Authors: Steve Perry
As the boxcar dropped from orbit toward its destination at the Western Canadian station, Khadaji mentally reviewed the information he had been given about one of these ex-soldiers. He needed somebody who would not only be willing to talk, but also somebody who had been ranked high enough to have something worth saying.
Khadaji's quarry lived in a small bubbletown built about sixty years ago. About fifty klicks south ofLiverpoolBay in what had once been theNorthwest Territories , New Anderson lay twenty kilometers west of the Anderson River, just out of the eastern edge of theEskimoLakes . The main industry in the town was tempdiff power conversion. Back before the powersats took over supplying most of Earth's electrical needs, it had been deemed a good idea to try alternative methods of generation. Tempdiff technology had progressed to the point where it could produce enough juice to warrant the building of several Arctic stations. Deepdrills tapped into the Earth's natural body heat many kilometers below the surface, and that warmth and the cold air outside the town were artfully and precisely mixed to make power.
The technology was outmoded now, but New Anderson continued to pump its small sparks into the NoHemi Grid. One never knew but that a microwave sat could go down and even a few gigavolts might come in handy.
NewAnderson was far from anyone likely to accidentally happen across and recognize a former Soldatutmarkt Section Chief, an officer equivalent to a Sub-Befalhavare in regular military rank.
"Looks cold out there," Veate said, snapping off her seat's holoproj.
Khadaji pulled his thoughts back into the boxcar.
"It is. Even the summers aren't real warm and it is winter now. Probably they have more snow on the ground than I did at the Red Sister."
Veate said, "I wondered at the name. How did the place come by it?"
Khadaji leaned back in his seat. "During the fighting at the end when the Confed was falling, I lost two of my people. Lyle Gatridge—everybody called him 'Red'—and Mayli Wu, sometimes known as 'Sister Clamp.' " Hestill felt a twinge of pain when he thought about it. He hadn't seen them die, but he'd set them on the path; it had been his fault, at least partially.
"Red was one of my first teachers, the man who showed me how to use this." He waved his left hand and the spetsdod on the back of it. "Mayli was many things, and the most centered of all the matadoras.
She taught us about love."
Veate did not speak, and Khadaji allowed his memories to flow again, recalling his friends. Red had also been Geneva's father, and Mayli had been Bork's lover. The death of the Confederation dinosaur had not been bought cheaply, even if it had cost nothing but those two. It had cost more. A lot of people had died and though not directly by his hand, they were piled high on Khadaji's karma.
He shook the morbid thoughts. The dead were dead. He had the living—Juete still among them, he hoped—to attend to, and that had to be more important. You could not bring back the past but you could still save the future.
Maybe.
Khadaji and Veate rented a flitter at the WC station, bought heatmesh and spare batteries for it, as well as hats and gloves, and took off for New Anderson. Between the WC station just outside Greater Vancouver and their destination were a dozen bubbletown settlements. Such places utilized Ben Lu generators, the cheaper version of the Ben Wah devices used on airless worlds to form a hardball force sphere around itself. A Ben Lu would shield against most precipitation and extremes of heat or cold, but did not greatly affect light or other electromagnetics. Khadaji was no physicist, but he understood that a Ben Lu effect was more like a wall of thickened air than anything else.
Two thousand meters below, the ground was covered with snow. As they flew over the first of the bubbletowns, they could see the perfect circle standing bare against the whiteness. The town within was visible through a dome only slightly fogged in a few spots. Veate said, "Why doesn't the snow stick to the bubbles'? Are they heated?"
"As I understand it, the field vibrates in such a way that snow andrain are repelled, something like personal weather shields."
"Ah."
Two hours later they came within range of New Anderson. Khadaji allowed the town's traffic-control comp to lock them into a landing mode. Most of the power complex was apparently underground, although there were several large buildings that had a heavy industrial look to them visible up top.
According to the infonet feed into the flitter's comp, New Anderson sported a permanent population of around two thousand, more than half of whom worked running the tempdiff plant, despite the dins and automatics. He guessed that merchants, children and assorted service people made up the rest of the town. There'd be pubs, stores, maybe gambling and prostitutes, as well as medical and dental facilities.
