The Dark Lady (32 page)

“What subject are you going to paint tonight?” I asked.

“I haven't decided,” replied Kobrynski. “I've done the preliminary work on half a dozen of them.”

“Preliminary work?” I said.

He smiled. “You've never seen a plasma painting, have you?”

“No, I have not.”

“You cast it into the sky, perhaps two miles above the ground,” he said. “On a cloudless planet like Solitaire, you can go as high as five miles, and fill the sky from horizon to horizon.” He paused. “With a celestial canvas that large, you can't paint the details piecemeal. You create the preliminary painting on that computer"— he pointed to one of his machines—"and then, when you're satisfied with it,
that
one"— he indicated a different computer—"analyzes it and determines how best to irradiate the atmosphere to create the effect you want. The other machines do the actual work.”

“What colors can you produce?” asked Heath.

“Everything from the ultraviolet into the infrared,” answered Kobrynski. “They're not opaque, mind you— you'd burn the world to a crisp. Besides, I like to see the stars shining through my creation.”

“How long does it last?” inquired Heath.

“It takes form in about a minute, and takes another ninety seconds to dissipate. It can maintain its complete integrity for perhaps thirty seconds.”

“Forgive me for saying it,” said Heath, “but it seems to me that you're going to a lot of expense and trouble for an effect that lasts half a minute.”

“No more than you're going to find a phantom,” replied Kobrynski. “And for the half minute that it lasts, I've done something proud, something no one else has done.”

“May we see the subjects that are under consideration for this evening?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Why not?”

He activated the first computer with his voice, then ordered it to cast a hologram of his first subject in the air in front of us.

It was an eerie alien landscape, with a blood-red river that lapped at the shores of a desolate bank, while skeletal, leafless trees leaned across the water at impossible angles.

“Larabee IV,” said Kobrynski.

“I've not heard of it,” said Heath.

“It's out past the Quinellus Cluster. Strangest planet I've ever seen. There are only two colors: deep red and dark purple. Everything— rocks, water, vegetation— is either one or the other.”

“Are there any animals?” I asked.

“The Pioneer Corps’ survey says there are, but I never saw any. Next!”

We saw, in quick succession, a Doradusian mountain range, an abstract representation of a laser rifle, a still life of Binder X fruits, and a naturalistic impression of a Thunder Lizard.

“I'm almost ashamed to show you the last one,” said Kobrynski.

“Why?”

“Because it looks like a direct steal from a painting you've already seen.”

“The Dark Lady?” I asked.

“Is that what you call her?”

“That is what she calls herself,” I replied. “May we see the preliminary painting, please?”

“Next,” ordered Kobrynski— and an instant later the Dark Lady's face appeared almost within my reach, her sad eyes staring directly into mine.

“It's
her,
all right,” said Heath.

“It is indeed an excellent likeness,” I agreed. “How long have you been working on it?”

“Three years,” said Kobrynski uncomfortably, as if he were ashamed that he had not been able to create it in an evening.

“Where would you create the explosions?” I asked.

“Probably in her eyes,” he said. “It would give them life.”

I nodded in approval. “It might even make her look less unhappy.”

“Maybe the earlobes, too,” suggested Heath. “I can't remember now— did she wear earrings or not?”

“She wore no jewelry at all, Friend Valentine,” I replied.

“Computer— deactivate,” commanded Kobrynski.

The image disappeared— and just as it vanished, Reuben Venzia opened the door and entered the cabin.

“Who are you?” demanded Kobrynski.

“He is Reuben Venzia,” I said.

“Well, well,” said Heath with a wry smile. “The gang's all here.”

“She is not here yet, Friend Reuben,” I said as Venzia mopped the sweat from his face.

“But thanks for waiting for us, just the same,” added Heath sarcastically.

“I just couldn't take the chance,” replied Venzia. “It was too important to get here before
she
did. Besides, I never had any agreement with you; I was under no obligation to take you here or anywhere. You just want to sell her to Abercrombie.”

“Just a minute,” interrupted Kobrynski. He turned to Heath. “You never
did
say why you were interested in her. I think it's about time you told me.”

