The Dark Lady (29 page)

“You weren't listening very carefully, were you?” said Heath easily.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“She promised that she'd take care of you. She'll keep her word.”

“How?” I asked uncomprehendingly.

“The same way she takes care of
me,
” said Heath. He smiled. “'Free-lance consultant’ is a euphemism for procurer of stolen artwork. I guarantee that you'll make more this way than you ever would as an employee, or even as an art dealer on Bjornn.”

“Benitarus II,” I corrected him automatically.

“Wherever.”

“But I cannot become a thief!” I protested.

“What else can you be?” responded Heath seriously. “Your Pattern Mother won't talk to you and Claiborne has suspended you.”

“I can perform the ritual of suicide,” I said.

He shook his head. “Claiborne didn't
fire
you. If Tai Chong gets the police to drop their charges, you still have to work off the rest of your contract.”

“I owe nothing to a woman who manipulated me into helping you commit a crime, and now wants me to become a thief.”

“You have an interesting concept of honor, Leonardo.”

“I do not understand what you mean,” I said.

“Are you honor-bound only to meet those commitments you make to people who live up to your high moral standards?” asked Heath. “You're saying that you're letting
her
morality determine your own.” He paused. “
I've
been living by that particular code for years— but then, I've never pretended to be a man of honor.”

“But how am I to honor my contract when Tai Chong obviously prefers that I steal paintings for her?” I asked helplessly.

“I don't know,” said Heath. “You'll have to figure that out for yourself.”

“I cannot!” I protested. “I must seek ethical guidance.”

“From me?” he asked with an amused laugh.

“No, not from you.”

“Your Pattern Mother won't help you, and you don't want Tai Chong's advice,” he said, “so who can you ask?”

“I do not know,” I replied. “I will find someone.”

“In the meantime, you're on your own, and we've got a living to make.”

“I will not steal artwork,” I said adamantly.

“Have I suggested it?” asked Heath innocently.

“Yes.”

“Well, forget it— for the moment, at least. I think there's a much easier way to turn a profit.” He leaned forward intently. “We're going to beat Venzia to Saltmarsh, which means we'll find the Dark Lady before he does. It's my guess that he'll pay a considerable amount of money for five minutes of her time.”

“If you can find her on Saltmarsh, so can he,” I said.

Heath smiled confidently. “We'll wait for him at the spaceport and tell him we've kidnapped her.”

“Why should he believe you?”

“Because it makes sense,” said Heath. “Why would I lie to him?”

“Because you are Valentine Heath.”

“But
he
doesn't know Valentine Heath as well as you do.”

“He knows that the Dark Lady will vanish before you can force her to do anything against her will,” I pointed out.

“But from everything you and Venzia have told me, she's never done it in front of anyone who isn't aware of her true nature. We'll just keep her in a crowd.”

“Keep her in a crowd?” I repeated.

“That's right. The more people there are, the less likely she is to pull her disappearing act.”

“I thought you were going to
lie
to Friend Reuben,” I said.

“If I have to,” responded Heath. “It makes more sense to actually deliver the goods— but if we can't, then we should certainly have an alternate plan in mind.”

“And all you plan to do is detain her until Venzia arrives?” I asked.

“That's right,” he replied.

“Have you nothing to ask her yourself?” I continued.

“Such as?”

“The answer to Venzia's question.”

Heath shook his head. “Absolutely not. What fun would life be without some mystery?”

“But if there is an afterlife, do you not want to know?”

“I'll know soon enough,” he replied.

“But— ”

“Look,” he said. “I've never been the kind of person who reads the last chapter of a mystery novel first. It's cheating. Well, this is the same thing.”

“Since when did cheating bother you?”

“Touché,” he said.

There was a brief silence.

“You have not answered my question,” I said at last.

“Leonardo,” he began with a sigh, “one of the reasons I prefer to think that when we die everything we are dies with us is that if there are any ground rules for getting into heaven, any at all, then I'm condemned to eternal damnation. The Dark Lady can tell me only two things: that there
is
an afterlife, or that there
isn't.
If there isn't, nothing I believe in has changed; and if there is, I'd rather not know about it. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, Friend Valentine.”

“Do
you
plan to ask her anything?”

“Possibly,” I replied.

“What?”

“I am not sure yet.”

“Well, you'd better make up your mind soon; we'll be landing on Saltmarsh in about five hours.” Heath paused thoughtfully. “You know,” he said, “Saltmarsh is only about four days from Benitarus II. Maybe when we're done, I'll take you home and you can try to patch up your troubles with your Pattern Mother.”

“I thank you for the thought, Friend Valentine,” I said. “But I have been forbidden to set foot on Benitarus II.”

“Maybe she'll change her mind if she knows we're practically on her doorstep.”

“She will not.”

“You never know,” he replied.

“
I
know,” I replied. “My Acceptance Day passed while we were in Deepsleep, yet she left no message and sent no gift of food.”

He laughed. “We're fugitives from the law, Leonardo! Nobody except Tai Chong knows where we're going, and we haven't broken radio silence for close to thirty days. How would your Pattern Mother know where to send a message?”

“That is true,” I answered.