The only way Khadaji could tell they'd crossed the Ben Lu barrier was that theflitter's outside temp sensor showed an instant rise.
The flitter made a series of inward spirals and put down on a plastcrete landing lot, then taxied to an assigned parking slot near a small building. The com came to life.
"How long you gonna need the slot?"
Khadaji saw the attendant in the small building wave at him. "Just the day," he said.
"Gimme your credit number."
That done, Khadaji and Veate alighted from the flitter.
"Not cold at all," Veate said.
"The mesh and hats and gloves were in case the flitter had problems on the way," her father said.
Most of the buildings were standard everwear plastic, still dark green, almost in mint condition. Here and there some of the structures had been painted, to change their appearance. The builders had been generous in the sizes allotted to housing and recreation. The streets were straight and wide. Those running east and west were numbered, while those going north and south were lettered. It would be difficult to get lost, and the entire town was only three klicks by three at its longest. Someone who lived in the northwest corner would be found near the intersection of Avenue A and1st Street ; a shop in the southeastern corner would be near Avenue J and10th Street .Simple.
The address her father had was between 3rd and 4th on Avenue E. It would not be a long walk from where the flitter was parked. There were few people and fewer vehicles evident, and those people who were about stared at Veate when she passed close enough for them to see her clearly. She was used to that. Albinos grew up with constant stares.
As they walked, Veate said, "So, are you going to tell me anything about this ex-soldier or not?"
Khadaji said, "I'd rather get your reaction without a bias, if that's all right."
Veate shrugged. It irritated her, but she said, "Fine." Whatever game he was playing here, she wasn't going to let him think he was getting the best of it with her.
The address was of a small shop, and what it apparently sold was hand-knitted garments. There were shawls, caps, and mufflers artfully hung in a display behind the plastic window. The door slid open as they approached it.
Seated in a wooden rocking chair in front of a display case inside was a woman wearing a green wool caftan. She was perhaps eighty-five, white-haired and wrinkled, and was busy with her needles, knitting a sweater. She looked up at Khadaji and Veate and smiled, showing a fan of deep lines at the corners of her eyes. Veate found herself returning the older woman's smile.
"Good day," she said. "You're new, aren't you?"
"Yes, fem," Khadaji replied.
"Come looking for a nice gift, perhaps?"
"Come looking for Sub-Chief Heresh Vasquez of theSoldatutmarkt ."
The woman's smile froze,then faltered. She sighed and put her needles down, nodding as if to herself.
"Ah. I wondered if you'd ever get around to me."
Veate blinked, but held her face as calm as she could. This kindly-looking granny was one of the fearsomeSoldatutmarkt ? Come on.
"We aren't here to disturb your life, Fem Vasquez. We only want to ask you some questions. That done, we'll leave."
"Do I know you? You look familiar."
"I don't think we've ever met. My name is Khadaji. This is my daughter, Veate."
Recognition lit the woman's face. "Ah. I knew I'd seen you. You'rethat Khadaji, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I'm honored. What is it you want from me?"
Something in the woman's attitude bothered Veate, though she couldn't quite figure out what. She seemed less disturbed maybe than she should. In her place, a war criminal, Veate thought she'd be a little more nervous about being discovered.Especially by somebody like her father. "I need to know everything you know about a man named Massey.And about Marcus Jefferson Wall."
"Why? They both died during the revolution."
"So they did. I still need the information."
Vasquez stood. "Would you like some tea? There are chairs in the kitchen. We can talk there."
"That would be fine," Khadaji said. They followed Vasquez into the kitchen.
On the ship bound for Earth from Fox, Dirisha, Geneva, Sleel and Bork sat in the pub talking. There were only a few other patronsthere, and they mostly seemed intent on some sporting event being presented on the far wall's holoproj.
Sleel said, "So how is this sticky-fingered character supposed to help usfind whoever is out to get us?"
"He is a wizard with any kind of complex electronics. He's improved or invented half a dozen major devices in use throughout the galaxy, including the best lock suppressor made. No patent on that one.He can backwalk computer input better than anybody, so it's said."
