Another Girl, Another Planet

by Lou Antonelli

  “If you know some people who were on the inside in 1962, you’ll find out it wasn’t that close,” I said. “The Russkies didn’t want the world blown up, either. Castro and Guevara and the old die-hard Communists were frustrated to distraction because Admiral Heinlein’s plan for post-war competition between East and West to be played out in space worked so well. The Russians mellowed as their sense of pride and achievement grew, and they lost that hard-core revolutionary fervor.”

  “So Kennedy and Khrushchev both had an interest in the revolt failing?” she asked.

  “Yes, and Khrushchev had the satisfaction of hurting the U.S. economy by having the robot manufacturing all moved to the Moon,” I said as I picked up her slide rule and started fidgeting with it. “I think there was maybe one plant in the U.K. and one in South Africa. All the others were in the U.S. And now it’s all done here on Mars. Tesla gobbled up all the competition. How much oversight has there been since?”

  Dr. Boozer knitted her brows and grabbed the slide rule back from me. “Reach behind you and close the door, will you?”

  I did.

  “Oversight? None, really. Obenshain did some, or rather, had some inspectors do some, but Wilder was completely apathetic, and that suited Kurland just fine,” she said conspiratorially.

  “So he could be developing androids with capabilities we don’t know about?”

  “I suppose.” She looked a bit concerned. “You’re the first person to ask these kinds of questions.”

  “I see the lack of corporate accountability to be an overarching problem here. Remember, I was appointed by a Republican administration. If Washington was run by the American Party and Reagan or Wallace was president, they’d see that as a good thing.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Dr. Boozer. “Cutting red tape. Turning the productive powers of the small businessman loose. Laissez-faire bullshit.”

  “Yeah, I don’t buy it, either. Wasn’t it Ambrose Bierce in The Devil’s Dictionary who said ‘Piracy is Capitalism without the frills’?”

  She chuckled. “Sounds about right. So what else can I tell you?”

  “I know what you think. Has anyone that you know of seen any signs that androids or robots have become self-aware?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard, and this place is like a country village; it’s hard to keep a secret.”

  I stood up. “I may come back with other questions later.”

  Dr. Boozer pulled the magazine on the desktop toward her and dropped it in a drawer. She waggled the slide rule at me. “Someday I’ll teach you how to use one of these!”

  “The only thing I ever used one of those for was to flip a grilled cheese sandwich on a hot plate in college,” I said. “But I’ll be back.”

  She laughed and I headed for the door, smiling.

  * * *

  Laura called me late in the afternoon. She sounded a bit irritated. “Our affair is getting serious,” she said, a bit tersely. “I have more of your clothes at my home that you do at yours.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, I just had to leave in a hurry the other night,” I said.

  “Yes, I heard how you rushed to the rescue with an ax in your hand,” Laura said. “Typical brash American hero.”

  “I wanted to stop a disaster from happening on my watch,” I said. “Do you have dinner plans after work?”

  “Are you offering to take me to dinner?”

  “Yes. Everyone knows we’re together anyway.”

  I heard Laura exhale on the phone. “Well, where would you like to go?” she asked.

  “I like the food at Campagna’s,” I said.

  “That’s not authentic Italian,” she replied.

  “Nicky’s is a coffee shop,” I came back.

  “I know, the food’s great but the atmosphere is terrible,” she said. “Not very romantic. Have you ever been to Saitama?”

  “The Japanese restaurant?” I asked. “That’s in Dome Three?”

  “Yes, and it has the best tempura I’ve ever eaten, plus, tonight they have some entertainment,” she said.

  “Hmmm …” I paused. “Sounds like a great idea.”

  “Wonderful. Pick me up at seven?” she replied.

  “Sounds fine. I’ll be there.”

  I hung up the phone. I’m not sure it was the smartest thing, to start a relationship with someone 16 years older than me, but it was done. People were talking, I might as well act like a gentleman.

