final message.”
“This is Tai Chong,” said a familiar voice. “We seem to have a major problem here.” She paused for a moment and then continued in a carefully neutral tone. “It seems that someone stole four valuable paintings from the home of Malcolm Abercrombie three nights ago. I have absolutely no idea who committed this heinous crime, but for some reason Mr. Abercrombie has the obviously mistaken notion that you are responsible, Valentine. He's gotten the police to issue an arrest warrant, and, while I have no idea where you are, if this message chances to reach you, I thought I should apprise you of the situation and urge you to turn yourself in to the authorities so that you can clear your good name.”
Heath grinned at her suggestion.
“If you are with him, Leonardo, I regret to inform you that Mr. Abercrombie has charged you with complicity in this crime, and that you are now a fugitive from justice.”
She paused again, and Heath turned to me.
“You'll notice that she didn't tell you to surrender to the authorities,” he said in amused tones.
“Why not?” I asked, sincerely puzzled.
“Because she knows you'd do it.”
“I am certain that I can smooth things over and get the charges against you dropped, Leonardo,” continued Tai Chong's voice, “but in the meantime, although I find this course of action repugnant, I have no choice but to suspend you without pay. My hands are tied in the matter; it is company policy to dissociate ourselves from anyone convicted of a felony— and while you most certainly have not been convicted of anything and will not be, the fact remains that this is the second felony warrant issued against you in the past two months.”
I sat stunned as she continued speaking.
“Your Pattern Mother contacted me when your weekly salary was not deposited in the House of Crsthionn account, and I had no alternative but to explain the situation to her. I regret to inform you that she knows the police are searching for you in connection with the theft. I will not rest until I have convinced her that you were in no way responsible for this unfortunate incident,” she added hastily. “I feel terrible about this, Leonardo, and I give you my word that I'll do everything in my power to see that you do not suffer unduly. You have always been loyal to me, and I will be loyal to you. Even if this thing drags on interminably, as now seems likely, there is a possibility that I will be able to use you as a free-lance consultant.”
“My Pattern Mother knows?” I repeated, horror-stricken.
“I have no idea where the two of you are, and of course I can have no idea of your destination— but if this message reaches you, Valentine, I am counting on you to surrender to the nearest authority, and also to convince Leonardo to do what is right for him. Good luck and Godspeed.”
“That's a classy lady,” said Heath admiringly. “I'll bet she had six policemen in her office when she sent the message.”
“But I thought I was doing what she wanted,” I said, totally devastated.
“You were,” answered Heath. “She never thought Abercrombie would suspect a Bjornn of collaborating with anyone to break the law.” He shook his head. “He's either brighter than I thought, or very paranoid.”
“What will become of me?”
“You weren't listening very carefully, were you?” said Heath easily.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“She promised that she'd take care of you. She'll keep her word.”
“How?” I asked uncomprehendingly.
“The same way she takes care of me,” said Heath. He smiled. “'Free-lance consultant’ is a euphemism for procurer of stolen artwork. I guarantee that you'll make more this way than you ever would as an employee, or even as an art dealer on Bjornn.”
“Benitarus II,” I corrected him automatically.
“Wherever.”
“But I cannot become a thief!” I protested.
“What else can you be?” responded Heath seriously. “Your Pattern Mother won't talk to you and Claiborne has suspended you.”
“I can perform the ritual of suicide,” I said.
He shook his head. “Claiborne didn't fire you. If Tai Chong gets the police to drop their charges, you still have to work off the rest of your contract.”
“I owe nothing to a woman who manipulated me into helping you commit a crime, and now wants me to become a thief.”
“You have an interesting concept of honor, Leonardo.”
“I do not understand what you mean,” I said.
“Are you honor-bound only to meet those commitments you make to people who live up to your high moral standards?” asked Heath. “You're saying that you're letting her morality determine your own.” He paused. “I've been living by that particular code for years— but then, I've never pretended to be a man of honor.”
