"So what happened to repair you? You were fine when I met you."
"When the Ringers—the mercenary company that owned me and employed Franks—finished on Vegna, they had no use for a PCAV so messed up it wasn't cost-effective to repair."
"How can you know this if your brain wasn't working?"
"A lot of the discussions about me occurred inside me," Lobo said, "so I was able to glean a great deal by studying the data from my emergency recordings. Other facts came from data they fed me later. Now, may I continue?"
"Of course."
"The Frontier Coalition offered the Ringers five percent of my retail value and explained they could use me—remember, the explosion didn't hurt my exterior—as a showpiece on developing worlds where they couldn't afford to station a fully operational PCAV. The Ringers accepted the offer."
"But when I met you on Macken," I said, "the only thing wrong with you was your weapons control complex."
"That's because the FC didn't put me there immediately," Lobo said, "as I would have explained if you had not again interrupted me."
"I'm sorry. Please go on."
"The FC hauled me away and presented me to one of its research teams. That group was working in secret in a lab that was masquerading as a government warehouse on the edges of the populated section of Velna."
I'd been to Velna once, to recruit some help for a mission, and though the recruitment was successful I'd never felt the need to go back. The planet boasted two main traits: It possessed the most seismically stable land masses of any known planet, and in pretty much every other way it was one of the least appealing worlds humanity has ever colonized.
"When we went to Velna," I said, "why didn't you tell me you'd been there before?"
"You didn't ask," Lobo said, "and we were rather busy. Besides, I spent almost all of my time on that planet in that lab."
"Why did they put you there?"
"Because the researchers needed a rugged experimental subject, which despite the damage I'd sustained I most certainly was. And the scientist leading that team wanted a PCAV."
"Wei," I said.
"Yes," Lobo said. "Wei."
"So what did he and his team do to you?"
"That will have to wait," Lobo said, "because Pri has communicated with her team and is going to bang on your door—" he paused a few seconds "—now."
The knock came, and the door opened a second later. I'd have asked Lobo to make her wait, but he didn't give me that option, so I tried to smile as I said, "What did your people have to say?"
"How did you—" she began. She glanced at the ceiling. "Oh, of course: He told you. In any case, they had no useful information. To the best of their knowledge, Wei is still on the island. So, let's hope your meeting goes well. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be leaving?"
"Yes," Lobo said, "he should, particularly given his usual desire to arrive early."
They were right, but I hated it when the two of them ganged up on me, and I was frustrated at how little information Lobo had given me about Wei. When I replayed the conversations, I had to admit that I hadn't let him tell the story the way he wanted, but it still annoyed me. I rolled my head a bit to dissipate some of my tension and frustration, then pulled the carrying case from under my cot and stood.
Pri blocked the doorway.
"Are you sure—" she said.
"Positive," I said. "We can discuss it later, but right now I need to maintain what little confidence I have. And, as you both observed, I have to go."
I stepped toward her, and she turned to let me pass. As Lobo opened a side hatch, I said, "Keep watch on the exits from the island as best you can, but this time make monitoring me the top priority. If this works, I want you to know as much about her location as possible."
"Good luck," Pri said.
I nodded and stepped outside.
When Lobo closed the hatch, I said, "I'm going to need it."
Chapter 20
I approached the square from the street opposite the one through which both Matahi and I had left it after our previous meeting. She was already there, sitting at the same table as last time but on the opposite side, where I had sat, and she was staring right at me. The moment I turned the corner, she waved me over.
Either she had great scouts neither Lobo or I could spot, or she was anticipating me so well it made me uncomfortable. Neither choice made me happy. I forced a slight smile and strolled toward her.
Her outfit today initially appeared to be the same one she'd worn before, but as I drew closer I realized the burqa's fabric was a different color, this time a luminous teal. The hat was also slightly smaller, and the gloves a bit shorter. The overall effect, though, was identical: A complete covering that revealed nothing.
I sat in the chair opposite her and gently set the carrying case on the ground next to her legs.
She said nothing. Her expression didn't change, and her eyes were invisible behind her sunglasses. She was perfectly still but clearly present, not asleep, merely waiting.
I said nothing.
After about a minute, I decided that she could sit in comfortable silence for as long as I could, maybe longer, and I was apparently the only one with an agenda. Why she didn't work harder to get my money, however, baffled and annoyed me. Wasn't I the customer?
Getting angry would accomplish nothing, except perhaps to drive her away, so I took a few long, slow breaths to calm myself.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me today," I said.
"You're most welcome," she said. "Thank you for requesting the time."
I waited again, wanting her to ask to check out my gift, but she didn't. I couldn't tell if she'd even glanced at it, though given how aware she seemed of everything around her I assumed she had.
Finally, I couldn't stand it. "Would you like to see my present?" I said.
"When you're ready to show it."
My anxiety about my choice crashed into me, and without thinking, I said, "We better not wait that long."
She smiled, a full, wide grin that managed to convey her happiness and in the process instantly make me happier, and said, "Ah, finally, a bit of unconscious honesty. So refreshing."
