Ghosts of Columbia (36 page)

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Authors: L.E. Modesitt Jr.

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Alternate History, #United States, #Literature & Fiction

BOOK: Ghosts of Columbia
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A
gain, I tried to sleep in on Friday morning, but I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to sleep that late. So I dragged myself out, and ran through a misty drizzle that was melting off what remained of the patchy snow. Deacon’s Lane itself was clear, with a few icy patches, but the snow on the north side of the stone fence was still boot deep, perhaps because the mist was blowing in from the south.
I only got about two-thirds as far as I had been running, not quite to the top of the hill, perhaps because I was still half looking over my shoulder, feeling that everyone was looking at me—Llysette, the watch, Carolynne, Marie, Asquith, Jerome, David, and scores more.
I knew “Warbeck” was dead. What I didn’t know was just how many other little traps vanBecton had set. Probably Waetjen wouldn’t go against whatever instructions Jerome and Asquith had given him, but he definitely wasn’t in the mood to go out of his way on my behalf. He’d probably look the other way if he could—great comfort!
After a small breakfast—the larder was getting empty again, and I had cheated by eating a slice of Marie’s apple pie—I felt good enough to go in to the university and teach class. But showing up would have accomplished nothing since the students had already been told, via Gilda or the grapevine, that I wouldn’t be there, and they certainly wouldn’t be. Anything to avoid Doktor Eschbach’s class!
I did drive down to Samaha’s and pick up a week’s worth of papers. I left Louie a dollar. He didn’t quite look at me, instead just shook his head, as if to ask what the world had come to.
Then I headed to McArdles’ for a few supplies, coming out with three bags and probably missing half of what I, or Marie, needed. Constable Gerhardt stayed on the far side of the square as I loaded the Stanley. Coincidence?
I wasn’t sure I’d ever believed in that, but I didn’t feel like meeting any of the watch—not then, at least.
My sterling housekeeper met me at the doorway as I carried in the bundles. “I was afraid you were trying to go back to work.” Marie looked sternly at me.
“No, Marie. I did feel well enough to go get the papers.”
“Papers?” She turned a stern eye at the grocery bags.
“We did need a few items.”
“Are you sure you should be doing that?”
“Yes, Mother Rijn.”
“Doktor Eschbach, someone has to act like an adult. You go off to God knows where. You come back with wet clothes and wet boots—I had to dry those—and you wonder why you’re sick. You did not even take a warm coat.”
“You’re right, Marie. I should be more careful.” At that point I knew better than to argue. Instead, I retrieved the papers, and retreated to my study.
I had accomplished something—that was clear from the front page stories in the
Asten Post-Courier
. The Speaker had issued an interim order suspending all federal psychic research contracts and introduced legislation which would simultaneously bar expending federal funds on any research designed to destroy or inhibit psychic phenomena. The proposed bill would also compensate those holding research contracts, provided all documentation and devices developed were turned over to the Spazi for destruction. That destruction would be witnessed and attested to by an impartial committee. The details went on for half a column.
So did the congratulatory comments from most of the world’s religious leaders. I was, thankfully, not mentioned anywhere, directly or indirectly. Neither were poor Ralston or Gillaume vanBecton. So quickly are those behind the scenes forgotten when great announcements are made.
I laughed harshly. The Speaker already had the ghost destruction technology locked safely away. President Armstrong already had his psychic replicators and psychic brain trusts. Ferdinand already had what he wanted, and no one was looking in that direction anyway. Now the Speaker could safely get rid of selected unwelcome ghosts while still posing as the great hero of spiritual redemption.
Still, it was better than the wholesale elimination of ghosts and the spectre of mass warfare between nations. That really would have been a horror. So politics triumphed again, and sort of did the right thing.
I folded up the paper, turned on the difference engine, and called up the justice ghost program, trying to see how I could twiddle it into a personage a little more merciful and not quite so stiff-necked.
I’d jiggered perhaps three lines of code when the wireset chimed.
“Yes?”
“Is this Doktor Johan Eschbach? This is Susan Picardilli from International Import Services, PLC, in Columbia City. We’d like to verify your address before we send your project completion cheque.”
“What do you need?” Project completion cheque? What project?
“Is it still all right to send this to Post Centre Box Fifty-four, Vanderbraak Centre, New Bruges, code zero-three-two-two-six-two?”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“Would you give me your mother’s maiden name, please?”
“It is—she’s still living—Spier. S-P-I-E-R. Spier.”
“Thank you, Doktor Eschbach. The cheque, as agreed, is for ten thousand dollars. If you do not receive this within the week, please contact me directly. My name is Susan. Do you have our number?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Thank you very much, Doktor.”
I set down the handset slowly. I was being not only compensated but rewarded and bought off simultaneously by the Spazi—but at whose behest? Asquith’s? Minister Jerome’s? The Speaker’s? At the last, I shook my head. The Speaker, even if he had heard my name in a briefing, probably wouldn’t have remembered it. Jerome, I guessed, with Asquith’s approval—rewarding their broken tool.
The money just added to my pensiveness. I was still bothered about Carolynne—and Llysette—but Carolynne wouldn’t appear while Marie was around, and Llysette … well, she was clearly tied up with her classes and production of
Heinrich Verrückt,
probably with another not-quite-under-the-table stipend from the Austro-Hungarian Cultural Foundation. I couldn’t blame her for that, not after living the high life as an almost-diva in France before the Fall.