  The office was about to close when Sherry came in. “Officer Jenny says you have an appointment to see Kurland tomorrow, at 2 PM.”

  I reached over and picked up a copy of the revised missing persons bulletin. “I’ve approved this. Tell Bill to get them run off. I want to take some copies to Tesla to be put out.”

  “You’re serious about distributing this?” she asked as she took the copy.

  “Yes, and I’m going to ask Kurland to have it distributed at Tesla.”

  She stared at it quizzically. “Whatever for?”

  “Well, for one thing I want to see Kurland’s reaction,” I said. “He seems to be the big mover and shaker here. If Desiree really is on Mars, I bet he would know. Didn’t you say this place is like a small town?”

  “Kurland may have his thumb in many pies, but I can’t see how this somehow goes back to him.”

  I shook my head. “As pretty as she was, I wouldn’t be surprised if her kidnappers made some extra money selling her into the sex slave trade. They may have abused her, humiliated her, and then sent her as far away as possible from New York so no one would ever find her. They might have gotten her hooked on drugs, they might be threatening her. They might have done things to her so that she’s ashamed to go back home now.”

  Sherry looked at me, very concerned, then back toward the office. No one else was around. She walked to the hallway door, locked it, came inside my office, and locked the door behind her.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Listen, you might as well know. Kurland has a role in the sex trade here, but not that way.”

  Now I was puzzled. “What way do you mean?”

  “Some of the androids are being used for sex,” she said. “It’s very lucrative. He gets kickbacks for the modifications.”

  “I’m hardly surprised. From everything I’ve heard, he’s pretty unscrupulous. So he’s supplementing the home-grown prostitutes with living dolls? Have they gotten that realistic?”

  “Yes. You’ve seen yourself how lifelike they look,” she said. “Like Officer Jenny.”

  “You would think a businessman like Kurland would think collecting money under the table for providing robot whores would be beneath him. Why did he want to move in on the sex trade?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t his idea. The other way around. There weren’t enough prostitutes who could sneak into the colony, especially with Lielischkies on watch, to keep up with demand. He specifically keeps an eye out for sex workers. He likes to make life difficult for the NATO folks.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why would Lielischkies care if prostitutes snuck into the colony?”

  “The Soviets feel the sex trade is an especially Western problem. All the WarPac people sent here are chosen for their reliability, which includes being sure they’re not subject to blackmail. So they don’t have a sex problem, only the ‘decadent Westerners.’ Kurland was asked by many people to convert some robots into sexual surrogates.”

  “By whom?”

  She made an expansive gesture. “By many people, including Wilder. He was so old, fat, and disgusting, it was hard for him to get a date. There are not enough women to go around. You’ve seen the population figures here. This is a frontier community. There’s three times as many men as women.”

  I nodded. “I get that. Why do we have a problem with prostitution in the first place?”

  She grinned crookedly. “A lot of people wouldn’t say it’s a problem.”

  “That guy in the Hideaway? Howison? He was acting like he thought the waitress
was a prostitute. Now his behavior makes more sense. Who’s protecting the sex workers? Is it Kurland?”

  Sherry puffed out her breath. “Oh, heck no. He just makes them and programs them. Yes, I’ve heard there are specific modifications to make them better at it, such as making sure their silicone exteriors always maintain a normal temperature. But he’s got nothing to do with them once they leave the plant.”

  I stood up behind my desk.

  “So do Coltingham and Mattern crack down on the trade occasionally?”

  “No, they’re the ones making the money, taking a cut of the action from the human prostitutes directly, and from the owners of the android ones.”

  “That’s an old tradition, the cops protecting and taking kickbacks from whores,” I said. “Who owns the android hookers?”

  She took a step forward. “Businesses that deal with deliveries and services at home. Chinese food and pizza delivery, maid services.”

  “Makes a lot of sense,” I said. “And I’m not surprised that Coltingham is their cover. He just oozes ‘crooked cop.’ But that still doesn’t explain why he’s so dubious about this missing person case.”

