This Alien Shore (25 page)

He led her into a part of the ship clearly not meant for passengers; black-robed Guerans brushed by them, intent upon the business of docking. She shivered a bit when they came in contact with her; it was an involuntary reaction, and she was embarrassed by it. If she could stand the sight of Variants with truly repellent deformities, why did these people scare her? They looked human enough, and as for their minds ... it was said that all the Gueran Variations had existed on ancient Earth, so her ancestors had dealt with them. You couldn't say that about the other Variants. So why did their painted faces and black-robed bodies make her skin crawl?

To her surprise the steward led her off the ship, guiding her away from the customs checkpoint and down a narrow corridor which she guessed served the command crew of the vessel. To her right as she exited she could see a line of passengers gathering outside the checkpoint portals. Visas, a sign said at one gateway, and at another,
Immigration.
The steward took her to neither, but instead led the way to a small group of offices; opening a door, he ushered her inside.

“In here, Ms. Capra.”

Trembling, she entered. There were two men in the room, both of them Gueran. The figures painted on their faces were so fierce and strange she could read no human emotion in their expressions.

Who are they?
one of the Others whispered in her brain.

“Jamisia Capra.” One of the men gestured toward the room's only table; after a moment she realized what he wanted, and placed her bags on top of it.

“You're from Lansing Habitat, yes?” He paused in the manner of one consulting an internal list. Or else ... she looked at his headset, then at the small transmission nodes set into the comers of the ceiling, and it suddenly struck her that she was in outernet territory. Here and now. If she'd thought to have her headset on, she could link up to it right now, just like these two men undoubtedly were doing. For a moment sheer wonder banished all fear. God, if she could only get through this meeting, who knew what wonders were out there?

Lansing Habitat. It was part of the false history her tutor had created for her. Were they questioning that, did they sense it was wrong? She tried to look calmer than she felt as she nodded. Maybe it was time for tranquilizers, after all.

“I have a few questions for you, Ms. Capra. Nothing to be concerned about. In the meantime,” he nodded toward his companion, “my assistant will do customs clearance on your bags, to save you additional inconvenience. I understand these are all you have?”

She nodded somewhat numbly, watching as the man checked through her jewelry, her clothing, her very few keepsakes. What did they expect to find? God—she almost laughed—did they think she was a smuggler? Was that what this was all about?

You are, though,
Verina reminded her.
You smuggled from Earth a brainware prototype they'd give their right arms to find-

—
Only they ain't gonna find it in
your bags, Derik added. She tried to watch what the one man was doing with her things, but the other one had questions which required her attention. How long had she lived on the habitat? When was the last time she'd left it? Had she visited Earth proper in the last ten years, and if so, where and when and for how long? Some of those questions she could hardly answer, she had to apologize and hoped they were patient while she tried to locate some internal log that would have dates on it. At last she simply called up her diary and adapted the relevant sections. The closer she stayed to the truth, the safer she would be. She tried not to become distracted as other paragraphs scrolled before her eyes, mysteries that had once obsessed her ... lost time, unexplained possessions, a stranger's face staring back from her mirror. Once she had thought that if she could only understand those things, her whole life would come together. Little did she know.

There were surprisingly few questions, overall. Was that truly strange, or was it only her fear that had caused her to expect worse? “All right, then,” her inquisitor said at last. He looked at the man with her bags, who nodded. “That's all, Ms. Capra. So sorry for the inconvenience.”

“That's all?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Her surprise was undisguised.

“That's all,” the man assured her. An expression that might have been a smile twisted the patterns on his face, and as the other man gave her bags back to her he offered, “It's not often we have folks complaining that we didn't harass them enough. Here you are, Ms. Capra.” Despite her protests that she didn't need assistance, he insisted on helping her hoist the thick straps to her shoulder. One of them pinched her painfully until she twisted it so it fell right, but she winced and bore it with a half-hearted smile; he was trying to help.

And then they let her go. Just like that. Like she was anyone else, nothing to hide, no secrets.... They opened the door and ushered her out and even said good-bye to her, like this was some kind of social visit. Pretty strange. She started to move toward the portal marked
Immigration,
but the nearer Gueran caught her by the arm and stopped her.

“No need,” he said. “Your file's been cleared for immigration. Enjoy the outworlds.”

She stared at the line, then at him. And at the line again.

“Everything is taken care of,” the other man assured her.

There would be dozens of officers in that other area. Hundreds of passengers, if not thousands, would be processed in the next few hours. If someone were watching for her arrival, they would expect her to pass through that portal. And the crowds would be such that if someone tried to get to her there, to do God knows what, very likely no one would notice. Or care. They could even figure out exactly when she was coming through the checkpoint if they hacked into Immigration's files, because no one entered the station without being processed first. How easy it would be to set up a trap. Anyone who was hunting for her was probably right in there, trying to sort her out from among the crowd.

She started to run ... then stopped, and forced herself to drop to a brisk walk. She didn't dare draw attention to herself, not when her pursuers might be so close. As she passed through the portal the Gueran crew normally used, she waited for one of the Others to protest that she was being too paranoid. But no one did. It was a very, very bad sign.

Those men knew something,
Katlyn whispered.

Damn right they did!
Derik agreed.
So why the fuck did they let us go?

Why indeed? She tried to come up with a reason—and was suddenly overcome by the whole situation, the sheer complexity of what her life had become. Only by pushing the whole question out of her mind could she even keep walking, much less functioning mentally. As it was, she felt nauseous; not a physical malady, but pure spiritual vertigo.
Got to make it out of this area while I can,
she told herself sternly.
Got to find a safe place before I lose it.

