Fool's Run (v1.1) (14 page)

She shook her head. “No.” Her hands were still trembling. She didn’t look at him but at the looming space-prison, the great wheel of light and dark constantly turning under the sun’s eye. “No,” she whispered. The Magician reached out finally, touched her; again the expressionless gold, turning to him, disturbed him. “Magic-Man, I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, listening at last. “You didn’t do anything. You couldn’t have, if all you were doing was following the mechanics diagrams.”

“There were two—there were two small copper seals with the Underworld logo on them. They weren’t on the diagrams. So I thought—I thought they shouldn’t be there. So I took them out.”

The Magician made a sound. He touched a light at random, so gently nothing responded.

“So,” he said softly. “You probably activated a subsonic transmitter, as well as opened the UF. Too bad we weren’t listening—”

“We are lucky,” the Scholar said emphatically, “we weren’t listening. They’ll check our log-tape.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t think of that… Magic-Man.” She put her hand on his arm, held his eyes, her own eyes so distressed that he shook his head a little, mute, worried. “I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”

“Will you calm down?” he pleaded. “You’re making me jumpy. We’re not in trouble.”

“I’ll tell them,” she said, coming to a sudden, bewildering decision. “In the Underworld. I’ll tell them.” He shook his head again, sharply.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Then what will you do?”

“We’re here to play music. When I leave, I’m leaving with a whole band, come hell or high water. It’s not your fault. How are you supposed to know about frequencies that don’t exist on record?”

“Then what will you do?” she said again. He smiled, gave her shoulder a quick pat.

“Let them hear what they want to hear. That’s what I’m good at. Cheer up. It was an innocent mistake. Even if they don’t believe my lies, they would never throw us into the Dark Ring for that.”

“It was a mistake,” she whispered. “It was a mistake to come.”

He was silent, suddenly overwhelmed with her nebulous emotions and at a loss to comprehend them. The Scholar said gently. “We’ll play and then leave. It’s as simple as that.”

She didn’t answer. The
Flying Wail
spoke again, announcing their dock escort. The Magician lifted his head incredulously, hearing a note that he hadn’t programmed into the cruiser. But, listening to it again in his head, he realized the false sound was not in the music, but in the Scholar’s vision of their future.

In the Hub computer room, Jase watched the
Flying Wail
dock. The room was shadowy, nearly soundless; light from the lovely panoply of nebulae and galaxies, someone’s dream of space, colored his face. He liked spending spare moments in there, in the brain of the Underworld, knowing that every second it was making countless decisions to keep the Underworld running smoothly, calmly, the way a body made decisions, inarticulate and precise, to keep itself alive.

Usually, so much power at his elbow was soothing. But the computer wasn’t invented yet that could be plagued with premonitions.

“Challenge.”

“He was born with the gift of laughter, and a sense that the world was mad.”

“Challenge.”

“E = mc².”

“Challenge.”

“Flash Gordon.”

“Entry code 6B. Channel 9.
Starcatcher
, escort
Flying Wail
to Station C.
Flying Wail
, follow instructions precisely to avoid destruction. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Permission to enter the Underworld.”

The immense outer lock swiveled open, closed again. The red web of warning lights around the two cruisers gradually turned gold. The cruisers settled.

Jase studied the
Flying Wail
. It was an outdated cruiser, a Moonflivver, bulky and clumsy looking; there were people who swore it was the best model the cruiser designers had ever come up with. No one came out of it. A tech crew was going through it first, checking the faulty receiver. He doubted if anyone on board had tampered with the system. They were musicians, come to play one evening in the Underworld, and be a memory by lunch the next day. They were Sidney Halleck’s chosen band, not a handful of conspirators trying to use the Underworld’s equipment to gain entry. They were guests, here in good faith… “So why,” he demanded of the Hub computer, “am I standing around here in the dark waiting for all the alarms in the Underworld to go off?”

Because, he answered himself silently, they’ve barely landed, and already there are too many coincidences.

“Chief Klyos.”

He touched the com-light. “Here.”

“Tech-Captain Rethro speaking, sir. We checked the
Flying Wail
’s receiver. The logo-seals are missing. I’d guess it got sent to Earth without being altered. An error on our part. Nothing from the UF showed up on their log.”

