The Ganymede Club (14 page)

Spook, following close behind, had no trouble finishing Bat's sentence. In this case, the irritating encumbrance was Lola.

He had enjoyed enormously his visit to the Bat Cave, and after a shaky start he felt that he and Great Bat/Megachirops were getting along well. On the other hand, Spook and his sister failed to agree on many things.

He stared at the cowled, cannonball head and vast black-clad back in front of him, and wondered. Human relationships were definitely not his specialty; but he couldn't help speculating on Lola's reaction to Rustum Battachariya.

* * *

Bat knew the Ganymede interior even better than Spook. When Spook explained the path he had taken to reach the Bat Cave, Bat listened carefully, nodded, and said, "Passable, but not optimal. There are three points at which your journey could have been slightly shorter in time, although longer in distance. I will demonstrate as we proceed."

Spook hid his irritation. He told himself that Bat was a full year older, and anyway he had spent his whole life on Ganymede. He felt a lot better when he also learned that transportation systems, inside Ganymede and outside it, were more than a minor interest for Bat. They were the source of his livelihood.

"And, contrary to popular opinion, they are not boring at all," Bat assured Spook as he led him down a dizzying spiral chute that was barely wide enough for his bulk. It was a shortcut that could not have been used in travel to the Bat Cave, because in that direction it rose at a steep angle along its whole twisted length. "You would probably find the study of the transport system quite rewarding, although your natural method of attack on problems does appear to be geometrical and topological, rather than algebraic. I suspect there may be unexplored virtues in that, which at some time you and I should pursue. However, theorists define the transportation problems of the solar system as a nonlinear optimization subject to constraints. While that may be true, you will never make any money with that approach. What you need are what I have: gimmicks—special tricks of my own, rather like your device of regarding the space we live in as a projection of a space of higher dimension."

"So people come to you, and they ask for a cheaper way to shift goods and passengers?"

"The choice of the first verb is debatable." They were out of the chute and moving side by side. Bat turned to glower sideways past his hood at Spook. "They 'come to me,' in a general sense. However, lacking your importuning intrusiveness, they never see me
in person.
They communicate via standard electronic channels."

"But how do they know that you even exist?" Spook was halfway certain that Bat objected to his presence a good deal less than he pretended. Everybody liked to have somebody to show off to now and again.

Bat shrugged, a rippling movement that went from shoulders to hips. "I can do no more than conjecture that it is by word of mouth. But I recently achieved a certain amount of off-world notoriety when I was able to employ my knowledge of control mechanisms to divert an un-piloted cargo vessel with a shipment of helium-three from a collision orbit with Europa."

"I thought you never went anywhere near the surface."

"No more did I. There are key entry points to every ship's guidance computer system. That is true whether the vessel is bearing a crew or not. I merely linked in from the Bat Cave, performed two minor onboard program patches, and monitored the result in real time to be sure that I had achieved the desired result."

"And it worked?"

"Of course."

"So who paid you? The owners?"

"No one paid me. In fact, I could not reveal what I had done. It would have been judged an unauthorized and illegal tampering with a ship's controls."

"But that's ridiculous! You saved a ship, and you prevented Europan contamination."

"In the eyes of a standard bureaucrat, such considerations are of little weight. However, certain knowledgeable individuals who know my style were able to deduce what had probably happened. One of them even called to congratulate me."

"What did you do?"

"I declined to talk to her. Naturally. But such things have a way of spreading. I have received numerous requests for assistance with difficult cargo schedules in the past half year."

Spook didn't ask the question he wanted to ask: How do I get in on this good stuff? He thought he knew the answer: slowly. Anybody who hoped to work with Bat would have to show that he was of the same mental caliber. Spook hoped that he was. A few hours ago he would have bet on it. Now he was not so sure.

It was a question he had pondered since he was barely more than an infant. You went through your whole life being smarter than anybody else around, convinced that most of the time you were dealing with people who couldn't think any better than chimps. Then one day you met somebody as smart or smarter than you. What did you do then?

