“No danger,” said King Bester — Flammarion seemed ready to dive away into the crowd. “It’s quite harmless. I’ve seen things like that a hundred times.”
“What is it?” Flammarion flinched away as the creature turned its head toward him, opened a mouth full of jagged teeth, and offered him a spiky smile.
“No name, squire. Just an Artefact, something from the Needler labs.” Bester snapped his fingers. “Hey, like to visit one? I can arrange it easy.”
Flammarion shook his head, but Bester was too experienced a salesman to miss the sudden strong interest shown by Luther Brachis. He was interrupted before he could follow up on it. Running along the path, dodging in and out of the bustling courtiers, sped a young man. He was about twenty years old and carrying a garland of flowers. He was closely followed by a young girl. “Not fair, Chan,” she was crying. “No fair. That was cheating. Give it back.”
The man paused close to Mondrian, turning to shake the flower posy teasingly at her. She was slight, thin, and olive-skinned. Moderately attractive — but nothing compared with the man. He was an Adonis: golden haired and tall, with a loose, agile build and sculptured good looks. If the people he was running among were aristocrats, his face pronounced him their undisputed emperor. Both the man and the woman were dressed in the plain ivory tunics of commoners.
Unworried by the presence of the Security men in their dark uniforms, he dodged behind them to escape. Mondrian took one look, then moved forward to grab the man by the arm. The youth stared at him, mouth open. The woman moved to their side, and put her own hand in turn on Mondrian’s. The courtiers stopped their promenading to stare at what was happening.
“You.” Mondrian moved forward, tightening his grip as the woman tried to pull his hand free. “Both of you. Are you under contract to Bozzie?”
The man stared back impassively, but the woman thrust herself between him and Mondrian. “No business of yours! Let go!”
“No, listen for a moment. There might be a position for you — something good. If you’re contracted to Bozzie, I’ll make sure you get a good offer — ”
She batted Mondrian’s hand away from the youth’s arm, screamed “Chan! Follow me — right now!” and threw herself away into the crowd. The youth gave one wide-eyed glance at Mondrian and went after her. In a few seconds they were twenty yards away, heading for the shelter of a covered arcade.
“Those two,” cried Mondrian. “Stop them — there’s a reward for anyone who does.”
The courtiers did not even move. Flammarion began a half-hearted pursuit, but found they were running away at a speed that he had not even attempted in a quarter of a century. They were ducking into the arcade when Luther Brachis acted. He pulled a palm-sized cylinder from his pocket and pointed it at the pair.
“Don’t shoot!” cried King Bester.
He was too late. A green spiral of light flashed from the cylinder, corkscrewing a tight helical path that glowed in the air. It touched the escaping pair, first the man and then the woman. The backs of their jackets smoked, and threw off a shower of sparks. Then they were wriggling away out of sight behind a long curtain of golden beads.
“They’re not hurt,” said Brachis to King Bester. And then to Mondrian, “You’re going to lose your bet anyway, so I’ll give you a look at the monitor system you’ll never get.” He pulled a flat disk from his belt. “It’s never had a test before in a crowded environment like this. Let’s see how well it does.”
He held the disk horizontal. At its center a double arrow of light moved and turned. As they watched, it lengthened perceptibly and changed direction. A Tracker?”
Brachis nodded at Mondrian’s question. “But a lot fancier than usual. Direction and distance. Once anything’s tagged with the signature beam this can follow them for at least twenty-four hours. It’s also designed to be able to track five people at once. It must be confusing if they all go separate ways — five separate arrows to deal with — but with two it ought to be easy. And they’re keeping close together.” He handed it to Mondrian, who in turn held it out at once to Flammarion.
“Go follow them, bring them back here. I have to stay here and wait for Bozzie.”
Flammarion stared at him pop-eyed, then glanced in turn at the Tracker and the bewildering complexity of the chamber.