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. Let them loose, have a dock crew help them with their equipment. Is Halpren down there to meet them?”

“Yes, sir. Sir? Is the concert just for prisoners or can anybody go?”

“Ask Halpren. It’s his baby. I’ll tell him he can have all the security guards he can handle, as long as you’re all off duty.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“One more thing.” He paused, contemplating one final, niggardly detail.

“Sir?”

“Check the repair records on that cruiser before it was sent Earthside to be sold.”

There was a tiny silence. “Yes, sir. You think—”

“And get someone to dig back into its resale history. No. I’m not thinking. I just want to know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Out.”

He crossed the corridor to his office. Nils was sitting at his desk, sipping coffee and looking bleary.

“What are you doing awake?” Jase asked.

“I assigned myself as security for the concert.”

“You did.” He raised a brow. “Maybe I’ll ask Jeri to do a Rehab program for the staff.”

“Are you being sarcastic, sir?”

“No,” he said, surprised. “I complain so much, I forget other people might complain too. We’re all up here with no escape. Maybe we can work something out with Helios, fish in their rivers or—”

“In return for what?”

Jase grinned. “I’ll think of something.” He sat down, glanced over their visitors’ status-sheets, which Records had sent up for his inspection.

Nils said, “Sir?” The odd tone in his voice made Jase realize the peculiar quality of his own stillness. He breathed again, blinking, but nothing on the stat-sheet changed.

“I’ll be damned,” he whispered.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know… Run down a Queen of Hearts, Suncoast Sector for me, will you?”

“How can she be doing that?” Dr. Fiori demanded of the ceiling.

“Doctor, maybe it’s the machine.”

“It’s her.”

Terra gazed at them without blinking. She hadn’t moved in half an hour. The image on the screen had changed twice in half an hour. Neither time had it made much sense. The first image, they had decided, was the swollen, ponderous face of the planet that had loomed over Terra when she was a child. The second image was a seashell.

“It’s a chambered nautilus shell,” Reina said helpfully. Dr. Fiori flicked her words away.

“It’s the same image the computer gave her for seashell.”

“Maybe she’s finally shot out of the galaxy.”

“If you can’t make meaningful suggestions—”

“I thought I was.”

“She can’t be doing that. How can she do that?”

“She’s concentrating.”

“On a seashell?”

“Doctor, maybe it’s the machine.”

“Sir,” Nils said. “A report’s coming on screen from Records.”

“Go on.”

“Says the mechanics sheet dated twelve years ago on cruiser UP29548YP indicates all repair work, including UF scrambling, was completed before it was sold to Earth.” His eyes lifted puzzledly. “Did they make a mistake? Or did someone who bought it—”

“I won’t know until I get the sales history.”

“So you’re taking this seriously.”

“It’s a hunch.”

“About what, for God’s sake?”

“I don’t know yet. So who’s the Queen of Hearts?”

Nils shook his head, his fingers moving on the keyboard. “She’s the Queen of Hearts.”

“Well, what—”

“That’s it. Seven years ago she didn’t exist.”

Jase sighed. He said patiently, “Well, find out what name she changed it from.”

“Sir,” Nils said as patiently. “There’s no record.”

“No record? She’s in the band, she’s not a seven-year-old child—”

“Then, sir, why don’t you just ask her?”

They glared at each another a moment. Then Jase growled, “Ah, that’s too easy. Humor me. Records has every status-sheet on every citizen who even trimmed his toenails crooked in the solar system. Try credit, taxes, traffic violations, anything. She’s up here in the Underworld and we don’t even know her name.”

“Sir.”

“What?”

“Why?”

Jase opened his mouth. Then he slid his fingers over his eyes and up over his hair. “Nils, if I told you exactly why, you’d recommend me for a brain scan.”

Nils leaned back in his chair. “Really?” he said curiously. “Then you could get transferred and I might have your job?”

“Exactly.”

“It’s that warped.”

“Uh-huh.”

Nils whistled. “Okay, but I can’t find her under the usual headings. She just doesn’t exist beyond that date.”

