Shan looked out into the deserted park and took his upper lip between his teeth. In front of him was evidence that Paz changed its face every year, but even with a different physical face the culture remained basically the same. What was going on between Niki, the Cadre, and the Generation was different—it was going to alter what everyone on Paz had always considered to be the one constant of their world. When he was an onner, he'd played out there in that park, but the park was no longer what it had been. He, grown into manhood, had taken his place in the world of Pazian culture, a culture that, for all practical purposes, remained constant from generation to generation, while the park gave way to weeds and the devices upon which he'd played crumbled into the brush that had put an end to the lush sangrass. The people who'd once occupied this section had all moved to other parts of the city or become numbers in the record, but the culture had changed not a whit because of the demise of this plot of ground. Niki had promised him it would change now, that there would be a fundamental change and unbelievable upheaval in the one constant on Paz.
“No, damn it—no threats. I'm trying to impress upon you that the importance of what Niki's doing is far greater than you and I—greater than whatever evidence you have secreted away or even the story I'm sitting on. Now that I'm thinking about it, what we are doing may turn out to be ... worthless when he is finished."
* * * *
“Alex."
“Yes, Rammix."
“There has been a change in the telemetry from the surface of the planet."
“Explain."
“The intermittent signal in proximity to the original steady-state transmission has changed its position to a point substantially farther north, approximately latitude fifty-eight and nine degrees east of its original longitude. The steady-state transmission has ceased. The cessation of that signal occurred eleven minutes six seconds after what I have determined to have been a particle beam discharge."
“Particle beam? Are you certain of that?"
“No, Alex. The discharge reading was too weak to obtain to certainty, but the signature of the wave gives a probability of greater than eighty-five percent. Eighty percent is the cut-off point for making—"
“Yes, Rammix, I know. What is the significance to be drawn?"
“Unknown. However, it would indicate that the inhabitants are in possession of sophisticated weapons."
“Mm-hmm. That is—bad news. What about the codes? Have you made any progress with them?"
“Yes, Alex. I am now able to understand, and I have been in communication with ISCU-9 for thirty-four minutes."
“What? Rammix, I instructed you to advise me of any change in that situation when it occurred. What happened?"
“Two things, Alex. First, you were in your dormant state until fifteen minutes ago, and I have learned not to attempt rational intercourse with you immediately after your arousal—your thinking processes remain in an impaired condition for some time. Second, it has taken this long to decipher the response. Being in communication does not automatically imply a condition of comprehension."
“Fair enough—I guess. What was the communication?"
“By your instruction, I have continued my requests for information regarding the entry codes. The response was quite complicated, but I can put it in terms you will readily understand, if you wish."
“Well, do it. What was the response?"
“Go to hell."
* * *
Chapter XXIII
The pilot circled the Ganeden landing pad cautiously, testing the wind for the best approach before trying to set down on the icy field below. Shan shuddered in troubled anticipation and looked down into a plain of uniform white-on-white. Snow streaked across the pad in ruled lines, pushed by winds that swept the Ganeden plate ever harder as Halfyear approached. So far north, snow was not uncommon, even during Quarteryear, but it was guaranteed now and it wasn't the soft, sticky, large, wet flakes of Quarteryear, either, but hard pellets, not quite ice—not quite snow. The unbroken flatness of the plain allowed the wind to bluster unabated across several hundred kilometers, and the only consolation was that the super-cold snow and ice didn't tend to collect much anywhere.
Shan snugged up the belt at the waist of his extra-long carper down coat and raised the hood over his head, fluffing up the shagrat fur lining as he did so, to be sure there would be only enough of his face exposed to see where he was going. He was certain he had outsmarted the weather this time.
Two transports were waiting on the field, and Shan hoped one of them was from Niki's group. There were no facilities other than some old hangars at the far western end of the Ganeden pad to protect him from the full force of the wind—no place to hide from the minus twenty degree cold. Shan knew that, long coat or not, any time spent down there would be as miserable an experience as one could have anywhere on Paz.
