“I’ll have Dunuld show you to your room, and I’ll be getting supper on the table … if that’s all right with you?”
“That’s just fine. I’d like to wash my hands.”
“He’ll show you where.”
Dunuld appeared from the corridor to the right. He was a slender young man with short black curly hair and bright blue clear eyes. “This way, if you please.”
I followed him to the first door on the left, open and waiting, The guest chamber was modest, but not cramped, roughly four meters by three, with a small closet, a dresser, a writing table, a bed for two, and a bedside table.
“The filter for the lightpipes is right there.” Dunuld pointed. “The fresher is right across the hall.”
“Thank you.” I set my kit bag on the writing table and went to wash up. After that, I walked back down the corridor to find the eating area, a long table at one side of a comparatively spacious kitchen. Dunuld was already seated.
“Just sit down,” said Loreen.
I did.
In moments, a platter appeared before me. “Would you like lager, ale, or water?”
“Lager, please.”
In moments, each of us had a platter of a meat pie of some sort, as well as a beaker of lager, and a small salad. I had to admit that the aroma was wonderful, but I wasn’t certain what rituals might precede eating.
“No ceremony,” said Loreen with a smile. “Just eat and drink or drink and eat.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t need any more encouragement. The fowl—or chicken—pie was simple with various vegetables in a thick sauce and a flaky crust. I took several mouthfuls and then a swallow of lager—good but slightly different from what I’d had in Hobbes, and better than Zantos.
“What is Bachman like?” asked Loreen. “In all the years we’ve had the guesthouse we’ve never had an offworlder.”
“I’ll do my best to give you an idea.” I paused. “How long have you been running the guesthouse?”
“It must have been, well, five years before Clorena left to go to Hispanoli, and that was when her daughter was fifteen, and … now young Sammel—that’s Clorena’s daughter Chloe’s son, well, he must be forty now … hard to think of him as that old, since he’s still single … anyway, it’s been a while.”
I managed to keep my jaw in place. Loreen looked younger than I was, and Dunuld certainly did. I’d thought they were a young couple running the extra rooms as guest chambers just trying to help make ends meet. That meant, if my quick mental arithmetic happened to be correct, they’d been operating the guesthouse at least sixty years. “You’ve obviously had a few guests over that time.”
“At times, and then not so many at other times,” added Dunuld.
“You asked about Bachman. It’s much more crowded than Stittara, and, of course, you can see the sun, except when it’s cloudy or storming…” I must have talked about Bachman for a good ten minutes before I stopped for another bite of the fowl—or chicken—pie.
“What brings you here to Donniga?” asked Dunuld.
I told them, honestly, if without the politics.
“Sounds like the folks on Bachman aren’t much different from the city people in Passova,” observed Dunuld.
“Probably not,” I replied. “What do you think the difference is between you and the city people?”
“They talk about balance and doing the right thing. We just do it.”
“Is that because you’re closer to the land?”
“It helps.” Dunuld grinned. “It also helps when you see skytubes, and you’re reminded that you’re not all that significant in the scheme of things. In the end, all any of us has is what we are as a result of what we’ve done.”
I couldn’t disagree with that.
We talked over dinner, not that much else of great import was said, although I got a better feel of the outland communities, and I had a small piece of a plumapple pie. When I began to try to stifle yawns, Loreen sent me to bed.
I didn’t protest. It had been a long, long day.
49
“What really happened there this morning?” asked Raasn.
“You’ve seen what the security links showed. I don’t know any more than that,” replied Aloris, her legs crossed under the table at the arcade restaurant.
“You know more than that. You’re tapping your toes. You do that—”
“You’re so perceptive. You tell me.”
“Why did you warn him? We agreed that it was better that the patrollers take care of it and trace it back to the Council.”
“That wouldn’t have happened, and you know it. Meralez is too good for that.”
“Was that why you warned him?”
“I had to know whether he was a brilliant and talented economist or a Unity agent of some sort. Meralez just assumed he was an agent. That’s so typical of her. Just eliminate a possible danger before you understand it. We’d never prove it. The minute her tool woke up, every recollection of the last week, if not longer, was gone.”
“And your conclusion about Verano?”
“He’s an ecologist. No agent would walk into that situation, especially without a weapon.”
“Your little test could have gotten him killed, you know?”
“That was a risk, but it wasn’t as much of a risk as not knowing who he really is. Meralez didn’t understand that.”
“You talk about my being unfeeling…” Raasn shook his head.
“You don’t understand,” Aloris said. “He’s even more dangerous than an agent. He’s determined, and he’s dogged, and he’s very perceptive. And now, he’s out there in the outland communities, and he’s visiting the ones where Algeld has almost no contacts and no control.”
“Neither does the Council.”
“Just what will happen when he reports what the environment is really like here?”
“Do you think we’ll be around in a hundred and fifty years? That’s how long it would take for anyone to act.”
“We might be. Haaran and Amarios will be. And their children.”
“You still think we’re here on sufferance?”
“Do you want to wager against that?”
Raasn shook his head. “What do you suggest?”