  “You might be right about being sold into the sex trade, although that’s usually done with younger girls and runaways. But you’re forgetting one big flaw in that theory.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’d be hard-pressed to think of a way she could get past Gunter Lielischkies. He’s the reason there’s a shortage of prostitutes in the colony. He may be a spook, but he’s honest. He keeps an eye on the spaceport, and he’s never knowingly let anyone in who he thought was a prostitute.”

  “What, he’d send someone back all the way to Earth?”

  “Don’t be so suspicious. He’s denied them entrance, which is the same thing. He’s done it at least ten times over the years. Like I said, he likes to see Western men distracted.”

  “But what if Desiree was brainwashed, or a victim of Stockholm Syndrome?”

  “You don’t think, being from the Eastern Bloc, he wouldn’t recognize that?”

  I winced. “Good point.”

  Sherry stared me hard in the eyes. “You’re marching into the Tesla lion’s den tomorrow, you know that?”

  “Yes, but the SOB has been avoiding me, so it’s time to go meet him. You know, if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed …”

  “I wouldn’t do it if I were you,” she said. “You don’t seem to have a lot of patience. I’d proceed more cautiously. That would be my advice.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But also, if Desiree is in any kind of danger, time is of the essence.” I walked around my desk. “And believe me, I’m grateful for your input. But I have to check my gut instincts in this case.”

  “You sound like that TV detective, Columbo. What do you have planned for tonight?”

  “I’m off to have a tempura dinner with Laura, and maybe relax for a little while.”

  “Now that’s a good idea,” said Sherry.

  I had to admit, I agreed.

  * * *

  I’d been to the Japanese restaurant before. It was upscale, but not snooty; a good place for a dinner date. The décor was authentic, not touristy-kitschy, and the atmosphere was subdued. I could see from the window on the hallway it was full of young and middle-aged professional-looking types that night. The so-called “beautiful people,” and probably a few androids.

  Even from down the corridor, I could see that Laura looked stunning as usual. She wore a matching braided gold necklace and bracelet.

  As I walked up, I was pleased to see from the signboard that Dean Friedman was performing.

  “Dean Friedman is the entertainment? I had no idea he was on Mars,” I said to Laura with a smile.

  “I think I read in the paper he just arrived,” she said. “Are you a fan of his?”

  “Yes. He certainly brings back memories. Damn, he was big when I was in college,” I said. “He had the Number One hit in the fall of 1975. It was all over the airwaves in the Tri-State area.”

  We walked into the doorway, and she stopped.

  “Lucky break,” she said. “We can get a seat near the stage. I recognize the maître d’. He’s a fellow Yugoslav-Italian.” She walked up and nodded to him, whispering in his ear. They clasped hands briefly, and the man waved over a waiter, who directed us to our table—in front of the stage.

  “Nice venue, good crowd,” said Laura, looking around. “We’re off to a good start tonight.”

  We were still sipping our sake when Friedman came out—unannounced. That would be his style, unpretentious. It took a second for the audience to realize he had walked on stage. People started clapping and cheering. He pulled up and sat down on a stool, then picked a guitar off the stand.

  He looked a little older, and his hair was thinning, but he still had that friendly smile. He looked across the footlights.

  “How you all doing?” he asked genially.

  There were murmurs of welcome and approval. He slung the strap over his shoulder, and tuned the guitar a little, smiling all the while. He began to “absent-mindedly” sing-speak an advertising jingle:

  You’ve come a long way, baby,

  To get where you’ve got to today.

  You’ve got your own cigarette now, baby.

  You’ve come a long, long way.

  People began to get louder until he “noticed” them and looked up.

  “Oh, sorry, folks, didn’t know I was doing that,” he said with a big grin. He shifted on his stool. “It’s great to be playing a gig on Mars,” he said with a chuckle. “Way out, man.”