“Why?” responded Heath. “You don't believe in her anyway.”

“If she exists, I'm not letting you sell her to
anyone.
”

“She can take care of herself,” said Venzia. “Or didn't Heath tell you what happened the last time he decided to sell her?”

“Well?” said Kobrynski, staring at Heath.

“She vanished.”

“What do you mean, vanished?”

“I mean,” said Heath, “that she disappeared from inside a sealed spaceship.”

Kobrynski shook his head in disgust. “You're
all
crazy.”

“
I
didn't say it,” Venzia pointed out.

“No, but you believe it.”

“Yes, I do.”

“By the way,” said Heath to Venzia, “how the devil did you get here so quickly? I would have sworn we'd reach Saltmarsh three days ahead of you.”

“I stayed in Deepsleep for two weeks, and when I woke up I radioed ahead, found out that Kobrynski was on Solitaire, and changed course.”

“I should have thought of that myself,” admitted Heath.

“Some master thief!” snorted Venzia contemptuously.

“Well, no matter,” replied Heath with a shrug. “We beat
her
here, and that's all that counts.” He paused. “By the way, you're not the only person with a question for her when she shows up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Friend Leonardo had a nocturnal visitation from the Dark Lady.”

“She actually appeared to you?” demanded Venzia, turning to me.

“I am not certain, Friend Reuben,” I replied. “That is what I must ask her.”

Venzia seemed about to make a comment, then pursed his lips and emitted a short sigh. “So now we wait,” he said.

“Now we wait,” I agreed.

“Excuse me for interrupting,” said Kobrynski sardonically, “but this cabin doesn't sleep four; as a matter of fact, it doesn't even sleep two. I'm happy to have three madmen provide me with a little diversion during the day, but when you get ready to sleep, you go back to your ships.”

“Do you wish us to leave now?” I asked.

“It's up to you— but you can't see the full effect of a plasma painting through a ship's viewscreen.”

“When will you begin?” I asked.

“It'll be dark in another twenty minutes or so,” he said. “I think I'll start in about an hour.”

“Then, if you don't mind,” said Heath, “Leonardo and I will stay here until you're finished.”

“I'm staying too,” added Venzia.

“It's fine by me,” said Kobrynski. “But I ought to warn you that I've only got enough food for me. If you guys are hungry, this would be a good time to go to your ships and grab some dinner.”

“You've only got enough food for one meal?” asked Venzia with open disbelief.

“I'm leaving tomorrow,” replied Kobrynski.

“Where are you going?”

“I don't know,” he answered. “If I'm not pleased with my painting, I'll probably hunt up another deserted planet and try it again.”

“And if you
are
pleased?”

He shrugged. “There's no sense doing it again if I do it right the first time. There's a new Murderball league forming out on the Rim; maybe I'll take a crack at it.”

“Murderball?” repeated Heath curiously.

Kobrynski nodded. “It's a combination of an ancient game called rugby and something they used to call Bikes and Spikes.”

“Bikes and Spikes?” echoed Heath. “Didn't they outlaw that a couple of centuries ago?”

“In the Oligarchy,” answered Kobrynski. “They still play it on the Outer Frontier.”

“They lost a lot of people in Bikes and Spikes,” said Heath. “What's the fatality rate for Murderball?”

“Twenty-eight percent, in a ten-game season,” said Kobrynski. “It sounds exciting.”

“It sounds frightening,” I said with a shudder.

Kobrynski looked at me for a moment. “Do you know what sounds really frightening? Sitting alone in a hospital bed, waiting to die.” He looked out a window. “If you guys are going to eat, you'd better get moving.”

“How long does it take you to set this plasma painting up?” asked Heath.

“Maybe half an hour.”

“Then I think I'll look at the painting before I eat. Nothing ruins a good meal like haste.”

“It's up to you,” said Kobrynski with no show of interest.

“I will remain here,” I said. “I wish to see how a plasma painting is created.”

“What about you?” Kobrynski asked Venzia.

“It's too damned hot out there,” muttered Venzia. “My ship is a couple of miles away. I'll wait until it cools down.”

“What subject have you chosen to paint?” I asked.