Part of me admired her accuracy, part of me hated it, and part of me wanted to hit her for toying with me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that her comment was both honest itself and a form of praise. Whatever it was, my statement had been as close to the right move as anything I'd done with her, so I forced myself to plunge ahead.
"I tried to figure out what you'd want, but I failed. I ultimately took a friend's advice and went with my feelings. I have no idea if you'll like it, but it's what I have."
I leaned over, opened the carrying case, and pulled out my present. I set it on the table between us, its front facing her. The pale yellow wooden replica of one of the houses on the square was, I saw as I examined its back, perfect down to the rear windows and doorways. The workmanship was also fantastic on the back, with mottling that made me think of the stone of the actual building, even though I knew the material was wood.
"It's a puzzle," I said. After a moment, I added, "Like you."
She took off her gloves and ran her hands along its sides, then down the front. She felt along the back, then slowly moved the window frame and the three hidden pieces that let her tease the building open. The sides swung outward to reveal a smooth, blood-red cube, also of wood. On top of that inner box sat a miniature holo of one of the red flowers in the square.
"And in the little box?" she said.
"Nothing yet. The pad on top records the DNA of the first person who touches it, and only that person will be able to open it from then on."
"So you must do it for me?"
"Of course not," I said, caught off-guard. "I've saved it for you. Only you open the inner box."
She nodded her head slowly, then leaned back in her chair. She took off her glasses to reveal large, round, dark brown eyes that made her face even more beautiful. "Why this gift?"
she said.
"I could try to explain, but I'm not sure I completely understand. I suppose—"
I stopped as she held up her hand. "Please don't," she said. "I love it." She closed the house, carefully restoring the pieces so it once again was solidly shut.
"You're not going to open the inner box?" I said.
"We'll do it later," she said, "but probably not today. Would you be kind enough to carry it for me until we reach my home?"
"So I've passed?"
She laughed lightly. "Obviously." She put on her sunglasses and stood. "Shall we go?" She brushed past me, the edge of her hand just grazing my shoulder as she went.
I got up and followed her.
We went to the corner of the square to the left of Poohgi and then down that street. Unlike yesterday, she stayed outside and worked her way smoothly through the pedestrian crowd.
I caught up, settled into place beside her, and said, "Why aren't you disguising your route?"
She laughed once more. "There you go again, asking stupid questions. Why do you do that?"
I stopped myself from responding as I realized the answer was obvious: Yesterday, she hadn't wanted me to know the way to her home because she hadn't yet decided to see me again, but now that she'd accepted me as a client, I had to learn its location to be able to visit her.
"I agree that one was dumb," I said, "and I'll try not to ask more like it, but I'm too curious not to have some questions." The tactical implications of her profession both intrigued and nagged at me.
"Which ones are bothering you now?"
"You've checked me out as much as you can," I said, "as I did you. You've decided to let me become a client, and I'm glad you did. But aren't you worried that once we're no longer in crowded streets, or perhaps when we're in your home, that I might prove to be unstable and hurt you?"
She stopped and faced me. "To some degree, yes, that's always a concern, but it's not a major one. I wouldn't be who or what I am if I wasn't adept at reading people. I am also far from helpless. In addition, just as I'm sure someone is keeping tabs on you—anyone who can afford to be with me has staff for that very purpose—members of my staff are never far from me."
"Even in your home?"
"Especially in my home."
"I'm beginning to understand why your fee is so high," I said.
She smiled, turned, and headed down a street that angled diagonally away from us on our left. After a hundred meters the road narrowed and the two-story, gray stone buildings on either side of the narrow avenue formed a canyon through which we and a steady trickle of other people flowed. We stayed on this path for five minutes, turned onto a road on our right, and in less than a minute stepped into a square I hadn't visited before.
Four fountains stood at its corners. Scattered along its edges were people sitting at small tables, some chatting, some eating, some apparently asleep. Customer and server traffic moved slowly but steadily in and out of two small restaurants, each with an awning extending its dining space into the square. A dozen three-meter-high statues of men, women, and strange creatures decorated the plaza here and there, as if dropped randomly by a sculptor flying overhead. Nothing seemed planned, but the effect was nonetheless charming, even calming. I paused to take it in and was surprised at how it made me feel: Relaxed, even happy.
I glanced ahead to find Matahi staring at me. "Your first time here?"
I nodded. "In this square, yes."
"It's a binary thing, this little place," she said, looking around it slowly. "People either instantly love it or pass through it as if it were invisible. No one promotes it, it lacks any of the destination attractions of the other main open areas in the old city, and I'm not entirely sure why it's here." She focused again on me. "I'm glad you like it."
She seemed content to wait, so I strolled around the little park, inspecting the statues, dragging my hand through the water in each of the fountains, and simply enjoying myself. I hadn't been this relaxed since I'd left the treehouse at the start of this whole mess—and as I realized that I also regained my focus and lost the sense of peace I'd been feeling.
Despite the urgency that had hit me, I maintained my relaxed pace as I wandered back to Matahi and, remembering her earlier invitation, said, "Shall we?"
"Let's," she said.