“Wait … for now. All we have to do is to make sure Verano doesn’t send a preliminary report … or get on the shuttle to orbit control … and that we can assure. Tadao will take care of that … if necessary.”
50
Before I’d gone to bed, I’d set the filter on the lightpipes to allow some illumination to filter into the room so that, I hoped, I’d wake gradually on twoday … and I did. I lay there enjoying the slight flow of fresh air from the ventilation system of the guesthouse … with its slightly heatherish scent, that scent that I’d discovered came from the lichen/grass … and thinking about everything that had happened … and about Rob Gybl … and the pieces clicked together—“deep stars!”; the annoying gesture with his hair; the precise long strides; the apparent ability to intercept or track comms. He had to be Alliance Space Force, or ex–Space Force. They kept their hair short, and he wasn’t used to longer hair. Why he was on Stittara was another question, but he had to be working with someone. But whom? Someone on the Planetary Council, like Morghan or Melarez? Another councilor? Or someone at RDAEX?
I doubted, if RDAEX was involved, that it was Kali, not because I liked her, but because she was essentially a hired gun, and I didn’t see Belk Edo revealing internal strategy to a hired gun, especially one from Teppera, particularly if Gybl happened to be Space Force. The Tepperans preferred not to fight, but if they did, they had a tendency to leave few survivors and no witnesses, and they detested the kind of bravado for which the Alliance Spacers were known.
Where did Syntex fit in?
Syntex didn’t. VLE did … and VLE wanted to take over RDAEX. I’d have bet Aimee was behind it, and I’d also have bet that the Alliance Space Force had some sort of quiet hidden arrangement with RDAEX, because most of RDAEX was space
-oriented, with a number of deep-space installations. From the fragmentary information Kali had provided, I also had an uneasy feeling that the RDAEX deep drilling project had an objective dealing with the skytubes, most likely with a way either to replicate them or control them because space was filled with extremes of temperature and pressure and the skytubes seemed to operate across a wide range of both. I couldn’t prove that, but I didn’t think I was all that far off.
I didn’t lie in bed all that long, but rose and crossed the hall to shower and get cleaned up for the day. After I dressed, I used my link to pay, according to the instructions on the small card I’d noticed on the dresser the night before.
Just after I’d finished packing, there was a light knock on the door. “Breakfast is ready any time you are.”
“I’ll be right there.”
When I got to the table, Dunuld was already seated and enjoying a mug of something steaming.
“Tea or café? Or something else?” asked Loreen.
“Tea, please.” I sat down. “Is there a charge for me to link the planetary comm from here?”
“No. We don’t believe in unnecessary charges.”
“Thank you. I’ll be making several quick links after breakfast, before I get on the road again.”
“Where might you be headed?” asked Dunuld.
“What’s the most scenic route to a nearby community?”
“You could take the west lake road to the south end of the lake and then take the hill road through the badlands. Sort of stark, but definitely scenic. On the other side, maybe ten kays farther on, you’ll be in Docota.”
Loreen set a platter of scrambled eggs and some sort of meat strips in front of me, with an enormous hot sweet roll on the side, and a dish of fried apples.
“Badlands?”
“You’ll see,” said Dunuld laconically.
“What caused them?”
“What do you think? They can do a lot more than blow, if they’ve a mind to. Might be worth your while to look close.”
“I will. Thank you.” I took a bite of the fried apples, and then another one. “What’s Docota like?”
“Flatter than here. No lake. About as many people.”
“Are most outland communities limited to around a thousand people?”
Dunuld frowned for a moment. “The council—our council—has never set a limit, and there are a few that might have five thousand. There are quite a few here in Conuno around two thousand people.”
“What about new communities?”
“Every so often there’s a new one, but I can’t remember, offhand, when we’ve had a new one around here.”
“You just have the one grandchild?”
“Two,” replied Loreen. “Sammel and Carisa. No great-grandchildren yet.”
“They’ll take their time,” said Dunuld, with a laugh.
I ended up eating every last crumb of breakfast and having a second mug of tea before I retreated to my chamber and got ready to head out.
Then I tried a link to Kali Artema, but only got a message screen.
So I just said, “If you haven’t already, check the news for an explosion in Passova. Apparently, an ecologist was targeted.” Should I have said more? I decided against it.
Then I put in a link to Aimee Vanslo, and her aide put me right through.
Aimee looked intently at me. That was how it appeared in the small projected image, anyway. “I saw the news story. You were the ecologist who was the likely target of the explosion, weren’t you?”
“They didn’t name me?”
“No. They can’t give names without consent.”
“Yes. I presume I was at least a target.”
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere. Here’s something I suspect, but can’t prove. Rob Gybl, you might remember him, Roberto Gybl … might likely be an Alliance Space Force type … or ex–Space Force … and I don’t think he likes your acquisition plans.”
“I’d thought something along those lines, but the acquisition was finalized before I left Bachman … They can’t do anything, regardless.”
“RDAEX here doesn’t know?”