“Not by yourself, Captain,” went on Mondrian. “I realize you don’t know the place.” He gestured at King Bester, who was pointedly looking elsewhere. “He’ll help you — and he’ll be very well rewarded if he does.”
“Right you are, squire.” Bester slapped his hands together and grabbed the Tracker from Flammarion. “Now we’re cooking. The arrow’s not moving, they must have stopped. Come on, Captain. Well have ’em in a jiffy-o.”
With Flammarion trailing along behind he set out along the path defined by the arrow. Mondrian glanced mildly at Brachis, and actually came close to smiling. “Big mistake, Luther. You didn’t think when you set the Tracker on them. Now I’m going to win that bet — with those handsome two you were kind enough to tag for me. Want to concede right now?”
“The bet stands, Esro. Nothing good comes out of Earth.” His thought ran on: That irritates you mightily, doesn’t it, every time I say it?
And Mondrian was making his own useful observation. Nothing good comes out of Earth, you say. But some things on Earth certainly interest you. I caught that look, when King Bester was talking about visiting a Needler lab.
He had no time to pursue that thought. A blare of trumpets came from the direction opposite to the vanished Bester. The crowd was parting, pushed aside by a dozen hulking ruffians. Behind them came a flower-bedecked sedan chair carried by eight men, with Princess Tatiana walking at its side.
The Duke of Bosny, Viscount Roosevelt, Count Mellon, Baron Rockwell, Earl of Potomac — all five hundred and seventy pounds of him — was arriving to begin negotiation.
Twelve hours later, Tatty and Mondrian were at last alone. She was sitting by his side, reviewing a handwritten document.
“It looks all right, Essy,” she said, frowning in the dim light. “This transfers title, effective two hours ago. They’re all yours now.”
Mondrian nodded. He did not look up. In front of him on the table was an open flagon of ancient brandy. He was staring into the depths of a balloon glass holding half an inch of amber liquid.
“You have no idea how much effort it took to find that for you,” complained Tatty. “I started looking for it right after your last visit to Earth — and you haven’t even smelled it.”
Mondrian roused himself, brought the glass close to his nose, and gave it a dutiful sniff. “I’m sorry. You know me, Princess, most of the time I’d kill for a brandy like this.”
“So what’s wrong? Bozzie signed over the contracts, you’ve got your two candidates, and Captain Flammarion ought to have them away from Earth in a few more hours. Why aren’t you smiling?”
“I wish I knew. I can’t help feeling something’s wrong with the deal.”
“You think you paid too much?”
“No. Too little. Your friend Bozzie didn’t ask enough money for those two.”
“But you told me you had no idea how much it ought to cost to buy those contracts.”
“I didn’t. But King Bester knew, and I was watching his face when Bozzie accepted our first offer. Bester gawped and gasped.” Mondrian picked up the glass, breathed in the delicate centuries-old bouquet, and took a tiny sip. “Well, we’re committed now, even if I don’t feel comfortable with it. I told Flammarion to set them into the Link system and up as soon as he could, before Quarantine had a chance to change their mind. Now I wish I’d taken a look at them myself.”
“You did see them — you picked them out.”
“I mean a close look. I only saw them for a second or two, when we first met them. Luther Brachis took care of the exit permits — and he seems much too pleased with himself. I’m telling you, Tatty, something’s not right.”
“Did y
ou talk to Commander Brachis about it?’
“I couldn’t. He slipped away with King Bester.”
“Where to?”
“They didn’t say. But I think I know. Bester took him to a Needler lab.
“Are you sure? I can’t think what either of them would want with one of those.”
Mondrian shook his head and took another taste of brandy. “Nor can I.” He finally smiled, but it was no more than a rueful grimace. “Princess, if anyone knows that people sneak down here to Earth for their own secret reasons, you and I do. Can you make an arrangement for me to see Rattafee again — tonight?”
“Rattafee! Didn’t you hear? Tatty put her hand on his arm. “Essy, Rattafee’s dead. A month ago. I assumed you would have heard about it. She overdosed on Paradox.”