He stepped off the air transport and realized in an instant that he had been tragically wrong about the long coat. It began funneling snow and ice-laden surface wind and driving it forcefully up to his chest. He tried shoving his hands into heavily insulated pockets as deeply as they would go, then pushing to gain an extra couple of centimeters, but it was useless.
The frigid, biting wind caught in his coat and filled it like a sail, propelling him across the waiting area toward an ancient wire fence in the throes of collapsing under a load of age and ice. The soles of his boots were too smooth to impede his progress, and he continued gaining speed, racing totally and madly out of control toward the jagged, rusted barrier.
He was brought up just short of disaster by a pair of strong hands, and a familiar voice said, “Great day, Mr. Shan. Well, for you, maybe not so great. You should get yourself a pair of good ice boots to wear up here, man, not those city soles—you could slide all the way to North Coopersland in those things. Here, give me your hand."
There stood the burly Luto, and Shan was grateful for his timely help, but in no way would he take either hand from the shelter of his deep pockets.
“No hands, Luto. Just get a grip on my arm, and I promise not to struggle. A little cold for this much snow, isn't it?"
“Yeah,” Luto responded with Shan firmly in tow. “It's been coming down like this since last night, so we're glad to have this wind. It's cold enough that the stuff doesn't start stacking up until it hits the slope to Cooper's Plateau—over in the Pockets. The drifts over there can get up to eight meters, even more sometimes."
Luto might have been glad the wind was blowing, but, as far as Shan was concerned, it could stop any time and it wouldn't be missed by him. Shan dropped into the transport and started wrestling with his coat to get the snow out of it before it melted into his clothing—he was too late.
The red front of the building no longer had its sign above the alcove, to rattle and bang threateningly overhead. That had fallen prey to the relentless wind and was probably already at the bottom of one of the snow banks at Cooper's Plateau. The alcove looked like the open mouth of an angry, red, snaggletooth monster as confused eddies wouldn't allow moisture to fall in any particular direction—the resulting icicles trailing off in all directions and forming a line of glistening, misshapen teeth.
The quiet and warmth of the shelter was a welcome relief. Not a hint of the tumult on the surface, which suited Shan just fine. Luto stopped at a door and indicated that he should go through it.
“There's no one in there with a needle, is there?"
“No, but Niki's expecting you. See you later, Mr. Shan."
Shan stood at the door for a minute, watching Luto saunter down the passage, then stepped in and was greeted by a plethora of electronic gadgets that took up most of the floor space.
“Hello, Niki,” he said, wandering from one machine to the next. “What's all this stuff?"
“Evening, Bo. It's monitoring equipment from Twenty-three. We need to keep track of several things that are happening right now.” Niki pushed away from his desk and continued, “So, my friend, how did you ma
ke out with Harko?"
“That damned Harko made me promise all my vital parts in trade for this information, and he already has a file made out for me if any of it leaks out. The guy you want is the GoL Vagnu."
“As in Governor of Law in the High Council?"
“Council."
“That's a good one. How am I supposed to get him up here? I have to have him here before second day of the coming period, and time is going fast."
“I don't know, Niki. If I knew what you were doing, maybe I could come up with some way to make a deal with him—like a treaty between the three groups, maybe."
“Treaty is one way of putting it,” Niki said while adjusting a monitor on his desk. “Look, Bo, I really don't like keeping you in the dark, and maybe this would be a good time to let you know a little more. I mean, after all, you can't go back to New London until this is resolved, and that means you're going to be here through the tenth day of Halfyear."
“Niki."
“No choice."
“I want this story, you know I do, but I also have a job to do and I can't stall them much longer without being dropped in the street. It's been eleven days since I've submitted anything, Niki."