“There was one condition. It allows them to complete a project. If it works, there’s a revision in the compensation and management structure. How did you find out about the acquisition?”
“From Gybl. He claimed that the phony Reksba told him.”
“You understand what that means?”
“They were either working together, which Gybl denies, or you’ve got two parties unhappy with a VLE takeover, regardless of whether it’s a fait accompli … because they have to know that.” I paused. “I just thought you’d like to know. Until later.” I broke the link. With what she said, I thought it would be best if I left Donniga expeditiously.
Then I made my last link of the morning—to Aloris at the Survey Service.
She was there. “Paulo … where are you?”
“On my inspection tour of outland communities. Is there anything I should know?”
“I imagine your official link is flooded with requests from linksters all over Passova. Something like yesterday has never happened before.”
“It’s certainly never happened to me before. Has anything been discovered about who the imposter tech actually is?”
“The Council’s patrollers have him in custody. There’s nothing in the links about who he is.”
“I’d like to know, but we’ll have to see. I just wanted to let you know I’m fine, and I’ll be touring and measuring in outland communities for a while. I’ll let you know periodically.”
“But … what will I tell people?”
“Tell them what I told you. After all, if what I’m doing is upsetting someone, the sooner I get it done, then the less sense it makes for them to try again.” That was poor logic, and I knew it, but it was the best I could do without saying things I didn’t want to say. “I’ll talk to you later.” With that, I broke the link.
Loreen was standing by the door as I walked out of the guest chamber.
“I linked the money according to the directions.”
“I know. We do check.” She smiled. “Have a good trip.”
“Thank you.”
As I walked down the narrow stone road toward the community center, I considered what might lie ahead. I hadn’t told anyone where I was headed but, before talking to Dunuld, had tentatively decided on another unofficial outland community called Greenpax, which was a good hundred kays almost due south of Donniga. I could still go there from Docota … unless something else came up.
I also wondered just how much Aimee knew about the RDAEX “project.” She either didn’t know all that was involved or was very good at revealing nothing. I shook my head. I already knew that she was good at revealing nothing. I wished I knew more, because all I did know was that the RDAEX project involved high-energy photonic deep drilling. I had the uneasy feeling that it was very deep drilling perhaps close to the actual outer planetary core, although I had no idea if that were possible … or even what RDAEX might be doing. But … if that happened to be the case … I certainly didn’t want to be nearby.
Stittara had a core more molten than it should be, given what we knew about planetary dynamics, an active and moving molten core that generated a magnetic field far stronger than it had any right to be. Tectonic processes were subdued, and had been for over a hundred million years, and that was inconsistent with the planetary core. A forerunner culture had vanished, and all habitations had apparently become uninhabited at the same time, and the cities so far investigated had been buried in mud floods, suggesting that the entire planetary surface had been affected at close to the same time. Yet, it appeared, from the Syntex site, that the ecology at present was similar, if not identical to that of 120 million years ago. And … the construction of the forerunner cities intimated strongly that there had been skytubes then.
All that sent a chill down my spine.
The Survey Service van was
where I’d left it. I loaded my bag, then did look the van over thoroughly, even peering into the engine compartment. Everything looked to be normal. So I got in and drove out, following Dunuld’s directions and taking the road along the west side of the lake.
I actually saw a bird or ducklike avian, if one that seemed very small, and then a gaggle of four a little farther on, if a good kay south of Donniga. The low hills blocked my view of all but the upper portions of the skytubes in my rear viewer, and I didn’t see any to the south.
When I got to the end of the lake, the road split. One branch continued due south, and another headed close to due west, and the middle and slightly narrower way went straight up the gentle hill. With a smile, I turned the van onto the middle road.
The slope was gentle enough that I drove uphill for almost a kay through the lichen/grass, noting clumps of the low bushes here and there, but nothing that could remotely be considered badlands.
That was until I reached the top of the hill.
Beginning less than a hundred meters to the left of the road, the grass stopped, and the terrain dropped into a lower and vast expanse of twisted stone that stretched to the south as far as I could see, and for at least three or four kays westward. I stopped the van and just stared. The stone all appeared to be vitrified, almost glazed, swirled with vaguely earth-toned colors, as well as black, grays, and purples. There were scattered spikes of pointed stone, here and there, but most of the formations, if they could be called that, were just odd misshapen lumps. I’d seen images of the red-rock spires of New Utah, called hoodoos, but those hoodoos appeared to have a sense, almost of order, about them. So far as I could discern, there was nothing resembling a pattern in the wasteland I beheld. It was as if some primeval chaos had solidified, and then been blasted by a solar flare for a nanosecond, with the results frozen in their anarchistic ugliness for eternity.
It wasn’t “evil.” The badlands, to me, were just … anarchistic chaos, almost a reminder, at least to me in my state of mind, that at least part of the universe could be totally meaningless, without pattern, direction, or purpose. The contrast between the orderly, grass-covered rolling hills, open and sparsely beautiful, on one side of the road, and the “badlands” on the other side was stunning … and unsettling.
The One-Eyed Man Page 31