“But how am I to honor my contract when Tai Chong obviously prefers that I steal paintings for her?” I asked helplessly.
“I don't know,” said Heath. “You'll have to figure that out for yourself.”
“I cannot!” I protested. “I must seek ethical guidance.”
“From me?” he asked with an amused laugh.
“No, not from you.”
“Your Pattern Mother won't help you, and you don't want Tai Chong's advice,” he said, “so who can you ask?”
“I do not know,” I replied. “I will find someone.”
“In the meantime, you're on your own, and we've got a living to make.”
“I will not steal artwork,” I said adamantly.
“Have I suggested it?” asked Heath innocently.
“Yes.”
“Well, forget it— for the moment, at least. I think there's a much easier way to turn a profit.” He leaned forward intently. “We're going to beat Venzia to Saltmarsh, which means we'll find the Dark Lady before he does. It's my guess that he'll pay a considerable amount of money for five minutes of her time.”
“If you can find her on Saltmarsh, so can he,” I said.
Heath smiled confidently. “We'll wait for him at the spaceport and tell him we've kidnapped her.”
“Why should he believe you?”
“Because it makes sense,” said Heath. “Why would I lie to him?”
“Because you are Valentine Heath.”
“But he doesn't know Valentine Heath as well as you do.”
“He knows that the Dark Lady will vanish before you can force her to do anything against her will,” I pointed out.
“But from everything you and Venzia have told me, she's never done it in front of anyone who isn't aware of her true nature. We'll just keep her in a crowd.”
“Keep her in a crowd?” I repeated.
“That's right. The more people there are, the less likely she is to pull her disappearing act.”
“I thought you were going to lie to Friend Reuben,” I said.
“If I have to,” responded Heath. “It makes more sense to actually deliver the goods— but if we can't, then we should certainly have an alternate plan in mind.”
“And all you plan to do is detain her until Venzia arrives?” I asked.
“That's right,” he replied.
“Have you nothing to ask her yourself?” I continued.
“Such as?”
“The answer to Venzia's question.”
Heath shook his head. “Absolutely not. What fun would life be without some mystery?”
“But if there is an afterlife, do you not want to know?”
“I'll know soon enou
gh,” he replied.
“But— ”
“Look,” he said. “I've never been the kind of person who reads the last chapter of a mystery novel first. It's cheating. Well, this is the same thing.”
“Since when did cheating bother you?”
“Touché,” he said.
There was a brief silence.
“You have not answered my question,” I said at last.
“Leonardo,” he began with a sigh, “one of the reasons I prefer to think that when we die everything we are dies with us is that if there are any ground rules for getting into heaven, any at all, then I'm condemned to eternal damnation. The Dark Lady can tell me only two things: that there is an afterlife, or that there isn't. If there isn't, nothing I believe in has changed; and if there is, I'd rather not know about it. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, Friend Valentine.”
“Do you plan to ask her anything?”
“Possibly,” I replied.
“What?”
“I am not sure yet.”
“Well, you'd better make up your mind soon; we'll be landing on Saltmarsh in about five hours.” Heath paused thoughtfully. “You know,” he said, “Saltmarsh is only about four days from Benitarus II. Maybe when we're done, I'll take you home and you can try to patch up your troubles with your Pattern Mother.”
“I thank you for the thought, Friend Valentine,” I said. “But I have been forbidden to set foot on Benitarus II.”
“Maybe she'll change her mind if she knows we're practically on her doorstep.”
“She will not.”
“You never know,” he replied.
“I know,” I replied. “My Acceptance Day passed while we were in Deepsleep, yet she left no message and sent no gift of food.”
He laughed. “We're fugitives from the law, Leonardo! Nobody except Tai Chong knows where we're going, and we haven't broken radio silence for close to thirty days. How would your Pattern Mother know where to send a message?”
“That is true,” I answered.
“And as for a present, we've been traveling at light speeds for a month. Even if she knew how to find us, how do you think she could deliver it?”