02. The Shadow Dancers (33 page)

"After eleven tonight," Brandy Two replied, and I said, "Anytime afta' fo' in the mornin'."

She nodded to herself. "Well, we gonna put you two on an equal basis. Now, we gonna pull over up here and you two are gonna get out and we all gonna go over in the bushes and you're gonna get naked and we'll see if you got any juice on you. Any juice we find, we're gonna
destroy.
You got that? Now,
I
don't have no juice, and Monroe, here,
he
don't have no juice, so if you two girls don't behave and do just like we say we aren't gonna make it to the folks who do. Understand?"

We understood. We even figured on it. I had none, but my twin had four, since that's a natural thing for a shadow dancer to do in these circumstances, and she'd already managed to hide two in the car, keepin' two on her person.

They found all four, although I thought for a moment that old Monroe was gonna miss the one wedged in back of the seat rest. They ain't that easy to destroy, but they had some chemical that would do it. I wondered who the hell they was to know so much, but they never said. Some folks from their force here, probably drawn from the Company's mob ranks, who expected to be real important here when the new folks took over, most likely.

We took the Northwest Extension up to I-80, then headed west. That State College substation had always been leaky for the opposition; there musta been some way they had of usin' it without it registerin' on security's boards, or so 1 figured. We didn't go all the way there, though; instead, we turned in at a roadside motel where they fed us, then took us to a room in back for which Monroe had the key.

Monroe sent "nurse" Longstreet outside, then turned to us. "Now, which one of you is the fuckin' oreo?"

"Me," we both responded at once. I was real surprised, and signalled her it was okay.

"We both been lib'rated," I told him. "We don't care 'bout no color. What're you? De black Klan?"

That enraged him, and he started in on me. I had real rough, big, nasty bruisers before, but this guy was somethin' of a psycho. The only thing that was savin' me was that the
juice wouldn't let nothin' get real painful without tippin' the scales the other way. Kinda made you a masochist to get pleasure for pain, but it was better than the alternative. Fact was, the only thing savin'
Monroe
was the fact that we both needed juice.

Suddenly there was loud talkin' outside, and the door opened and Monroe stopped for a moment and looked up, mean as hell. Standin' there was Ms. Cool herself, Addison. I could hear Longstreet cussin' a blue streak outside, but somebody had her.

Addison took one look, figured what was goin' on even if she didn't know the reason, and said, fairly firmly, "Just what the
hell
do you think you're doing?"

"Shut up, bitch! This ain't your business!" Monroe growled. That was a mistake.

"Girls," Addison said, calm as could be, "you have my permission, and my support, if you want to kill this idiot."

Monroe gave a big laugh, but it didn't last long. You take two women bodybuilder types together and no hunk even Monroe's size and strength was gonna keep us from doin' damage. It was one hell of a fight, though, 'cause of the big weight difference, and while we done him some real damage, when Brandy Two kicked him in the gut and sent him to the floor under the sink, he rebounded, made for his coat, and I knew he was goin' for his gun.

He never made it. There was this short Pfutt! sound, and there was a neat hole in the side of his head. He actually looked surprised; I think he was dumb enough and strong enough that it took him five full seconds 'fore he realized he was dead. The recoil hardly moved him. Finally he just sort of sat down on the floor, stared hard, like he was seein' somethin' he couldn't understand, then keeled over.

"Messy, but satisfying," noted Addison, putting her pistol back in her purse. "You-get your clothes on and both of you come with me," she added, pointin' to me. "I had hoped to use this place tonight but we're going to have to have it cleaned up instead."

I got back into my jeans, shirt, and sandals and we followed her out. I got to admit I was surprised at all this; she hadn't seemed like the kind to give a damn about stuff like that as long as it wasn't her. Two big men pushed
Monroe's girlfriend into the room after we left and closed the door. I looked around and figured either everybody else was sound sleepers or business was lousy.

