Analog Science Fiction And Fact - June 2014 (12 page)

"Tajok couldn't fool Tumanzu. And he couldn't very well refuse to see him. A confrontation with Tumanzu was unavoidable. That being so, Tajok agreed to a meeting—at a time and place of Tajok's choosing. That much, at least, he could still control. Tajok and Luhor traded places, resuming their actual identities only long enough to give Tumanzu the showdown he sought. Tumanzu was given an opportunity to gloat over the discomfiture of his sugami."

Baldwin drooped in his chair—a healthy man feigning illness. More precisely, he was a healthy man imitating a healthy Dokharan who was feigning illness. "Tajok must have pretended to be feebler than he actually was. Even so, Tumanzu got the distinct impression that Luhor was the weaker of the pair. Luhor's fur was discolored. He was shedding. His voice was husky. His coordination was poor. Tumanzu concluded that Luhor was likely to predecease Tajok.
Not
the other way around. I know because Tumanzu told me so. Sadly, I didn't pay sufficient attention to that remark. I didn't see the significance of it at the time."

In the contemplative tone of someone thinking aloud, Collins said: "Tumanzu had his say and took his leave, supposing that his quarrel with Tajok was finally resolved. But it wasn't. Tajok hired Usiga to murder him."

"Yes—but the first attempt misfired. Escoli zigged when she should have zagged, spoiling Usiga's aim. The contingency plan called for Usiga to proceed to Dokhara and try again. Tajok was betting that Usiga would eventually succeed. Of course he was. What else could he do? The mizuni had been alerted. The editors of the
Hoyabusa
would soon be publishing the bombshell Tajok had sent them. Tajok
had
to go through with it. He couldn't change his plans now."

Collins stalled him with an upraised palm. "The mizuni?" he said, requesting clarification. "Who alerted the mizuni?"

"Tajok. Who else?" Baldwin raked a hand through his hair, did not seem better groomed for fussing with it. "Tajok lied when he told me that he was making 'Tajok's' funeral arrangements. He'd already made them. The mizuni in charge of the cemetery had received written instructions..." Baldwin shut his eyes and performed intricate sums behind closed lids "... it must have been fifty-two days before my first meeting with Tajok. They were told to make preparations for Tajok's makeevasukku. He correctly predicted that they would file a protest with the Genjuko, but he couldn't be sure what the result would be. That alone might not generate enough controversy for his purposes. And so he added fuel to the fire." Baldwin's cupped palms exploded outward, illustrating a reinvigorated blaze. "The same courier who had contacted the mizuni delivered a sealed envelope to the offices of the
Hoyabusa.
The editors were requested to refrain from opening it for fifty-seven days. When they did, they found that it contained an inflammatory editorial announcing that Tajok would be receiving the same last rites as his victims. Tajok had written it himself, of course, and the public was infuriated by it—just as he'd intended. But he made a mistake. He mentioned the exact day of 'Tajok's' death. Tumanzu noticed that immediately. How had the author of the editorial acquired that information?" With a never-mind wave of his hand, Baldwin canceled his own question. "As mysteries go, that one wasn't really very mysterious," he acknowledged. "Tajok knew when 'Tajok' would die because that was when Tajok planned to poison 'Tajok.'"

Collins pursed his lips thoughtfully. "The ordeal in the mines," he speculated, "must have changed Tajok."

"To be sure. Not, perhaps, out of all recognition, but enough for him to masquerade as Luhor. As long as he was careful. As long as he was lucky. As long as he didn't come face-toface with someone who'd known him during the war. The odds of that were remote. Most of his old acquaintances were dead. Of course they were. He'd killed them himself. If he dressed differently, walked differently, cultivated different mannerisms and made few public appearances, his chances of success were good. Or they
had
been. They were no longer. Not as long as Tumanzu remained alive."

"Which he was."