“I know that, but if you go back now, you'll be hunted down by the Generation or, worse, somebody from the Cadre who isn't as pleasant as Lang. And if I can't arrange to meet with this, um, GoL Vagnu, you'll be dangerous to all of us—and Harko."
“Dangerous? How?"
“You already know too much. I've set up a meeting with the Cadre people, and once we've talked you may not have to worry about them, but the Generation and Harko represent other problems."
Niki crossed the room, closed the door, and locked it.
“Bo, what I am about to tell you, even the people here don't know. When I'm done you'll understand why you can't leave. Do you have a chipcorder with you?"
“I'm a reporter, Niki. Chipcorders and microcams might as well be implanted in us at birth. Of course I have it with me—and it has been running all the while you've been talking."
“I figured that. Turn it off and give it to me."
Shan handed the chipcorder to Niki.
“Niki, I have a question for you before you begin—one of those things friends ask friends, you know. So, right now this is Bo to Niki, and you have the chipcorder. Right after Days of Disturbance I met a simple, slightly shy fisherman from Nurusha down in the Flag district who wanted, more than anything, to go to the Museum of the Ancients. What happened to him? Is he still around?"
* * * *
“Pardon me, GoL Vagnu,” the Council receptionist said on his portacom. “There is a call for you from a Mr. Albo Shan. He says he is a reporter with the Journal. Do you want to take the call, sir?"
“Yes. Put him on my office line and tell him I will be with him in a couple of minutes."
Vagnu reassembled Hagman's chip case carefully to make sure it was exactly as he'd found it and put it back in the drawer. If he had an adversary on the Council, it was Hagman, and if Hagman found out Vagnu was snooping in his chips, well, that would lead to a bad situation from which he may might not be able to extricate himself.
Entering his office, Vagnu saw the call light flashing. Good, he thought.
If this Shan wants an interview I will grant it. Good political business to be in the public eye from time to time.
“Hello, sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Shan. How may I help you?"
“This is sensitive material—for your knowledge only. Can you put us on a secure line?"
“Yes, Mr. Shan, of course,” he said and switched over to the Council's coded, off-system line. Citizens called the Council all the time to report everything from outrageous conspiracy theories to strange lights in the sky and invading hairless giants from Ahriman, but this was the first time anyone requested a quiet and secured line. “There, Mr. Shan, we are as if in a Halfyear priest's hall where no one hears. Now, what is so sensitive?"
“I have the Delta."
Vagnu winced at the remark, but said nothing and hoped his reaction had not shown in his face. This could be a trick designed by Hagman to get him to reveal his involvement, a suspicion which, he knew, Hagman had been harboring for some time. But how would he know about the Delta? Harko had not mentioned the Delta, as far as Vagnu was aware, so no one on the Council should have any knowledge of Kaznov.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Shan. What is this Delta? Is it something requiring the attention of the Council?"
“No, GoL Vagnu, it's something best kept to the two of us—or should I say between Kan Haber and myself—whichever name you like best."
How Shan knew about Haber was not important, but the fact that he had such information at all most certainly was. No one but he and Su had ever known about Haber.
“All right—what is it you want, Mr. Shan?"
“It's not what I want that's of any interest here. It's what you want. You, I know, want Kaznov, and that's all right by me. Now, here's the deal. In exchange for, say, twenty million in hard note, you can have the Delta and I can afford to have some of the things I've always wanted. Does that sound like an equitable trade to you?"
Twenty million was barkle meal to Vagnu, and he really wanted to get his hands on Kaznov, but he was not going to dance into any kind of trap willingly.
“It would, if what you seem to believe happened were true. Are you so sure you have the right man, or are you casting about looking for a reaction to satisfy your curiosity?"