She led me out of the square via a road that intersected the middle of the side opposite where we'd entered, then took the first left. This street worked its way gently uphill for about two hundred meters and then in the space of twenty meters curved ninety degrees to the right. Another few minutes on it led us to a completely different small square park, one no more than fifty meters on a side, that squatted in the middle of four-story buildings that lined the roads around it. In contrast to the muted pastels and earth tones of those structures, the square screamed with strong colors. Here and there benches of a lustrous purple wood sat on the thick, sea-green grass. Also scattered around the square, again in a pattern that seemed random but at the same time nicely counterpointed the benches, were thick flowered shrubs almost as tall as I am, their large white and pink and red blossoms giving off a gentle odor that for no reason I could pinpoint reminded me of the fresh-baked goods at Poohgi. Small groups of two, three, or four people sat on the benches and stretched out on the grass, some sleeping, some lost in whatever their glasses or contacts were showing them, some entirely captivated by one another.
Matahi stopped and pointed to the four-story building on the street opposite us. Weathered, sturdy, white with a tinge of blue, and with a black door in its center, the structure blended nicely with those around it. "My house," she said, as she headed toward it.
I didn't move. I'd gone through all this trouble to get here, but now I had to walk into possibly hostile, definitely guarded territory without knowing anything about the layout or the potential opposition. Doing so ran against every instinct I'd worked most of my life to hone, but it was also the only useful step I could take right now.
Matahi noticed I hadn't moved, stopped, and looked over her shoulder at me. "Coming?"
I forced a smile and started after her. "You bet."
Chapter 21
As we were crossing the street I realized that the door wasn't black; it was a very dark red wood, the color of dried and faded blood. A small knocker of the same material in the shape of an elongated, dripping heart sat at her shoulder height in the center of the door. She touched it and waited as it confirmed her identity. She then stepped aside, nodded at the knocker, and said, "If you wouldn't mind."
I stepped forward and grasped it. Cool at first, it warmed as I held it. When it turned cool again, I released it.
"Though you still can't enter without my permission," she said, "it does speed you through security if the system recognizes your DNA and prints."
The door clicked open and swung inward. The area inside was dark, its only illumination coming from outside. Matahi stepped into the space, then paused and turned again to face me. "Between the wire meshes lining all the walls and the interference signals we broadcast, no comm system will work once you're inside. Privacy is, as you might imagine, very important here. Don't come in unless you're willing to forego outside data."
"Do you live that way?"
She smiled. "Of course not; I'm not a fool, and I'm not a Luddite. The building provides redundant wired systems that link us to the outside world."
"You just don't open those to visitors."
She nodded.
I hesitated. She might also have added that I would be voluntarily walking into a space she could easily turn into a trap, something I've done before but have never enjoyed. On the other hand, Wei and other locals were her clients and presumably suffered under the same constraints, so I had no reason beyond normal operational paranoia—something I've learned to value—to fear joining her.
I motioned her forward and then followed her inside. "Shall we?" I said. "Privacy also matters to me."
The door shut as soon as I was clea
r of it. We stood in a small, pitch-black room. I switched my vision to IR and scanned the chamber. Tiny dots marked active sensors giving off heat as they worked. After a few seconds, they faded, and another door opened two meters in front of us.
We stepped from the darkness into soft light and air that was a touch cooler than outside. I stopped, stared at the room, tilted my head slightly, stared some more, and looked back at the doorway. The room was vastly bigger than the exterior of the house.
Matahi laughed. "Every new friend reacts that way," she said. "The false façade is very effective."
"You own both buildings."
"Actually," she said, "it's one very large building, but I made it appear to be two."
"Why?"
"Did my home seem particularly different from any of the others in this little area?" she said.
"No," I said, "and I understand: A building twice the size of its neighbors would have drawn attention to itself."
"Which I would prefer to avoid," she said.
"Why? You're doing nothing illegal."
"Are we going to return to dumb questions? Do you think my clients would like to publicize where they spend their private time? I can't guarantee them privacy—nothing can—but I can minimize the information I give out about them." She touched my hand with one gloved finger and added, "I'm going to change. Feel free to look around."
She walked toward the wall directly in front of us, a door slid open, and she vanished behind it.
The large room, about forty meters wide and nearly as deep, resembled a museum but managed to feel inviting and comfortable at the same time. As best I could tell, with the exception of the section into which Matahi had gone, the space included the rest of the first floor. Irregularly placed, large, square posts, about two meters on a side, broke the room into many smaller areas, each of them seeming to flow from and focus on a side of one of the supports. The posts and all the walls were the same almost-white color as the exterior but brighter, cheerier. The blonde wood floor added to the brightness. Pieces of art covered huge portions of the available surfaces all the way up to the four-meter-high ceiling. The ceiling was probably also white, but soft washes bathed it in a constantly evolving flow of pastel shades. Each of the room's little zones included some sort of multi-person seat, multiple individual chairs, and a few small tables. No two pieces of furniture appeared to be the same. All the seats in any one conversation zone worked well together, but no two areas shared a plan, as if a flock of decorators had been loosed on the space and told to do as they pleased as long as they stayed within their lines.
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