Behold a Dark Mirror (22 page)

"Hello," the giant said.  "My name is Ettore, I'm the owner of the
Crab
.  I've noticed you around for a few days."

Nero looked at him without expression.  "Nice place."

"I've never seen you before.  Newcomer?  May I offer you a drink on the house?  I'm promoting loyal patronage.  If it suits your plans, I'd like to give you a tour.  The
Crab
is an interesting place."

After four days of waiting, even this seemed promising to Nero.  "I'll take another licorice.  What've you got to show me?"

Ettore made a sign to the bartender.  "You're obviously waiting for something, or you're stranded—don't worry, that's none of my business.  If you are the right person, perhaps the
Crab
can ease your boredom or solve your problems."  A broad grin with a million meanings splashed across his face.

A waiter brought another mug.  Nero stirred it, took a sip, smacked his lips:  "Show me."

Ettore invited Nero to follow.  They stepped through a flap door into the rear of the bar, up a flight of stairs, entering a small waiting room.

"Let's sit," Ettore invited Nero, who obliged, sipping from his mug.  The lights dimmed;  in front of them appeared the video of a pleasantly full blonde with too much makeup and wearing a shiny red dress wrapping her curves without any shame.  She said,  "Hi.  Welcome to the Crab."

Nero's heart jumped:  The voice was Kebe's;  the lip-sync was flawless.  Kebe's voice went on explaining how most anything was allowed or tolerated on Vivitar III, and the Crab was the ideal outfit to take advantage of the opportunity.

When the lights came up Ettore said:  "What do you think, want to know more?"

"Who's that blonde?"

"Do you like her?"

"I like her voice."

"Interesting," said Ettore.  "You mean you care for the voice, not for the woman.  What struck you?  Perhaps I can find that voice for you.  Follow me," Ettore patted Nero on the back.  "Let's go meet the blonde, have a chat—perhaps do business."

Ettore proceeded through a door that gave into a room with gambling tables;  on some clue that Nero must have missed, a portion of the floor retracted.  They descended a staircase into a library.

Ettore sat down on an armchair.  "Just a short wait."

Nero, his mug still in hand, kept quiet.  Sipping, he examined five shelves of cartridges on digital biology and turned to Ettore.  "That stuff should have been destroyed long ago."

"Well, it's available.  At a price, of course."

"Don't you fear prosecution?  The Perimeter Wars—"

"There's no law on Vivitar banning any books."

"But the Tower—"

"Do you still worry about the Tower after this week's news?"

"What news?"

"Where've you been, my friend?  Didn't you hear the Tower's been working for ConSEnt all along?"

"Been working for ConSEnt?"

"Looks like somebody found proof the Tower bent over and greased up when ConSEnt wrote transportation laws.  If they did that, they must've done worse."

Nero swallowed.  "Where did you hear that?"

"It's all over the place."

Nero drew a hand through his hair.  Nobody could have traced his shuttles;  either they had caught Kebe, or the broadcast from Doka leaked.  It had to be Doka.

Ettore said,  "The Tower's credibility is sinking faster than molten lead in a pot of honey.  However, back to us.  You never talked to anybody the last four days.  Do you like seclusion, or you just have a hard time making friends?"

"What?"  Nero said, startled, emerging from his thoughts.

Just then, steps in the stairwell announced new guests.  Two women appeared, the blonde in the holo and a petite, frail-looking brunette.

"Come on, pick your voice," Ettore said.  "Pick well."

If Ettore was his friend, his cover as Paulo Mastao had to be broken.  If Ettore was his enemy, then Kebe had fallen and Nero had nothing left to lose.  But Kebe had sent him here:  Ettore had to be a friend.

"What's your name?"  Nero asked the brunette.

She looked at Ettore, who nodded.  She invited Nero to follow her back to the video room.  Four petite, green-eyed, dark-haired, pale-skinned women were sitting there, looking at him.  They all looked different.  His guide had disappeared.

One of the four girls was Kebe.

"What's this about?" he asked her, gesturing towards the other women in the room.

The images of the three extra women dematerialized.  Kebe stood up, straightened the creases in her clothes and stepped forward to hug him with pleasant intensity, resting her head on his chest, "Welcome to Vivitar III, Nero."

Nero plopped on the sofa, dragging Kebe with him.  "Holograms," he whispered.

"Your heart is racing," Kebe said, her ear on his chest.

"How did you recognize me?"

She sat up, smiled complacently, and remained silent.