"But Tajok didn't know that—not until I told him." Baldwin pointed a bent finger of accusation at himself. "When Tajok arrived in Dokhara, I met the ship and made the grave mistake of mentioning that Tumanzu had been summoned by the Genjuko. Tajok's response was to do a vanishing act. He engaged the services of Nishyuki, went into seclusion, and emerged from it only once. Or so I surmise. It was an unavoidable risk. He had to re establish contact with Usiga, reactivate their contract, and make sure that Usiga readdressed himself to the task of eliminating Tumanzu. After that, Tajok simply waited. Presumably, he was practicing the statement he would be making before the Genjuko. Rehearsals continued until he received confirmation that Tumanzu was dead."

Collins gave Baldwin a look of appraisal and approval. "Tumanzu's death
did
dispose of the only witness who could expose Tajok, but it backfired on him. From then on, a top-notch investigative journalist was nose-down and baying on his trail."

"Me?" Baldwin belittled his own abilities with a loud raspberry. "If I'm such a hot-shot reporter, why wasn't I quicker on the uptake? What about all the discrepancies that I failed to heed? I noticed them, but I failed to
take
notice of them—if you know what I mean."

"Such as...?" Collins prompted.

Baldwin started counting on his fingers. "When I spoke with 'Luhor'—both times—I detected nothing wrong with him. The feebleness that had been so apparent to Tumanzu was conspicuous by virtue of its absence." Another finger joined the first. "When I spoke with 'Luhor'—the second time—he said that he'd decided to attend 'Tajok's' funeral because trouble was brewing and he felt obligated to oppose the obstructionists. Yes—but the
Izanugi
had only just docked. When the
Izanugi
departed from Izmir, he'd had no way of knowing that trouble was brewing—not unless he'd been stirring the pot himself." Baldwin raised a third finger. "His manner, too, was revealing. Tumanzu said that taunting Tajok had provoked no emotional response. Tumanzu wasn't surprised. He would have expected none. Tajok was known for his aloofness. He kept his feelings to himself. That is exactly how 'Luhor' behaved with me. Distant. Disengaged. Detached. But me—I didn't make the connection."

Collins extended a condolent hand. "You did eventually. You deduced what had happened and went to the Genjuko with your conclusions. When Tajok came before them, he was taken into custody."

This attempt at commiseration found no resonance in Baldwin. He had failed to save Tumanzu, wanted no consolation prizes. His gaze shifted to the horizon.

The sky was aswirl with bloodshot clouds. The setting sun had bequeathed to them its dying glory.
A magnificent spectacle,
Baldwin was thinking.
Escoli would have loved it.

Turning back to Collins, Baldwin saluted him with a perky forefinger. "You did a fine job with the
Izmir Herald
in my absence," he said. "Sorry I was gone so long, but I had to stay in Kazunori for the trial. I was required to give testimony."

"The verdict, I presume, was guilty."

"It was."

"And Tajok's punishment?"

"Makeevasukku. The judges granted Tajok's request. He repeatedly said that he wanted to be absorbed by a makeeva. So be it. He has been sentenced to be fed to a makeeva— while he is still alive."

Collins shuddered. "A horrible fate. Not undeserved. But horrible."

Baldwin chuckled mirthlessly. "A fate that is not fated to befall him. Not soon. Not ever, if you ask me."

"Why not?"

"His hole card was an ace."

Collins' face was vacant and uncomprehending. "His whole card? As opposed to... what? Part of a card?"

Baldwin was mildly annoyed at himself. He sometimes forgot that Collins was—in many respects—more Izmirite than Terran.
I should have guessed,
he thought. Why would a child raised on Bukkara understand a reference to a Terran pastime?

"Poker," Baldwin explained. "In stud poker, the hole card is dealt face down."

"I see."

"No—you wouldn't. The card is dealt that way to keep you from seeing. Its value, I mean. You can see the back of the card, but you can't see which card it is."

Baldwin waited for Collins' eyes to kindle with enlightenment. They didn't. Collins said: "Sounds like one of those things you can only learn by doing. Bukkarans are fond of games. Maybe you should introduce them to this one."