“All right.” He moved to watch the screen over Nils’ shoulder. “Take the earliest date she used that name. Pull up old news headlines, patrol activities in Suncoast Sector, special assignments, criminals at large—anything big…” He scanned the words flowing down the screen. He made a noise suddenly, and Nils’ fingers stilled. “There. See what you get from that.”

A blurred news photo appeared on the screen: a young woman, her face half turned from the photographer. Nils stared at her, then at Jase.

“Status.”

They both read it silently.

“Update.”

“None.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Nils said. He cleared his throat. “Past that date. Seven years, three weeks, two days ago…” He looked up at Jase incredulously. “How do you do that? How do you pull rabbits out of thin air like that? How did you know to—” His face turned abruptly back to the screen. “My God. That’s Terra Viridian’s twin sister. Here. Wandering around the Underworld.”

The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts… “Well,” Jase said wearily, “there’s no law against it yet.”

“But how did you know? What made you go after it like that?”

Because, Jase thought, I was talking to a musical genius named Sidney Halleck about old nursery rhymes, and her name happened to pop into my head, and she was in a band Sidney happened to recommend, and now she happens to be in the Underworld, and damned if I know what’s going to happen next.

“I’d explain,” he said, “but you’d have me certified.”

“Well, what do we do? We can’t arrest her for that, but we can’t ignore it. It might be just coincidence, but she came here in disguise, on a suspect smallcraft, which just happens to be an old Underworld—”

Jase nodded. “You’re starting to see what I’m seeing.” He was silent a moment, tapping noiselessly on Nils’ desk with his knuckles, frowning at nothing. “At least we can let her know we know.” He touched a com-light. “Klyos. Infirmary, Dr. Fiori.”

On-screen, the doctor looked a trifle demented, as if he had been around Terra too long.

“Yes,” he said vaguely.

“Dr. Fiori, is your patient interested in visitors?”

“She’s only interested in seashells at the moment.”

“Oh. Well, her sister is one of the Underworld guests tonight. She turned up unexpectedly. She hasn’t made any requests to see Terra, but I thought I should let you know in case you were interested.”

“I am, but I don’t—What kind of relationship did she have with Terra?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“I guess you wouldn’t.”

“They’re twins, that’s all I—”

“Twins!” Dr. Fiori said explosively. “Why wasn’t that on record?”

Jase shrugged. “It’s on ours.”

“I had no—Does she want to see Terra?”

“I don’t know. I intend to ask her.”

“It might jolt Terra’s mind off the seashell.”

“Seashell?”

“She’s stuck on one image. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to think about one thing for more than—”

“She’s crazy. All right. I’ll talk to Michele and—”

“Who?”

“Her sister. Michele Viridian.”

“Michele!” Dr. Fiori shouted. “Not seashell! Michele!” Then he was still a moment, awed.

“Terra knows she’s here.”

The Magician, following Jeri Halpren through the hall curving away from the dock, blinked away the sudden, fine sweat that had broken out on his face at his first step into the Underworld. Tired, he thought, but he knew that was not why the air and the changeless, muted light seemed to sparkle as if he were inhaling too much oxygen, or why the shadows of the robot-guards seemed to stretch, black and taut, like warnings, beneath his feet. Jeri Halpren, an effusive and annoying man, was explaining the wonders of his Rehab program.

Fortunately he required no response, since no one seemed inclined to give him one, not even Quasar, who eyed him incredulously, as if he were of a sex she hadn’t yet come across. The Scholar made gentle, absent noises now and then. The Nebraskan had stayed with the dock crew to help them unload. The Queen of Hearts was so uncharacteristically silent that the Magician had to look back once to see if she were still among them.

Jeri Halpren opened a door finally to a small, comfortable suite.

“VIP quarters,” he said proudly. “It’s an old twentieth-century design, complete with doorknobs and private locks. There is a twenty-four-hour cafeteria down the hall, and a rec room across from it. You are asked not to wander beyond that. Now I’ll see that your sound man finds the hall suitable. I’ll be back in an hour to show you where you’ll play. Any questions?” He gave them another white beam of teeth and departed.

“Where’s the Scotch?” the Magician asked, when the door had closed.

“You jittery?” the Scholar asked surprisedly. “Magic-Man, I thought you had nerves of piano wire.”