The Dark Lady (30 page)

And here I stopped. Her devoted what? Son? Worshipper? Servant? Or villain?

I sighed and stared at the screen, amazed at my audacity. Some beings pray to the Mother of All Things; others ignore her; but no one else would dare to write her a list of demands.

I ordered the computer to erase the letter and delete it from its memory bank, then stared morosely at the viewscreen, absently watching the two guards as they stood motionless in the hot Saltmarsh sun, their backs stiff and straight, their uniforms immaculate, eyes forward, weapons at the ready, prepared to defend the sanctity of their planet from all the alien defilers. I found myself wondering what
they
would do in my place.

Most likely they would stride boldly through the hatch and defy anyone to stop them. Humans had that way about them, that ability to act first and justify their actions later. I had always been taught that such an approach was irrational and irresponsible— and yet they stood upon half a million worlds, and the Bjornns lived on one island continent. For better or worse, while we had lived lives of ethical purity, they had swarmed out to the stars by the billions, exploring, conquering, plundering, ruling, never asking for quarter, never giving it, never apologizing, never looking back. They had expanded too quickly during the Republic, antagonized too many of their neighboring races, and they had been forced to fall back and regroup— but the Republic had nonetheless lasted for two millennia. They had begun the era of the Democracy as one race among many, but before long they had achieved primacy once again— and the Democracy had lasted for almost three millennia. Now there was the Oligarchy, a council of seven that ruled the vast, sprawling galaxy as completely as it could be ruled, and in the four centuries of its existence no non-human had ever sat upon an Oligarch's chair.

Could a Bjornn have filled such a chair, I wondered— or would she have crushed it with the weight of her ethical baggage? Had the Mother of All Things studied Her handiwork and decided that pragmatism was the missing element? Did the Dark Lady cherish all that was best in Man, or did she call to the grave all that was worst in him?

It was an interesting thought, that last. Was there a meeting ground somewhere between the two races, a point of proper balance between the Yin and the Yang? Was she moving Man closer to that point by eliminating those men who most typified the extreme? And if so, was I also part of that plan, a prototype of the new Bjornn race, a thief and fugitive who dared speak directly to his deity?

Or had I merely learned to rationalize, to blame my sins and my shortcomings on a mysterious woman who neither knew nor cared about the Bjornns
or
Vladimir Kobrynski, who might be tens of thousands of light-years away at this very minute, or might never become flesh again?

I sat morosely, with such thoughts occupying my mind, for the better part of two hours. Then the hatch opened, and Heath, a large package tucked firmly under one arm, entered the ship.

“Did you find her?” I asked eagerly.

He shook his head. “I didn't even find
him
— but at least I know where he is now.”

“Where?”

“An uninhabited little world called Solitaire. It's the only planet circling Beta Sybaris.” He paused. “Evidently plasma painting is even more dangerous than we thought. I gather it can wipe out an entire planetary population if they don't take the proper precautions— and the government of Saltmarsh couldn't see any reason why they should go to the trouble and expense of protecting their citizens from Kobrynski's latest hobby. So,” he concluded, “they invited him to leave, and now Friend Vladimir is off creating masterpieces on Solitaire, where he can't kill anyone except himself.”

“How far away is it?” I asked.

“We can make it in just under two days,” replied Heath. He placed the box down on a counter. “By the way, I've got a little present for you.” He watched me for my reaction. “It's from your Pattern Mother.”

“It cannot be,” I said morosely. “She does not know I am here.”

“Tai Chong must have told her, because she sent it to the local Claiborne branch, and they turned it over to Customs on the assumption that we'd show up sooner or later. I just hope she didn't tell anyone else.” He paused. “Stop looking so suspicious, Leonardo. The Benitarus system is only a week away from Saltmarsh. She had plenty of time to send it and still have it arrive ahead of us.”

“That is true,” I admitted, allowing hope to rise within me. “She
did
have time.”

“See?” said Heath with satisfaction. “I
told
you she wouldn't forget your Acceptance Day.”

“I must confess that I had feared she would never contact me again, Friend Valentine,” I said, beginning to unwrap the package. “Especially when I was told that she knew I was being sought by the Far London police.” My fingers tugged awkwardly at the tapes and sealers. “If I have been denied only the Celebration of the First Mother, there is still a possibility that I may someday be allowed to return to my Family.”

“You look very excited,” remarked Heath. “You're practically glowing.”

“I
am
excited, Friend Valentine,” I replied, finally working my way through the wrapping material and opening the box. “This is more than I had dared to hope for, and— ”

Suddenly I stopped speaking, and simply stared into the box.

“What is it?” demanded Heath. “What's wrong?”

“I asked the Dark Lady for a sign,” I said dully. “She has given me one.”

I reached in and withdrew a small, dead rodent, holding it up by its tail.

“I have been cast out for all eternity,” I continued. “All Bjornns will be instructed to shun me whenever and wherever they may encounter me, and my name will be removed from the Book of the Family.”

“You might be wrong,” said Heath. “If she was truly cutting you loose, she wouldn't have bothered sending anything at all.”

“That would have been preferable,” I said.

“I don't understand.”