Parked in an outer lot designed for the purpose was a tractor trailer; one of them big rigs. The trailer didn't have no signs or pictures or nothin', just a big dirty silver. Addison leaped up on the ledge like she done this all the time, threw the levers, and opened one side of the back. We hauled ourselves in, and she got in after us. It was pretty dark in there, but soon as she closed and bolted the rear door the lights come on.

Inside was a whole bunch of equipment, some real big, some in crates and some not, and two people. One was a medium-sized fellow in plaid shirt, jeans, and boots who had real dark skin but wasn't black; he kinda looked like some Indian. The other was a woman with a great build, kinda like ours, but with golden skin and brown hair. One of the golden people of the headquarters world.

The truck roared into life, although I ain't sure right then if even they knew where they was goin'. Monroe had sorta screwed up their plans. The man reached in his pocket and took out two little cubes and tossed them to us. "Here," he said, in Spanish-accented English. "Get your fix now. We have much work to dp."

I still wasn't sure it was late enough for me, but since these folks had the supply it didn't cost nothin' to try. I was under in real sweet ecstasy in about a minute and a half.

They didn't do nothin' in the comedown period, since they shut off most of the lights and all of 'em seemed to be asleep themselves. We was still movin', but we didn't know to where. I heard my twin give a giggle and turned to her.

"Look at 'em," she said. "The most dangerous people around, and we don't dare do nothin'. That girl one of them bossworld people?"

"Yeah, that's what they look like," I replied.

"Reminds me of somebody, but I can't think who."

I looked over at her. "The rest of the shadow dancers. Different color, different hair, but all the rest of them girls looked just like that. Haven't you figured that much out yet?"

"Uh uh. Not till now. By the way-glad to see you can
talk regular again. Guess they musta done it while we was out with somethin' in here."

I was flat-out amazed. Until that moment I hadn't realized that I
was
back to normal-at least, the normal I was before they run that jive on me at Arnie's. Wasn't nqthin' to read in there, but I could imagine a page in my mind and know all the words. Somehow, they took that module out of me that they put in. That meant that one of these crates, probably the biggest, was a hypnoscan, and that made the Mex or whatever he was Dr. Carlos. Brandy Two confirmed it.

"That pig was my main trainer at the lodge. You suppose he's one of 'em, too?"

I shook my head. "No way. Wrong build, wrong face, wrong everything. I guess they could make themselves look like that if they really wanted to, but I don't think they did it to him. He's like that pair back there, and Crockett, and Arnie-just hired help. Real smart and skilled hired help, but that's it."

"You suppose they ran us both through that thing like they did last time? I mean, they took somethin' out of your head, but did they put somethin' else in?"

It was a good question, but I was fairly confident they hadn't. "Uh uh. They can take that shit out in 'bout an hour, but it takes a
long
time to put things in.
Damn!
I'm starvin' and I hav'ta go to the bathroom."

"Me, too. So do they, I guess. Got to be somethin' in here."

We was feelin' good, and we got up and did a little explorin', tryin' not to wake up nobody. They
did
have one of them chemical porta-potty things back in a corner, and that at least took care of the immediate problem. We wandered back, 'cause there was nothin' else to do.

"You know, that girl she looks kinda Hawaiian. You got Hawaiians in this world?"

I nodded and looked. "Yeah, 'cept for the brown hair and maybe a little difference in skin tone, you're right. Never thought of that. Island kind of folks, anyways. You got my brains, even if you ain't got my experience. See anything else peculiar? Take a look at
both
them girls."

She tried, but shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"Addison's one of them, too. You take that makeup off, put down that hair and make it that brown color, and put her in some decent clothes."

"Them eyes ain't right."

"Yeah, they are, under there somewhere. She ain't been medically converted. It's more like some kind of high-tech makeup job, like they might do in their world for show business. That's why the makeup's so heavy. Covers up the seams."

"But her skin's darker-not like ours, but like white folks with real deep suntans."

"More tricks, that's all. Probably takes a bath in some kinda dye that shade, which is a little darker and duller than theirs. Makes a world of difference. The shadow dancers was black, brown, lily-white, and China yellow, but they was all the same. All but us."