Her shoulder still stung where the strap had pinched it; she shifted the bags as she walked, then ordered her well-keeper to kill the pain. Under one security arch and then another she walked warily, machinery humming as it checked her for the dozen or so contraband substances on this day's watchlist. No drugs, she thought, no weapons, no explosives ... only a few ounces of brainware that she would rip out of her head if she could, and a dozen more personalities than any one body should contain. Only that.

The arches did not protest her passage.

The promenade of the docking ring was a vast, curving corridor teeming with travelers of all Variants and destinations. The crowd jostled by her with hurried indifference, each individual headed toward a different gate, a different station.
They call them worlds here,
she reminded herself.
Just like they were real planets.
The far wall was lined with viddie screens, each one blaring a different advertisement.
YOUR FIRST TOUR OF THE OUTWORLDS BEGINS WITH US!
one announced, and below the scrolling description an eddress blazed in fiery orange.
A THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS OF WONDER
another beckoned, and that one offered an icon proper as well as the more prosaic text eddress. Triddie letters blazed overhead, scrolling through empty air as passengers hurried underneath. It was all too much for her, her brain ached from trying to make sense of it all. God, was anyone supposed to actually
read
all those things? She had to shut her eyes for a moment just to think. Was this what all the outworlds were like? A new wave of vertigo overwhelmed her, and she had to reach out a hand against the nearest screen to steady herself.
ROOMS TO SUIT THE MOST EXOTIC TASTES,
it proclaimed. Words scrolling over her hand....

Where was she supposed to go now? What was she supposed to do? Oh, she'd come up with some ideas on the metroliner—more ideas than any one person deserved, for most of the Others had spent the last three years bickering over their communal fate—but this was
real,
this was
now.
This was standing in the middle of an unknown station some zillion miles from Earth, and not having family or friends or a home or job or
anything.
Oh, God—where did you even start? She felt tears coming to her eyes and tried to fight them back; she didn't want to start crying here. A set of four identical young men passed by, glanced her way, and then hurried on. She couldn't even remember the name of the planet that Variation came from, though she'd learned it in grade school. Then there was another creature who looked like an insect and a pair of Variants with what looked like snakes sprouting from their shoulders. She forced herself to ignore them and stagger onward. Her only hope lay in putting sufficient distance between herself and the checkpoint so when her enemies realized she had gotten away, they could no longer find her. And for that she needed to keep moving.

She passed more than twenty gates, each with its own crowd of humans and Variants embarking, or disembarking, or ... whatever. Some walked, some crawled, others used automotive devices of a dozen different types; some of the latter seemed to be necessities rather than luxuries, the beings encased within them hardly capable of independent locomotion. Once or twice she stopped to stare at one, and had to force herself not to, to move on. God, they were so
alien.
... Was it that there were simply more of them here, which made the sight of them so unnerving? The metroliner's population had been mostly true-human; as frightening as the Variants were, they had always been outnumbered by creatures more familiar. Not so here. She passed by a gate which must be assigned to some planet; nearly all of the people there were of the same somatype. Long limbs covered with some kind of natural armor, more insectoid than human. She forced herself not to look, to keep walking. How far was it to the nearest place where she could exit the ring, and try to lose herself in the station proper? As long as she was trapped in this simple corridor, it would take little effort for her enemies to find her.

If her enemies were here. If the letter Justin had waylaid had in fact been delivered to someone....

Count on it,
Derik said harshly.
That shit back at customs was no accident. Something's going on that we don't know about, which means we need to get out of here FAST.

Jamisia agreed. But where? She couldn't get through one of the gates without a passcode; only legitimate passengers would be allowed into the docks themselves. What else was there? She searched the ring with anxious eyes, and to her surprise—and relief—saw that up ahead its configuration changed. The corridor widened out, into a plaza lined with sales cubicles. Food, tools, and all the necessities of life were laid out in neat displays for travelers to peruse. The sight of food made Jamisia's stomach growl, but she had more important things to take care of right now. The vendors could answer her questions, the vendors could tell her where to go—

And then she saw the sign.

OUTERNET SUPPLIES,
it said. Bright gold letters floating over a crowded booth.
HEADSETS FOR ALL BRAINWARE
CONFIGURATIONS. INTERFACES. GUIDECHIPS.
She elbowed her way to the counter, ignoring the bright displays, and looked for the vendor. It was a tnddie figure, but that was all right; now that she knew what she wanted, a holoclerk would be good enough.

“I need an outernet link,” she said, rummaging through her bag to retrieve her headset. “For ...” She couldn't read the fine print on it, finally just held it out to him. The figure was silent as somewhere, somehow, cams recorded, stored, and analyzed the corporate markings. “Shido 9135,” he said at last. “An excellent model for the inworlds. For the outernet, however, I would suggest not only a Nagoni model 476B Interface, but an additional software package—”

“Just the interface for now,” she interrupted. She began to pull out her debit chip—and then stopped, suddenly afraid, as she realized what that could lead to. What if someone was watching for her codes to turn up on a vendor log? She would have to spend money sooner or later; it was the surest way for anyone to find her. Oh, God—what was she going to do! She rummaged in her bag for some alternative, found a handful of cash chits at the bottom. God willing there were enough. She poured them onto the counter and counted them quickly; on both sides people were staring now, watching the strange and primitive transaction take place. One hundred. Two. That was enough. She gathered up the chits in her hand again and offered them to the vendor, heart pounding. With any luck his program could handle cash chits. If not ... then she didn't know what she would do.

He stared at it for a minute. She held her breath. “Terran corporate,” he said at last. “I must inform you that there will be a 12% charge for processing, above and beyond current exchange rates.”