Fortunately, this might not be all one-sided. There had been hints that Bat took Spook seriously, since although he could follow what Spook did in N-space analysis he apparently didn't find it second nature, the way that Spook did. There was hope. In any case, the issue didn't have to be settled at once.

In fact, it could not be, because already they were arriving at Lola's office quarters. It was late, but with luck she would still be around. Spook knew that she seldom left early.

At the entrance he took one more look at Bat, trying to see him through his sister's eyes. It was not too encouraging. Inside, Bat might well be a genius. Outside was another matter.

Spook saw a huge black-garbed figure, whose tight, ill-fitting clothes and flowing, open robe made him seem almost as wide as he was high. He was pouting his lips and frowning horribly, presumably aware that in another minute or two he would have to meet yet another human being—two in one day.

And now that they were standing still, Spook could detect a definite and unpleasant odor.

That was one other thing about shunning human companions. You didn't have to wash often, or worry about smelling your best.

It was too late to back out. They had already knocked on the outer door. In any case, Spook couldn't see Bat taking kindly to the suggestion that he go away and return after taking a bath.

He led the way in.

* * *

Lola was sitting at her desk, doing nothing, her eyes slightly wild and a little bit out of focus. Half an hour earlier she had finished another haldane session with Bryce Sonnenberg. It took a while to come down, even when, unlike today, she felt perfectly normal afterward. That was one of the reasons that she tended to stay late at her office. She didn't like to be seen in public (or even in private) while the psychotropic drugs were rattling around inside her brain.

Today she did not feel normal at all. Today she felt like the Grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at the top and the gunpowder running out of the heels of his boots. Very peculiar.

She heard a noise and looked up. With a slight effort, she managed to remove the blur from the scene and realized that what she was seeing was familiar. She was seeing Spook. He was staring bug-eyed at her, already starting to back out, muttering, "Sorry. We'll come catch you later."

"No, no, it's fine. I've been expecting you. In fact . . ."

Lola peered at what was standing behind Spook, and wondered if the drugs were having a new and powerful effect on her.

Could they? . . . it must be her imagination.
That
was the Grand Panjandrum, a gigantic, scowling figure, his clothes as black as his face except for the places where, on the front of the too-small shirt that failed to conceal his navel and billowing belly, liberal streaks of grease and gravy provided evidence of his last meal. Or maybe his last but six. There seemed to be more than one food stain there.

"Lola." Spook's voice came from far, far away. "This is Megachirops, also known as Rustum Battachariya when he is not in Master mode on the Puzzle Network. But he would prefer us to call him Bat. He is the one I told you about. The one I said I wanted to-to-"—Spook paused selfconsciously—"to help on the you-know-what."

That hit Lola like a brain quake. She came down from Fuzzland with an awful crash, to glare at Spook and the object that he had dragged in behind him. "The you-know-what. Are you by any chance referring to my
case?
The one we have been talking about in strictest secrecy? Because if you are—"

She knew what was happening but she could not stop it. The drugs were pure magic, capable of achieving miraculous results. Unfortunately, when they dropped you, they dropped you all the way. That wasn't Lola talking, not the real Lola. Spook knew that; he would make allowances.

But Megachirops/Rustum Battachariya/Bat wouldn't. So far he had not spoken one word. Lola tried to smile at him, with ghastly results. She felt her face twisting like a crumpled sheet. She opened her mouth to attempt a conventional greeting and heard a deep musical voice saying, "Hello, I hope that I am not intruding."

She had not spoken. And certainly that was not Spook. Lola gaped at Bat. How did he do that? He had talked to her without moving his lips. In the same moment she realized that another person had appeared at the entrance of her office.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But the outer door was open."