Even with the noise and shakin' and rattlin', I guess we was talkin' too loud 'cause Addison stirred, opened her eyes, looked over at us, then got up. "No use," she said. "I can't stay asleep in something like this. I heard you two talking."

"We was just wqnderin' whether you started out in actin' or not," I said pointedly. "You do great makeup, and you play parts real good, too."

"You
are
good. Uh-I assume you are this world's Brandy I'm talking to. Since Carlos took that module out you really
are
incredibly identical."

"I am-was-the detective," I told her.

"Well, to answer your question, my parents were performers. The sort of art they practiced has no real equivalent here. It's a traditional form among my people that is both for art and religion. It is practiced only by husband and wife teams, so when my father died the show was over, so to speak."

"I didn't think none of you people
ever
died," I commented.

"It
is
true that we live a long time, and do not suffer the diseases and infirmities you do, but we all die, sooner or later, from age or from accident. His was accidental, in a crash. They loved each other very much. My mother was left with three daughters and no means of support. She was
expected to marry again out of convenience, but she could not bring herself to do so. The only chance they had for any future was in one of the colonies, one without major class distinctions. We were neither fish nor fowl, as you say. We were low-class people performing for upper-class patrons. Unless we all found eligible men in our very small profession, we could not continue it. It took money to emigrate and become established, and my sisters were very young. There was a patron, a very powerful man, whom we played for often, who took a liking to me. I could become his mistress, his kept woman, as it were, and he would pay for the emigration of my family. I accepted. I was fifteen years old."

This was something I hadn't expected at all. She was moody, soft, introspective, and had a need to talk. I guess, rollin' along in a semi in the early-mornin' hours and unable to sleep, she just figured some company was better than none. At least she figured we'd understand, although why she felt we would I didn't know.

"Yeah, well, at least you had the silks and furs," Brandy Two commented. "Me, I was just past fourteen when I run away, and I wound up in a run-down row house in Washington, me and six other girls, hooked on smack in another few months 'cause it helped not to think or regret and workin' the streets for a quota. We all got our sob stories, honey."

Addison looked at her, then at me. "No, there's a difference. I look over at the two of you and I see exactly the same person. I listen to you speak, and I hear only slight differences in your speech, and that probably only because this is not my native tongue. But on my right is a woman who came up from nothing and made something of herself and developed her brain, and on my right is the same woman who did none of this. You might have had bad luck, bad breaks, or even made some stupid decisions, but clearly you had choices. Two ways at least to go. I did not. Women in my society are theoretically equal to men, but none, not even in the upper classes, ever can reach a level of decision making, policy making. Middle-class women can have education and careers, but they always work for men carrying out men's projects and goals. In my class, a woman could not even be chief gardener of an upper-class estate.

An assistant, perhaps, but always taking orders from the men."

"It ain't that cool here, neither," I pointed out. "Is that what got you into this?" Hell, in
this
world some of the meanest radicals was women. "Try bein' a black woman in this kinda society and see how far you get."

"Each world has its own problems," Addison said. "I can do nothing for other worlds until I fix my own. That is difficult and dangerous enough."

"Yeah, so you're doin' your sugar daddy's work for him, like always," my twin noted. "You give him his revolution and .he gives you the shaft. I seen that too many times before."

"He just wants power, it's true, and he might be no better, perhaps worse, than what we have now, but he is a product of society and he does not understand the concept of
radical.
By the roots. Nothing less will gain what I want. To him, this is a small, limited plot to take over the Board and control it. A few parties, a few party girls with some of the old men, and that's it. I am his link to all of it. He cannot leave. He was brilliant in showing me how even the greatest computers and experts can be fooled if they are fed consistent but faulty information. He is a typical, arrogant upper-class male and I know him far too well. I knew he would never even
think
that he could be a victim of just such a thing. How could he? I am a mere, insignificant woman, a mistress, lover, and actress, carrying out his orders to the letter. A majority of the corporate board as his shadows, dancing to his tunes. That's all his vision allows."