Mondrian closed his eyes. “That is not … good news. She was the best Fropper I ever had. I even thought I might be making some progress with her. Now … I don’t know where to turn. Where else can I go?”
“For another Fropper?”
“I’ve tried them all. And got nowhere.”
“I heard about a new one last week, somewhere down in the deep basement levels. I can find out more about that if you want me to — maybe even get an appointment for you.”
“When?”
“In a week or so? You know it takes time if the Fropper’s any good.” Tatty hesitated. “I’ll check it out for you tomorrow if you like.”
“Tonight.”
“Esro, I can’t. It’s too late. I was hoping you’d be staying with me — just for the one night.” She came to stand behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t ask much, you know that. You don’t have to fake it for me any more. I don’t want the same old promises: how you’ll find a place for me, how you’ll take me with you away from Earth. I’m past all that. Just stay here tonight. That’s all I’m asking.”
He reached up to cover her hands with his own. “Princess, you don’t understand. When I come to Earth, I always want to see you. But I’ve got to be honest with you, too. When I come to Earth, I have to see the Froppers, find out if they can help me yet. I’ll stay here tonight, of course I will. But would you at least try to make an appointment now for a Fropper meeting, as soon as I can be fitted into the new one s schedule? That way I’ll have some hope of a few hours’ sleep tonight.”
Tatty leaned over his shoulder and kissed Mondrian quickly on the lips. “Of course I will. My poor, poor Essy. Is it still as bad as ever?”
“It’s worse. Every year, it tightens and tightens.” Mondrian sat up straight, lifting Tatty with him. “There’s one other thing, then I can relax. Luther Brachis.”
“What about him.”
“If he’s going to be on Earth for a while, I have to know what he’s doing here. I thought I might put King Bester on my payroll, but I’m not sure he stays bought. We need someone we can trust. Could you contact the Godiva Bird and put her onto Brachis?”
“That will cost a fortune. Do you have any idea how much Godiva charges?”
“Budget isn’t the problem. Go ahead and do it. My staff insist that women are one of Luther’s weaknesses.’
“Pity they’re not one of yours.” Tatty straightened and moved away from Mondrian. “Esro, you sit mere and try to enjoy your brandy. I’ll arrange for Godiva, and I’ll fix an appointment with the Fropper. If only you could relax, even for one night — you’re so driven.”
“We’re all driven, Princess — every last one of us.” Mondrian glanced across at the tiny glass spheres, each filled with purple liquid, that sat within easy reach. There was a row of* them in every room in the apartment. “Maybe some day I will learn to relax — and maybe someday you’ll learn to stop being a Paradox addict.”
Tatty had been moving towards the door, heading for the communications unit in the next room. Now she paused. “I wish I could stop, Essy.”
“Paradox killed Rattafee, Princess.”
“Do you think I’m not aware of that, more than you are? I know it. As well as I know that your work is going to kill you — unless you find something else to get you there quicker.” She sighed. “Just try to relax, Esro. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Chapter 6
“Not to live here,” said King Bester. “No one in their right mind would live on the surface.”
A “surface” apartment of Delmarva was defined, by real estate agent convention, as anything less than one kilometer underground. The final outer layer, where roof met open sky, was reserved for automated agriculture and land management. Humans, keep out! Anyone with a perverse urge to sample the “natural” surface life could gratify it easily enough with a trip to central Africa or to South America. The surface reservations there, complete with their protected wild species, still stretched for thousands of square miles.
But the surface of Delmarva Town was a fine place for agriculture. And it was a truly perfect place for an illegal Needler lab — for anyone who could stand the idea of exposure to open sky.
Luther Brachis and King Bester hid their discomfort from each other as they left the final ascent tube and walked up a ringing steel staircase out onto the cultivated soil of the city. Brachis hated those unpredictable breezes. To him they still carried their message of lock failure and hard vacuum. And King Bester, comfortable in the cramped warrens of the city, trembled under the star-filled sky with its cold brilliance.