“And as for a present, we've been traveling at light speeds for a month. Even if she knew how to find us, how do you think she could deliver it?”

“Thank you for your observations, Friend Valentine,” I said sincerely. “I find them most comforting.”

“Then do you want to visit her when we're through here?” he asked again.

“I will never be allowed to see her again,” I explained patiently. “Furthermore, I will probably perform the ritual of suicide within the next few days.”

“Again?” he demanded. “Don't you have any other topic of conversation?”

“Yes, but none is as important. I may be morally compelled to— ”

“Spare me your compulsions,” he interrupted. “I want you to give me your word that you won't take your life, or talk about taking your life, until Tai Chong has a chance to get the police to exonerate us.”

“I give you my word that I will not talk about taking my life until Tai Chong has a chance to exonerate us,” I said carefully.

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “You're a very difficult person to talk to, do you know that?”

“You have said so before.”

“Well, I'm saying so again!”

“I am sorry if I have offended you, Friend Valentine,” I said.

“And stop being so damned apologetic for everything!” he said irritably. “If you're going to be a successful criminal, that's the very first thing you've got to change!”

“I am not going to be a successful criminal,” I replied.

“Then you're going to be a damned hungry one.”

He stalked off to his cabin, while I remained in the galley, chewing absently on some soya by-products and wondering what advice my Pattern Mother could give me that might help me prepare myself for a life of crime.

Heath put the ship into orbit around Saltmarsh, then contacted the planet's only spaceport.

“This is the
Pablo Picasso,
Charlemagne registry, thirty-one days out of Far London, Valentine Heath, race of Man, commanding. We require landing coordinates.”

“Please state the nature of your business on Saltmarsh,” replied a feminine voice.

“Commerce.”

“What type of commerce?”

“I buy and sell artwork.”

“The Saltmarsh economy is based on the New Kampala shilling. Will you require local currency?”

“Are credits accepted?”

“We
are
a member world of the Oligarchy,” the voice replied archly.

“Then I won't need to convert any money,” said Heath.

“Our atmosphere contains 16.23 percent oxygen and 79 percent nitrogen, and our gravity is .932 Deluros VIII Standard. Will either of these conditions present a health hazard?”

“Not to me,” replied Heath. “Are there any trace elements that would prove harmful to a Bjornn?”

There was a brief pause.

“Have you any members of an alien race aboard your ship?”

“Yes.”

“Please inform them that they are not allowed to disembark.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” protested Heath. “My business associate is a member of the Bjornn race from Benitarus II. If you'll check your records, you'll find that Benitarus has a Most Favored Planet trading status with the worlds of the Oligarchy, and has always enjoyed cordial relations with the race of Man.”

“Under no circumstance is
any
alien permitted to set foot on Saltmarsh. There are no exceptions.”

“May I speak to your superior, please?” requested Heath.

He spoke to the woman's department head, and to the Immigration Bureau, and to the minuscule Department of Alien Affairs, but after half an hour it was obvious that the government of Saltmarsh was unwilling to make any exceptions in its racial policy.

Finally Heath turned to me.

“That's it, Leonardo. I can't go any higher unless they let me speak to the governor, and we know what his answer will be.”

“I agree, Friend Valentine,” I replied.

“Well,” he continued, “do I go looking for Kobrynski alone, or do we leave? It's up to you.”

“I must find the Dark Lady,” I said. “You will have to go alone.”

“All right,” he said. “What if I find Kobrynski and she's not there?”

“Then you must wait for her.”

“For how long— a day, a week, a year? At what point do we conclude that you were mistaken about her next consort?”

“Sooner or later she will join him, and I will see her again,” I said confidently.

“Unless what you think was a vision was actually a meaningless dream.”

“If that is what you believe, why did you take me here?” I asked.

“Because it's halfway across the galaxy from Far London,” he replied. “And if you've guessed right, there's a small fortune to be made if I can keep her from disappearing.” He paused. “But don't forget that my ship's registration number is now in the Saltmarsh computer, and that we're still wanted by the police. Every hour we remain here gives them that much more time to find us.”

“I know— but I must find out if she is who I hope she is.”

“All right,” said Heath. “I just want to be sure that you understand the precariousness of our present situation.” He paused and sighed. “The first step is to find Kobrynski. If she's with him, I'll come back here and we'll plan our next step; if she's not, maybe I can convince him to come back to the ship with me and let you explain the situation to him. It'll be a lot easier than trying to smuggle you onto the planet.”

“You will not be able to convince him to do anything against his will,” I said.

“I can be pretty persuasive,” said Heath.

“If he were a man who could be persuaded, she would have no interest in him.”

“We'll see,” replied Heath skeptically. He activated his radio again and contacted the spaceport. “This is Valentine Heath. Your conditions for landing are understood, and we shall abide by them.”

“Very well,
Pablo Picasso
: You are cleared for landing. I have just fed the coordinates into your ship's computer.”

“Thank you,” said Heath.

Twenty minutes later we touched down, and he left the ship while a pair of armed guards took up positions just outside the hatch, presumably to stop me from polluting Saltmarsh's soil by stepping on it.

I watched Heath until he disappeared from view, then activated the computer and began writing.