  More laughter.

  He reached in a shirt pocket, and tugged a cigarette out of a pack. People began to cry out.

  “No, no!”

  He feigned surprise. “Oh, you mean I can’t smoke in here?”

  He then smiled broadly so we knew he was joking. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, and looked at it. “Hey, this is a woman’s cigarette!”

  The audience went wild.

  Laura leaned across the table. “What’s this about?”

  I leaned in. “His latest hit just came out.”

  Freidman tossed the cigarette aside and strummed the opening chords. Laura raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I recognize this song, the one about the shipwrecks!”

  “It’s really called ‘Virginia Slims Girl,’ but everybody calls it the Shipwreck Song,” I said.

  He sang:

  He was sitting at the bar one day, and he saw her come walking.

  He thought she was so damn cool, and he got her to talking.

  Then she cut him down to size, right in the Waldorf Astoria.

  She smiled as he rolled over and sank, just like the Andrea Doria.

  She’s a twist of fate, always late, Virginia Slims girl, oh, oh.

  She’ll rock your life, and ruin your world.

  I saw her do it again one time, at least she’s consistent.

  She led this schmuck on all night, he sure was persistent.

  Then she torpedoed him real sudden, I guess it’s her mania.

  He sank quickly out of sight, just like the Lusiatania.

  She’s a twist of fate, always late, Virginia Slims girl, oh, oh.

  She’ll rock your life, and ruin your world.

  He then did some amazing guitar picking during the musical bridge. I gazed around for the first time to get a look at the crowd, and was struck by how good-looking it was. There were a lot of “lookers,” to use the jargon. It occurred to me a number of them might be call girls.

  Friedman came back for the last stanza.

  Now, she came to me one day, but I didn’t panic.

  I was cool, as cool as an iceberg, and she was the Titanic.

  Now, she sank down in the depths, where nobody’d mind her.

  But she’s lost, as lost as can be, because nobody can find her!

  She’s a twist of fate, always late, Virginia Slims girl, oh, oh.

  She’ll rock yo
ur life, and ruin your world.

  She’s a twist of fate, always late, Virginia Slims girl, oh, oh.

  She’ll rock your life, and ruin your world.

  There was massive applause.

  “He’s still got it,” I said to Laura.

  She looked puzzled. “Funny, I don’t get it,” she said. “What’s a ‘Virginia Slim?’ I know in England there is a Virginia Plain.”

  “A brand of cigarette marketed to women,” I said.

  She smirked. “Crazy American fads.”

  “It’s timely, too, since Robert Ballard just found the Titanic,” I said.

  The maître d’ walked up. “Mister Shuster?” he asked gently.

  “Yes?”

  “Sorry to interrupt. You have a phone call up front.”

  I looked at Laura and raised an eyebrow. “I wonder who knows I’m here.”

  “It might be important,” she said. “You better take it.”

  The maître d’ led me over to an alcove. “You can take the call here, sir.”

  I picked up the receiver.

  “Mister Shuster?”

  The line was clear but the voice was muffled, and it didn’t seem to be American.

  “Yes, this is Dave Shuster, who is this?”

  “A friend. Wilder was murdered.”

  I shuffled my feet nervously. “What? Who is this?”

  “Wilder’s death was arranged.”

  “He died of a heart attack,” I said cautiously. “There was an autopsy.”

  There was a pause. “What caused the heart attack?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Find out what caused his heart attack.”

  The line went dead.

  I jabbed the telephone hook three times to get the operator.

  “Bell Telephone Mars Exchange, how may I assist you?”

  “This is Dave Shuster, interim colonial administrator. I need the last phone call made to this number traced immediately!”

  “Yes, Mister Shuster, one moment.” There was a brief silence.

  “Mister Shuster, our exchange shows the last call to your number came from another extension of the name number you are calling from.”

  “You mean that call was made from this location?”

  “Yes, sir.”