“Oh, stop with the shagrat crap, Vagnu. You either want him, or you don't. You take the last flight to Ganeden tonight, and don't forget the tickle. Come alone or bring an army, I don't give a damn. If you show up, you'll be put together with Kaznov, and if you don't show, I can guarantee you that by first light you'll be sitting in an Enforcement DetCenter for the unlawful termination of several good and innocent citizens, not to mention treason. Take your pick. Oh, and if I'm not mistaken, those are the only two crimes in the Book of the Law carrying an automatic hanging sentence."
The screen went blank, leaving Vagnu in a dark room with his thoughts. No, Shan was not mistaken. He was guilty of both those crimes many times over. There was no way out that he would be able to find in the time left to him before the last commercial flight to Ganeden departed. Vagnu opened his safe and counted out two hundred new coppers and stacked them neatly in a chip case, then left the building.
* * * *
Wills paced the width of Harko's office, stopping occasionally to shake an admonishing finger at Harko while he assaulted his superior with chapter and verse of the Law Apps Operational Code book.
“Furthermore, Brand, you've ignored section, um, six, article nine, subchapter twenty, which states clearly that any officer of any rank, during the course of any investigation, will provide a minimum of two other officers with full disclosure of his results and information at all times, man. What in the name of the Ancients have you been doing?"
“I can't—"
“We've been friends a long time, Brand. Now you're telling me, your number one investigator, you can't let me know what you've been working on? I've been watching you, and you've been as nervous as a shavecat in the open without a tree. You haven't been sleeping, and you haven't been eating, either. Two and a half days you've been in here."
“I've been sleeping,” Harko protested.
“Right. Head on the desk for ten minutes at a time. That's what you call sleeping?"
“Yeah, Carlos. It's enough for me."
“That's a laugh. Look at you."
“I'm sorry, Carlos. I can't let you in just yet. One, maybe two more days."
“You can't let me in? You can't let me in, but you can confide in that stinking little records clerk? You and me, Brand. We're real Apps. Thirty years we go back, you and me. We worked the streets in NC together. Remember that? That kid ... he's nothing more than a librarian ... a chip chaser, Brand."
“That's right, he's a chip chaser, a damned good one, and righ
t now a chip chaser's what I need. When this turns into real Apps work, we'll do it as a team, Carlos. You, me, and the chip chaser."
“When?"
“I don't know."
“Brand, I can only cover for you so much. Psych's been asking about you—and don't look at me like that. I haven't twitched, but they've been asking. If they find out you're working so far outside the Book, you'll be on the street without enough tickle for a one-hour pleasure commercial. Let me know when you need me."
Wills left the office, slamming the door behind him, and Harko wearily punched the com.
“Yes, sir."
“Send an I-team out to the old Cafferty Bight shelter. Tell them to go through the place and record everything. It'll be an overnighter, so tell them to pack a clean pair of shorts. I want them to report their findings directly to me. Nothing to anyone else—and get me Sax."
“Sax didn't come in today."
“What?"
“He called in about second hour. Said he had to go on a trip but that he'd be back about eighth hour. I thought you knew, Chief."
“Did he say where he was going?"
“No, sir."
“All right, thanks.” He'd have to get on Sax for this. He needed him in the office.
* * * *
Vagnu took the ice goggles from the attendant and slipped them over his eyes, flipped up his hood, then moved off down the boarding ramp, followed closely by two of his most trusted guards who were also Generation members. When he stepped off the covered ramp, he leaned into the wind and fought his way to a waiting transport.
Snow was beginning to stick, mounds of the stuff piling up against the slightest obstruction. The wind howled, driving ice and snow painfully into his face.
Excuse me, gentlemen,” the pilot said when they closed the doors. “You're going to have to use the crash straps up here. The track deicers don't work around here like they do in the big city, so we're going to get bounced around pretty hard."
As the three connected the cross-straps over their shoulders, the pilot crabbed the transport across the wind to the Ganeden track. When the warning light on his dash blinked off, he increased speed, sending the transport down the track through the sub-zero darkness, and raising a cloud of snow and ice behind it that sparkled as it blew off into Vegamtu's night-shine.
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