He was a tall, solidly built man in his mid-thirties, dressed in faded clothes that did not quite match. His face had the same casual, slightly rumpled look as his clothing. He was smiling, but it was the smile of a man who has the feeling that he has committed some sort of social blunder and is not sure what.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and took a step forward into the office.

It was obvious that he was talking to Lola, rather than the other two. She straightened her back and made a mighty effort.

"Sorry. I'm a bit tired, that's all. It's been a long workday."

That had come out all right. She still had the feeling that her features were crawling out of control, all over her face, but no one else seemed to notice. Spook was looking at the newcomer with obvious relief, while Bat glared at everyone with equal distaste.

"I know how that feels." The man nodded, as though about to leave, then seemed to change his mind and took another step forward. "I wouldn't have come in like this at all, uninvited, but I'm moving into the office three down along the corridor. It seems as though it's been empty for a while, and there's no power. I can't find a maintenance machine. I wondered if you might know where the control box is."

She had no idea. But before she could answer, Spook was in there first. "Bad time, Sis," he said. "You're obviously busy, and I'm sorry we interrupted. We'll see you and talk about this later."

He gave Bat an urgent glance. The two of them headed rapidly for the door without another word to Lola. On the way out Spook nodded to the stranger and said, "Wall panel. End of the hall, above the air-supply duct—power and computing services. I'll get it as we go."

"Thanks." The man watched them leave, then turned to Lola with a perplexed shrug. "I guess that's that. Quick service. But I think I drove them away."

"No." Lola sighed. "I did that. I shouldn't talk to anybody for at least an hour after I finish a session."

"Session?"

"You didn't see the sign as you came in?"

"I didn't look. I came where I heard voices."

"Just as well. Half the people who come into the outer office never make it past the sign." Lola settled back again into her chair. She was feeling a lot better. "I'm a haldane."

"
Are
you, now." He didn't show any of the usual reactions—no nervousness or distrust. In fact, he came forward to stand at the other side of the desk and grinned down at her as though she had just made a joke. "Well, I guess I ought to be careful what I say to you. But I never learned how to do that." He held out a long-fingered hand with neatly trimmed nails. "Since it seems we're going to be neighbors, we should introduce ourselves."

"I'm Lola Belman." She took his outstretched hand. It was warm and felt more muscular than it looked. "I'm pleased to meet you."

"Conner Preston." Rather than releasing her, he put his other hand on top of hers and gave a little squeeze. "I'm pleased, too. Let's see if we can both stay pleased."

10

Lola was in bed. Alone, and not asleep.

She had been lying there for over an hour, reluctant to use a sleep inducer. Reluctant because, although she needed rest, she wanted to review the events of the past day. Too much had been happening in too short a time.

The morning and early afternoon had been perfectly normal, a quiet day in her office with one unproductive patient who was responding poorly to treatment. Then Bryce Sonnenberg had appeared in the late afternoon, unscheduled, complaining of new problems.

"Another blackout," he said, "right around lunch time. Big one. Ten minutes."

"With different memories?" Lola, the residue of psychotropic drugs still in her system, would have preferred to postpone the meeting. But he seemed truly troubled.

"Different and
weird
, and then at the end, some of the old memories. The oddest thing is that I remember the new stuff as though it happened a long time ago, but somehow I was
older
then than I am now."

Lola could not resist. This just might be the key that they were missing. "Do you have time to stay a while? Good. Sit down. I want to try a session while all this is completely fresh in your memory."

More drugs, until she felt herself poised delicately on the edge. Bryce, in the chair, more nervous than usual, his face suddenly far older than his twenty-four years—the telemetry calibration—the sleeping giant, stirring within her. And then, suddenly, the synthesis.

Thick, perfumed air, and a heavy but familiar gravity field. (Lola knew, deep down, that she was on Earth.) Loud, cheerful music. Everyone in brightly colored clothes. It was a party, and yet more than a party. He was strolling along a line of long tables, not looking at anything yet seeing everything. At one of the tables he paused.