“As long as the three of you are here, I suppose I might as well paint the Dark Lady,” answered Kobrynski. He grimaced. “I really hadn't planned to do her for another few months, until I've got every detail absolutely right.”

“She looked perfect in the hologram,” offered Heath.

Kobrynski shook his head. “I haven't got the mouth right yet.”

“It looked fine to me,” said Heath.

“No,” said Kobrynski. “She always seems to be just on the verge of saying something, like she's just a hundredth of a second from moving her lips. I still don't have that feeling when I look at the hologram.” He shrugged. “What the hell. I could work on it another fifty years and still not get it right. I might as well go with what I've got.”

There was a brief period of twilight, and then the sky darkened with surprising suddenness.

Kobrynski waited a few more minutes, until the last light of the sun had vanished from the distant mountains, and then began issuing commands to his machines. Gradually they began to hum and glow, virtually throbbing with energy.

“Are they supposed to do that?” asked Heath uneasily.

Kobrynski nodded. “They're just acting as a conduit, from the pile to the canvas.”

“The canvas?”

“The sky, Mr. Heath,” replied Kobrynski with an amused smile. “The sky.”

He continued giving orders, making minute adjustments, altering instructions, juggling vectors and angles, for another twenty minutes. Finally he stepped back from his equipment and turned to us.

“It's just about ready,” he announced.

“Where do we look?” asked Heath.

“All of the windows have been treated,” replied Kobrynski. “You can watch through any of them.” He paused. “There's no danger as long as you don't leave the cabin, but you should probably climb into your protective suits, just to be on the safe side.”

“What protective suits?” demanded Venzia.

“That's right: You weren't here when I mentioned it. The whole planet's going to get a lethal dose of radiation when the explosions start.” He paused. “You'll be safe here.”

“But how will I get back to my ship?”

“I've got a spare suit packed away somewhere. We'll dig it out when you're ready to leave.”

“Maybe I should go to my ship right now and get my own suit,” said Venzia.

Kobrynski shrugged. “It's up to you. Can you find it in the dark? Solitaire doesn't have any moons.”

Venzia looked momentarily surprised. “I'm not sure,” he admitted. “I think I'll stay here after all, and accept the loan of your suit when it's time to leave.”

“Fine.”

Heath and I had finished donning our shielded outfits when I noticed that Kobrynski had not yet donned his gloves, and I mentioned the oversight to him.

“The gloves are awkward to manipulate,” he replied, “and sometimes I've got to make some last-second adjustments manually.”

He turned back to the computers and began issuing still more orders, all of them expressed as mathematical formulae and totally incomprehensible to me.

“Soon now,” he said, not looking up from his equipment.

The three of us moved closer to a window and watched the still night sky.

“One more adjustment,” he murmured, reciting one last equation. “Now, on my mark— go!”

I peered intently through the window. At first nothing seemed to be happening. Then, slowly, gradually, the air seemed to become perceptibly
thicker,
and I could see swirling patterns starting to form, molecular motion made visible.

A bolt of lightning flashed, but unlike every other lightning bolt I had ever seen, this one did not dissipate, but remained in the sky, twisting itself into a curved line of flame. Another flash of lightning, and another line was added to the painting. A swirl of electrical energy for texture, glowing ionized molecules for color, more streaks of lightning, and suddenly the Dark Lady began taking shape before my astounded eyes.

In another moment her face covered the heavens, her sad eyes glowed with the light of distant nebulas, her teeth were white with starlight, her hair was a billowing mass of dark clouds, dotted here and there with pinpoints of stardust. Then the explosions started, highlighting her with an unimaginable release of energy.

“It is fabulous!” I exclaimed.

“I've never seen anything like it!” added Heath in awed tones.

“The mouth is still wrong,” said Kobrynski. He turned back to his machines. “If I can just capture her lips in the instant before she speaks... ”

He began making manual adjustments.

“How long does it last?” asked Venzia.

“It should start losing its integrity in about ten more seconds,” said Kobrynski, pushing keys and plotting vectors. “Damn! It's still not right, and I'm going to lose it! I can't make the adjustments fast enough!”

“It's not breaking up at all,” noted Heath.