Walking closer together than either realized, they hurried across three fields of dark-green mutated sedges. Bester knew their destination exactly. After only a few minutes under bare sky he was ducking thankfully into a roofed enclosure. The two men descended a short flight of steps to an open door and a darkened room. Standing at the threshold was a tall, stooped man with a domed bald head, jutting red nose, and long straggling beard.
“The Margrave of Fujitsu.” King Bester was at his most formal. “Commander Luther Brachis.”
The Margrave stared at them gloomily and nodded. He closed the door and triple-locked it, then turned and pressed a light switch. At the other side of the room sat a bulbous plant, five feet high and about two feet across. When the light went on the leaves of the swollen upper part began to open. In less than thirty seconds a single vast flower was revealed. Its central part resembled a human face, with pink cheeks, curved red mouth, and blind blue eyes. After a few moments, the mouth opened. A thin, beautiful tone came forth, a crystalline, pure soprano singing a wordless lament. The song continued and broadened, from a simple theme through to a complex coloratura embroidery. “One of my most successful creations, I think.” The Margrave spoke in excellent standard Solar. “I call this Sorudan — the spirit of song. Stimulated to sing by light, of course, but the real trick is that the melody never repeats unless I so desire. I will be most sorry if I am ever forced to sell Sorudan.” He lowered the level of light in the room. The voice slowly faded, while the melody passed through sublime downward ripples of semitones to a plagal cadence. The sightless eyes closed. Moments later the petals began to curve in around the silent face.
The Margrave led the way in silence into the next room. Luther Brachis followed, slowly. Even if the display of Sorudan had been laid on just for his benefit, it was no less impressive. The ugly artist had created a work of astonishing beauty.
The walls of the next room were lined with cages and holographic images. Brachis saw to his satisfaction that the range of this Needler lab’s output was diverse, and seemingly unlimited in its range. Aquaforms, peering out from their tanks of green-tinged water, sat next to the blinking raptor shapes of gryphons, while just beyond that a holograph of a skeletally-thin kangaroo stood next to — and loomed over — a giraffe. Farther along, under intense arc lights, an inch-long bear ambled along the flat pad of a water-lily. Above it, and above everything, mobile plants quivered and snaked along the ceiling, following moving sources of overhead light.
The Margrave waved a casual arm across the display. “Just to give you an idea. The King tells me
that you’re not interested in a simple art product, which most of these are. So why don’t you outline your requirement? Then I’ll tell you if I think it can be done, and give you a cost estimate.”
“I don’t have a complete description. Not yet. But I’ll be willing to pay you very well. And he’ll have to go.” Brachis nodded to Bester. “What I have to say is for your ears only.”
King Bester looked startled. He began to object, then shrugged. “All right by me. I get paid either way.”
He went sulkily through to the next room and watched while Luther Brachis carefully closed the door. After a few seconds Bester went across and put his ear to it. He could hear nothing. He waited impatiently for fifteen minutes, even standing on a chair to see if anything was visible over the top of the door. It wasn’t. By the time the door opened again and the two men came out, he was hopping in inquisitive frustration.
“I’ll send the full specifications just as soon as I have them,” said Brachis.
The Margrave nodded and opened the outer door. “And after that I’ll need about three weeks. At the end of that time I’ll tell you how close I can come to what you want. And you will, of course, need to appoint a suitable intermediary. I dare not meet with just anyone.”
“Understood. I will make those arrangements.” The heavy door closed. All light vanished, and Brachis and Bester stood together in a moonless and overcast Earth night.
“Why Needlers?” said Brachis, as they climbed to the top of the stairs and waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. “I looked over the Margrave’s whole lab, and I didn’t see one needle.”
“They don’t prick. Not any more.” Bester was peering around, in every direction. “That’s how it was done when method started, ages back. Way Margrave tells it, in early days, they were all biologists, playing around with female animals and producing offspring. No poppas.”
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