"How did you do it?"  Nero said.  "Thermal scanner?  Voice-print patterns?  I didn't see any equipment."

"The bar crew told us a male was buying licorice tea regularly.  At the price I asked Ettore to sell it, that had to be you."

Nero sank back in his chair,  "Oh," he said.

"Don't feel bad, Nero.  We prey on people's weaknesses."

"I'd never thought of licorice as a weakness," he said.

"The need to breathe is a weakness under proper circumstances.  You need training to recognize yours;  consider this lesson one."

"Can I have my face back?"  Nero said.

"If you promise you’ll be careful with it."

Ettore entered the room, offered his hand.  Nero stood up, took it.  Ettore's shake was true:  "Welcome," the giant said.  "And don't believe everything you hear.  The Tower's dirty laundry is not public knowledge yet."  He winked, gave Nero a bear hug and a pat on the back sufficient to break his spine.

"I have something to say about that," Nero said.  "On Borodin..."  He wanted to tell them of the picture of the beacon, but was interrupted when a newcomer arrived.

"Nero," Kebe said, "we're taking you to the safehouse;  for your own good we need precautions.  I won't travel with you, but I'll join you soon."

The newcomer searched him, then put plugs into his ears, bandaged his eyes, and put a sack over his head.

CHAPTER 22

What can I do with the last four days of my life on Earth?
  Jenus thought.  CD wanted him for a murder he didn't commit, in the investigation of which he might betray a murder he did commit.  The Tower and ConSEnt wanted him presuming he knew goodness knows what.

He returned to the bed-by-the-hour shack, thinking of asking another favor of the lady at the reception.  She was knitting, her needles ticking on a tiny garment.

"Are you making that for your baby?"  he said.

"Nah," she answered, snapping chewing gum.  "My daughter's."

He reached for his wristwatch, and labored an instant to disengage a small golden ornament from the band.

"Here—hope it'll work better for your grandchild than it did for me."

The corner of her lips tipped up when she saw the golden horn, a good luck charm.  "I'll give it to Melissa," she said.  "The father is a rascal—she'll be happy someone thought enough about her baby to bring a gift.  But go away now.  Someone's been looking for you."

"What?"

"Two men, they had a picture.  They were rude, and they didn't offer nearly enough money."  She winked.  "Get a makeover."

"Yes, I thought about that.  Know anybody?"

"Well..."

"Well?"

"Melissa's pretty good.  She's going to school, but hasn't got a license, yet—that'll keep her quiet.  Willing to try?"

"Where?"

"Come in here."  She stopped knitting and opened the gate.

Jenus followed her into a janitorial apartment where a girl too young to be a mother was nursing a newborn.

"Hi, Melissa," Jenus said.

*

Melissa did a better job than Jenus had hoped for.  He was now a dark man with a spiked haircut, ear and nose pendants, painted teeth, and a styled beard that hid his face.  Still, he wondered if someone had truly been looking for him, or if this was a ploy to market Melissa's business.  Ah, it was worth the risk.  The landlady also procured an expensive framepost card for Jenus that her source guaranteed was clean.

How convenient,
Jenus thought.

The makeover had been expensive and involved.  He had to sleep on a cot in that dingy back room  due to work in progress on his face.  The baby had a colic and the night was awful.

"Go away now," Melissa told him when finished, after giving him breakfast.  He did, without looking back.

He strolled past the C-cubed branch office.  The clerk was assisting a red-haired, burly individual.  He also noticed what looked like a second clerk, idle behind the counter.  On a hunch Jenus sat at a garden bar far enough away to be inconspicuous and observed the kiosk.  He ordered a soft drink and dialed the news.

Soon enough, the idle clerk brought his hand to his ear, sat up straight, and ran out ignoring all else.  He soon returned with company: a man struggling to get rid of his forced escort and another man in black, who commandeered the true clerk to take a look at their guest.  They let the unwilling guest go after the inspection.

Jenus licked his teeth, took a last sip of his drink and got up, turning his back to the CCC office.  His legs felt weak.  Walking from the scene he realized he'd likely escaped by twenty-four hours the end of his days.  The hand in his pocket reached for his comforting emigration certificate; his license to live was still there.

He could hide for three days.  He'd hide in Hawwa's place.  And he felt miserable for doubting Melissa and her mother.  His lucky charm had worked magic, after all;  might it work as well for that baby.