"And you figure he'll help us try to find out who is doing all this biz by computer?" Geneva said.
"Yes."
"How come?"Sleel asked. "Guy like this is probably pretty well off; he wouldn't have to do us any favors."
"He had a son who got into some trouble once. I happened to be in the right place to help him out of it."
"Oh, good," Geneva said."A new story. You constantly amaze me at all you've done."
"That's us old folks, brat. Full of history."
Sleel said, "Yeah, but you're still missing one of the wonders of your life, Dirisha." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows.
She shook her head. "Never give up, do you, Sleel?"
"Just trying to help your sexual education," he said. "We came close once, remember?"
"You were in a Healy with an arm blown off; you don't think that would have put a crimp in your style?"
"Nan, it'd have just given us more room in the medicator. We'd have needed it."
Bork and Geneva laughed, and Dirisha shook her head again. The man had a one-track mind, sure enough.
Vasquez talked for more than an hour, responding to Khadaji's questions. He had a recorder going; she answered candidly as far as he could tell and he had no reason to believe she was lying. Even so, nothing immediately useful leaped out at him. He had known Massey when the spy had been his student, and later when the Confed had arrested him. He and Wall had met only once, but nothing Vasquez said added much to his research on the Factor before that. Wall had been fond of little girls in one way, and apparently of animals in another—less perverted—way. Khadaji had known about the former, not about the latter, but it did little to illuminate the relationship between the Factor and his Soldatutmarkt lap dog.
Whoever it was who had used the image of Massey on the holoproj, it wasn't Wall, anyhow.
Well. There were other people in hiding who might offer more.
"Thank you for your time and trouble," Khadaji said. "We won't bother you any longer. And you won't be getting any visits from the Republic."
"Thank you," Vasquez said.
As they walked back toward their flitter, Khadaji said, "What did you think of Vasquez?"
"She seemed nice enough, though I wouldn't have pictured her as a soldier."
"Everybody gets older.Anything else?"
"Well, it's just a feeling, but it seemed as if maybe she was hiding something."
"Any ideas as to what?"
"I didn't think she was lying about her answers. But she didn't really seem all that surprised to see us."
"I thought so, too."
"Does it mean anything?"
"Probably not," he said. "But you can never tell."
Deep in another of his fantasies, Wall received a com that demanded a portion of his attention sufficent to terminate the carefully crafted dream. He stored the scenario intact so that he could resume it later, and conjured the appropriate face to receive his caller. The old woman's image sparkled to life.
"Reverend Father?"
"I am here, daughter," said the kindly-looking fat man.
"Someone has come to speak with me as you predicted."
"Of course.The Lord of All does not lie."
"You didn't say it would be Emile Khadaji himself." Wall was only faintly surprised but of course he did not allow it to show. "You did not need to know."
"I told him everything he asked for, as you ordered."
"Good. You have done well, Vasquez. God will smile upon you for it."
"Thank you, Reverend. Bless you for your intervention."
"It is only my duty, daughter."
Mirth played itself upon Wall's biomolecular electronic pathways. Things were going along nicely.Very nicely indeed.
Chapter Fourteen
ELBU RA JAMBI stood in front of the com unit, speaking to one of Wall's holoproj constructs. It was not necessary, since Wall had eyes and ears all over the compound and knew more about what was going on there than did anyone actually on-site; still, the fiction must be maintained, at least for a while longer.
Behind the man was the clean room of an advanced bioelectronics lab, built to Jambi's specifications, furnished with all that he had requested to fill it. The air glowed with purity, courtesy of pulselamps that kept the interior perfectly sterile. Jambi and his assistants wore noshed osmotic suits equipped with coolers so that their indigenous microscopic flora and fauna did not escape into the environment.
Advanced nanogen computers worked silently creating tiny machines, a billion of which combined would not weigh as much as a gram; biogen units burbled quietly, rearing their colonies of tailored viruses and bacteria; and other computers mated the pieces into something quite unlike any natural life that had ever existed. The lab was a marvel all by itself. What it did was a miracle.