“The climax of Acceptance Day is the feast,” I explained, my hue fluctuating wildly as I attempted to regain control of my emotions.

“That's why I think you're mistaken,” replied Heath. “This thing couldn't have been sent for your Acceptance Day. Bjornns are vegetarians.”

“This is my Pattern Mother's way of telling me that I am not only disgraced, but that I am no longer even a Bjornn.”

“What does she think you are?” he asked, staring at the rodent.

“An eater of flesh.”

“An eater of flesh?” he repeated curiously.

“A Man,” I said.

Vladimir Kobrynski did not look like the popular conception of a daredevil.

His tanned face was heavily lined, his hair was thin and receding, his nose was oversized, he was missing a portion of his left earlobe, and his teeth were crooked and miscolored. Though naturally burly and muscular, he nonetheless carried about twenty-five excess pounds, and his belly hung over his belt. The color of his arms didn't match: The right one was brown from exposure to the suns of many worlds, while the left one was quite pale, leading me to conclude that it was artificial. He walked, not with a limp, but with a certain stiffness, as if an old injury was constantly bothering him.

It had taken us fifty-three hours to reach Solitaire, and another half hour to pinpoint Kobrynski's location, for the planet was heavily pockmarked with mountains and craters. He had erected a portocabin at the base of an extinct volcano, and Heath, after alerting him to our presence and identifying ourselves via ship-to-surface radio, had carefully maneuvered our ship down next to his.

He was waiting for us when we emerged from the hatch, an expression of open curiosity on his face.

“You're Heath?” he said, staring at Valentine.

“That's right.”

“Welcome to Solitaire. I'm always grateful for company.” He turned to me. “You must be Leonardo. Funny name for an alien.”

“I am sorry if it offends you,” I said.

“It takes a lot more than that to offend me,” he replied easily. Then he paused, looking from one of us to the other. “Okay,” he said at last. “I know you're not from Saltmarsh, and I know I've never met either of you before— so suppose you tell me what you're doing here and why I've suddenly become so popular.” He smiled. “I'm not enough of an egomaniac to think it's because you want to see my plasma paintings.”

“You make it sound like we're not your only visitors,” said Heath carefully.

“I got a radio message from someone named Venzia,” answered Kobrynski. “He ought to be here in a couple of hours. All of a sudden everyone wants to talk to me. Why?”

“Venzia?” repeated Heath, puzzled. “How could he have caught up with us so quickly?”

It was Kobrynski's turn to look puzzled. “You guys were having a race to see who could reach me first?”

“In a manner of speaking,” replied Heath.

“Why?”

“Because we think that you're a very important man, Mr. Kobrynski,” said Heath, “and we have some questions we'd like to ask you.”

“Why am I so important?”

“That's one of the things we'd like to speak to you about,” said Heath.

Kobrynski shrugged. “Why not? I've got nothing to hide.” He paused. “It's too hot out here. Come on into the cabin.” He turned to me. “You, too.”

We followed him into the portocabin, a large structure that was filled with numerous very sophisticated computers, as well as various other machines that I could not identify. Mounted on the walls were several animal heads, each more fearsome than the last.

“Very impressive,” said Heath.

“The equipment or the animals?” asked Kobrynski.

“Both,” said Heath. He pointed to one of the heads, a hideous, snarling reptile with six-inch fangs. “Isn't that a Thunder Lizard? I think I saw one once in a zoo on Lodin XI.”

Kobrynski nodded. “It's a Thunder Lizard, all right— but you must have seen it in a museum. They've never been able to capture one alive.”

“Where do they come from?” I asked.

“Gamma Scuti IV.”

“Thunder Lizards look very savage,” I observed.

“They are,” agreed Kobrynski. He gave the head a fond pat. “Especially this one. He was gnawing away on my left foot when I finally killed him.”

“Is that how you lost your arm, too?” I asked.

He shook his head. “That was about fifteen years ago, in a skydiving accident.” He flexed his artificial left arm. “No great loss. This one works better than my real one.” He paused. “Anyone care for a drink?”

“Yes, thanks,” said Heath.

Kobrynski reached into a cabinet, withdrew a bottle of Altairian rum, and tossed it to Heath. “How about you?” he asked me.

“I do not partake of stimulants,” I replied. “But I thank you for the offer.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, sitting down on the edge of an unmade bed and motioning us to seat ourselves on a pair of metal stools. “Okay. Start asking your questions. I think I'm as interested in them as you are in the answers.”

“Are you alone here?” asked Heath.

“Is that a question, or the prelude to a robbery?” asked Kobrynski in a tone that boded ill for any potential burglar.

“It is a question of the utmost importance,” I said.

“I'm alone.”

“There's no woman with you?” persisted Heath.

Kobrynski waved his real arm in a sweeping gesture that encompassed most of the planet. “Do you see one?” He paused. “What's all this about a woman? Venzia asked me the same damned thing.”

“We are seeking a certain woman,” I said. “I have reason to believe that she will appear here before too much longer.”

“On Solitaire?” he said with a sardonic laugh. “What could possibly make a woman come out to a hot, ugly, lifeless world like this?”

“
You
could, Mr. Kobrynski,” I replied.

He looked surprised. “Me?”

“That is correct.”