*

Jenus stepped through the interplanetary framepost at the Gagarin colonial center.  Life as he knew it was over, but that seemed less important right now to him than a few hours of sound sleep.  His right foot had landed on Virgil;  Jenus dragged the rest of his body out of the frame and looked around:  The kernel was guarded by two military types with uniforms and weapons.  The inner lock slid open, allowing a petite girl in.  He just realized he'd succeeded with great effort in becoming nobody on a heaven-forsaken planet.

"Hello!"  the girl greeted him.

He was alive.

"Hello," he said.  He cherished the gray walls of the kernel, savored the odorless air flowing though his nostrils.

She looked at his card.  "Mr. John Doe, my name is Georgia—I'm your welcoming committee."

Jenus looked behind him as if John Doe had just popped out after him, then realized she was speaking to him.

"Thanks," Jenus said.

"Mr. Doe, please follow me.  I will show you the ropes before letting you loose."  She invited him through the airlocks;  his ears popped as pressure equalized.  "Virgil's atmospheric pressure is approximately 135 kilopascals, a third higher than Earth's," Georgia said.

Dammit!
  Jenus thought.  A third higher than Earth's.  The dirt sample, the beginning of all his troubles:  that sample had about the same pressure.

"Are you OK, Mr. Doe?  Disorientation and anxiety are normal under the circumstances."

"Uh?"

"Your breathing rate just accelerated."

The bulkhead opened into a large room with more guards.

Too many,
Jenus thought.

"Ms... Ah... Georgia, am I considered dangerous?"

"Not until so proven.  You received immunity as part of your package, for which you paid dearly."

"Why all the guards?"

"Standard procedure, Mr. Doe.  Please follow me to the blue room."

Jenus looked back at the framepost.  A family of three was exiting the airlock accompanied by a male host.  The young mother was carrying a sleeping baby;  dad—presumably—was looking at the place like a child at his presents under the Christmas tree.  Jenus followed his hostess to a partition decorated in blue.

"Please sit down.  My job is to help you become the most satisfied settler you can be.  The purpose of this meeting, and of two more to follow, is to introduce you to everyday life until you are acquainted with Virgil.  I understand you are confused;  I recommend that you postpone your questions until the end of this briefing."

She started talking, bringing up videos and papers, determined to make herself understood.  By the end of the exercise Jenus wanted a bed more than his life.  He got one, in a common barracks with nineteen other adult males.  They snored and grunted and their feet smelled, but he was too tired to worry about any of that before falling asleep.

After induction was over, Jenus realized he was going to be the interplanetary equivalent of stable-hand labor.  Singles lived in shared areas;  greater priorities existed than privacy.  Jenus needed to take the skill test;  in the meantime, he was assigned as a hand to a construction crew.  Ah, well.

*

A small crowd of workers reported with Jenus on the first day.  The foreman was a stout middle-aged man of little pretense but strong words.  "Sons," he said, addressing all the newbies,  "now you are my construction crew.  We are building stage one of the water reservoir for Pilgrim's Hope, capital-to-be of Virgil.  That valley," he pointed to the lush expanse at his back, "will be full of water soon.  You and I will make it happen.  I've done it before, I'll teach you how to do it.  Rest assured it's a lot of work.  And rest assured you'll be able to tell your grandchildren,
I did it, I made it happen.
"

Jenus and the rest were standing next to a field framepost.  The dam and base camp were about twenty kilometers away from Pilgrim's Hope, which in turn was three time zones away from Pilgrim's Landing and the interplanetary way station.

"Anybody who never worked construction raise your hand."

Jenus's hand went up, along with two others.

"You three report to Ike here when dismissed."  He pointed to a burly man with folded arms standing at his left.  "He'll be your guardian angel.  Listen to him and you won't get hurt.  All the others, whoever's not a machine operator raise your hand.  None?  Jolly good.  We got more cats than we can handle.  Report to Don over there," he pointed above the crowd to a group in the distance.  "He'll show you how to help the mechanics assemble the machinery.  All the parts have been shipnetted here and just need be put together.  All brand new!  Any questions?"

One of the rookies said,  "Sir, what do we have to do with cats?  Is this place infested with rats?"

The crowd crowed.  Ike said in a thunderous voice:  "Cat stands for Caterpillar.  It's any kind of construction equipment, big machines, bulldozers and excavators.  Clear?"

The rookie nodded, stymied.

"OK, now gimme twenty."  Ike said, addressing him.

"What?"

"You heard me.  Twenty push-ups will help you remember the answers to your questions, so you won't ask them again."

Red-blooded hazing... Jenus realized he'd been enlisted.