Rationally, I couldn’t blame her for a lot, but her recent coolness bothered me. Was it really my doing? I’d sort of fit her in between my disasters, and no one likes to be fitted into the spaces in another person’s life. It makes you part of the furniture. Yet we were continually doing it to each other.
Was I projecting too much into Carolynne, hearing what I wanted to hear? Losing my sanity? I thought I heard what she said, but had I? I knew she was real—others saw her. But did they hear what I heard?
I took a deep breath. I needed to talk to Llysette, and merely fighting with myself wouldn’t change much. I turned back to the program parameters, adding another expression to the code line.
The wireset chimed as I was fiddling with how to transform another code line in the secondary structure of my mercy and justice ghost.
“Yes?”
“Doktor Eschbach, this is Gilda Gurtler. From the Natural Resources Department—”
“My dear Gilda, how formal we are.”
“Doktor Doniger would like to know if—”
“He must be standing at your shoulder.”
“—you would be well enough to see him if he stopped by in an hour or so.”
“I could manage.” I wanted to talk, or listen, to David like I wanted to trade places with poor Bill vanBecton.
“He would appreciate just a few moments very much.”
“I would be charmed.”
“Thank you, Doktor Eschbach.”
“Thank you, Gilda.”
I got a click in return. That bothered me. Then I got to thinking. I’d made a number of assumptions, and most of them had been wrong. That bothered me, too. I could certainly have read dear David wrong. He was so boring that no one looked beyond, yet … he generally did get his way, as with the course-capping business. And he generally persuaded the dean to go along with his proposals. Even outspoken Gilda changed her personality when he was standing nearby. Why?
I turned off the difference engine, did some quick rearranging of my study, and retrieved the handgun I’d never used in Columbia City. It was all too easy to let down before everything was over, and I had the feeling that things were not yet over—unfortunately—and that I might be in for yet another surprise. Just wonderful.
As usual on Fridays, Marie had already left, to get her own house ready for the weekend. I put on the chocolate, and wandered around waiting, not wanting to be surprised. I didn’t have to worry. David’s steamer whistled all the way up the drive, and I was waiting at the door as he came in from the drizzle that had turned to an almost steady rain.
He shook his umbrella, folded it, and stepped inside. His beady blue eyes raked over me as I ushered him in.
“You do look a bit peaked still, Johan. It’s a good thing you have the weekend to recuperate.”
“Would you like some chocolate?”
“I wouldn’t wish to impose.”
“It’s no imposition, David. I was already fixing some.” I made a pot while he watched and carried it and two mugs into the study. I even supplied biscuits. But I never turned my back on him.
I took the desk chair, turned at an angle, wishing I’d actually used a shoulder holster.
“Johan, the dean and I were talking …”
I just nodded, sipping the too-hot chocolate.
“… about this whole ghost business. Now, on the surface it really doesn’t have much to do with Natural Resources, but you do have a doctorate and the political background.”
I nodded again.
“As you know, the university faces some severe financial constraints, especially with the new state budget for higher education.” David leaned forward and sipped his chocolate with a faint slurp. “This is good chocolate.”
“Thank you.” I still watched his eyes. Was he at the house just to talk about ghosts, politics, and natural resources? What linked them together?
“The department has had an increasing number of majors. We’re over two hundred now, but the political science department is losing majors. They’re down to forty-five, and twenty are seniors. Garth Bach is retiring next spring. He’s thinking about taking up his country singing full-time.” David shrugged. “We have to think about the future.”
“You want to consolidate the departments?”
“Create a larger department of environmental and political studies. In a way, your work with the environmental politics courses makes it a natural idea.”
“How do ghosts fit into this?” I asked, trying not to glance toward the desk drawer.
“I suppose they don’t, exactly. But when all this … disruption occurred”—David made a vague gesture, as if he found the whole business somewhat unpleasant—“and the dean looked into your background, she was rather impressed with your political credentials. Of course, those … distinctive … credentials would be even more impressive in a department in which politics—I mean the study of politics—played a larger role.” David smiled.
I returned the smile. “More chocolate?”
“No, thank you.”
In short, David was about to use me as the wedge to expand his academic empire. “I’d be interested in the dean’s reaction.”
“She was most interested. She spoke about perhaps approaching the trustees for an endowed chair of environmental politics.” David smiled even more broadly. “She also hoped that you would be most happy with Professor duBoise, and wondered if, perhaps, the arrangement might be made more … permanent, at some suitable time, of course.”
I tried not to choke. Wonderful, just frigging wonderful. I was being offered
an endowed chair and a choice of courses to design and teach, provided Llysette and I got married.
“I do appreciate your sharing this with me. You’ve obviously thought it out carefully, and so has the dean. You’ll have to pardon me, but I’m still not quite up to speed …”
“Quite all right. I shouldn’t have come, probably, but I did want to share this with you before—”
“I understand, and I certainly won’t break any confidences.” How could I? I couldn’t exactly propose to Llysette on the grounds that I’d get a better position. In fact, how could I propose at all if it would ever come out? Talk about setting up academic blackmail on top of everything else!
It was better that the Colt wasn’t that handy. I wanted to shoot him, but that wouldn’t have helped matters at all.
“And I would also appreciate your not talking about Garth’s retirement. We’re setting up quite a ceremony, and we would like it to be a total surprise.”
I set down the mug and stood. “I do appreciate the thoughtfulness, David. I’m sorry if I haven’t been as enthusiastic as I probably will be, but …” I offered a wry smile and a shrug. “It’s been a hard week.” That much was true.
“I do understand, Johan. With your illness, and all the political goings-on that must have impinged upon your life …” He stood also, the perfect gentleman.

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