"I already did. I taught the rudiments of poker to Tumanzu. He got to be a pretty good at it, but he never developed a knack for bluffing. Unlike Tajok. That poker-faced bastard could bluff his way through an earthquake. He's had plenty of practice. Thirteen years of it. Tajok has been running an elaborate bluff ever since the Ambulans lost the war."

"Except when he played his hole card. Didn't you say he had an ace in reserve? If I catch your drift, he wasn't bluffing about that."

"No. Tajok has developed a procedure that prolongs lives. It really does. No kidding. It's not a bluff. It works. The genjuki consider that a mitigating factor—so much so that it has earned Tajok a reprieve. A more or less indefinite reprieve. Tajok is still in custody. He's under house arrest. The 'house,' in this instance, is his laboratory. He's back at work, attempting to improve his 'elixir'." Baldwin's fingers clenched futilely. "Tajok has evidently come to a sensible little understanding with the genjuki. They won't put him to death as long as he keeps death from being visited upon them."

Collins solemnly shook his head. "Let's be thankful for small favors. At least Tumanzu didn't live to see that. He can rest in peace."

"'There is no rest for the dead,'" Baldwin muttered, quoting Tumanzu.

"There isn't?"

"Not if Tumanzu was right." Baldwin's eyes had become blurs of retrospection. "We were in a hozen—Tumanzu and I—when the subject of poker was first raised between us. Tumanzu had been telling me why our funeral rites are repugnant to Dokharans. 'There is no rest for the dead,' he said. "He proved his point with examples that were more than a little grotesque." Baldwin barked a fey laugh. "If Tumanzu only knew what the outcome has been—what his petty quest for revenge actually accomplished..." Baldwin laughed again. "No rest for the dead. Tumanzu was a Dokharan. He doesn't have a grave, but if he did, he'd be spinning in it."

In the courtyard of the Mazabashi Inn—not far from where they were sitting—a water sculpture was playing. It moved restlessly, like a soul made uneasy by a guilty conscience. Multiple nozzles twisted and turned, capricing and dithering, churning and frolicking, none of them synchronized, weaving intricate designs with threads of white water that dissolved and vanished even as they were taking shape.

The magnificent sunsets visible from the Mazabashi Inn were never the same from day to day.

The patterns formed by the Inn's water sculpture were never the same from moment to moment.

Baldwin had seen Tajok change into Luhor, and Luhor change into Tajok, and an evil-doer change into a do-gooder who might change the lives of the people who detested him by conferring immortality—or at least enhanced longevity—on them.

Yes—and Baldwin himself had changed.

He was even beginning to acquire an appreciation for water sculptures.

No one is ever always anything,
he thought.

The fountain frothed and drew hissing breaths, musing to itself and whispering secrets. "Never the same," gushed the water, contradicting itself by repeating the same message again and again. "Instability is the only condition that's stable. Nothing is ever the same."

Illustrated by Josh Meehan

The gravity change caught Markus in mid-stride. The plastiform shell of his uniform stiffened around his ankles and knees, providing support against the increased weight. The shift didn't seem to bother the slot receiver cutting across the center of the playing field. Looked like Hardwick, the new hotshot the Giants had picked up from LA to bolster their playoff run. Markus saw the quarterback's head tracking the receiver.

Uh-uh.Not on my watch.

He dug in, ignoring the painful pressure on the balls of his feet, and accelerated to close the gap. His calves burned and his helmet HUD showed his blood O
₂
saturation dropping fast. No time to dial up the oxygen content in his re-breather.

The ball came out, a powerful throw that would have sailed fifty yards under normal gravity. Ah, but it looked like the QB underestimated the London-moment deflection. A game-sealing interception danced in Markus's head.
Hell yeah!
His heart thumping from exertion and excitement, he drove his burning calf muscles onward.

The receiver seemed to have miscalculated too, and Markus found himself alone in position to make the catch. But the ball's squashed parabola twisted exactly the wrong way, and it fell into the receiver's waiting hands with a loud thump.

The hell?