The Green Leopard Plague and Other Stories (43 page)

When the message first came that someone wanted passage to Socorro, I'd been worried that Katarina was a plant from the police or from Eldridge, but as soon as I looked at her I knew that she was going to be a lot more trouble than that.

I don't understand the way the gene lines operate internally, with all the cloning and use of cartridge memories and marriages by cousins to keep all the money and power in the same pedigree, but it was clear from the second she came aboard
Olympe
that she ranked high in the structure. She had that eerie perfection that came with her status. Geneticists had sweated over her body years before she'd ever been born. Flawless complexion, perfect black hair, perfect white teeth. Full expressive lips; black eyes that looked at me for a full half-second before they had added up my entire life and riches, found them unworthy of further consideration, and looked away. She wore an outfit that was the opposite of the balloon-suits women wore in Socorro: a dark fabric that outlined perfectly every curve of that genetically ideal body. I got dizzy just looking at her.

She looked at my stateroom—I'd moved my stuff out of it—and spared an extra glance for the painting I'd put over the cabinet door that had been ripped off its hinges by the griffs. The painting was a woman nude on a sofa, with a black ribbon around her neck and a bangle on her wrist. She has a cat and a servant bringing her flowers from the admirer that's obviously just walked into the room. She's looking out of the painting at her visitor with eyes hard and objective and cutting as obsidian.

Aram had that painting in the stateroom when he'd died. I'd kept it for a while but put it away later. It is true that travelers, stuck in their ships for months at a time, like to look at pictures of naked ladies, but not the same lady all the time, and not one who looks back at you the way this one does.

I looked for a startled moment at Katarina and the woman in the painting, and I realized they had the same look in their eyes, that same hard, indifferent calculation. She turned those eyes to me.

"I'll take it," she said. "There's a room for my secretary?"

"Of course." With a torn mattress and a smashed chair, but I didn't mention that.

She left the stateroom to call for her secretary and her baggage. In the corridor she encountered Tonio.

He grinned at her, blue eyes set on either side of that broken nose. Those hard black eyes gazed back, then softened.

"Who is
this?"
she asked.

Trouble,
I thought.

"I'm the cook," Tonio said.

Of course she was married. They almost always are.

 

Tonio and I had first come aboard
Olympe
as crew. Aram was the owner and captain—he was a Maheu and had inherited money and power and responsibility, but after eight hundred years he'd given up everything but the money, and traveled aimlessly in
Olympe
, looking for something that he hadn't seen somewhere before.

He also used massive amounts of drugs, which were sent to him by Maheu's special courier service. To show the drugs were legitimate he had doctors' prescriptions for everything—he collected them the way he had once collected art.

Physically he had the perfection of the high-bred gene lines, with broad shoulders, mahogany skin, and an arched nose. It was only if you looked closely that you saw that the eyes were pouchy and vague, that his muscles were wasting away, and that his skin was as slack as his first-rate genetics would permit. He was giving away his body the same way he'd given away his collection.

He was lonely, too, because he would talk to Tonio and me, about history, and art, and poetry. He could recite whole volumes of poetry from memory, and it was beautiful even though most of it was in old languages, like Persian, that I'd never heard before and didn't understand.

I asked him about his gene line, his connections, what he did before he'd started his wandering.

"It was prostitution," he said, with a look at the painting on his stateroom wall. "I don't want to talk about it, now I'm trying to regain my virtue."

These conversations happened in the morning, after breakfast. Then he'd put the first patch of the day on his arm and nod off, his head in Maud's lap.

Maud Rain was his girlfriend. She looked maybe seventeen, and maybe she was. She appeared as if her genetics had been intending to create a lily, or cornflower, or some other fragile blossom, and then been surprised to discover they'd produced a human being. She was blonde and green-eyed and blushed easily, and she loved Aram completely. I was a little in love with her, myself.

Life aboard was
Olympe
was pleasant, if somewhat pointless. We wandered around the multiverse without a schedule. We'd stop for a while, and Aram would leave the ship to visit old friends or see something new that he thought might interest him, and we wouldn't hear from him for anywhere between three days and three months, then abruptly we'd be on our way again. Aram paid us well and gave us a good deal of time off, and once he bailed Tonio out of a scrape involving the wife of a Creel station superintendent.

I don't pretend to understand the chemistry between users and their consorts, and I don't know whether Aram talked Maud into using, or whether it was her own idea. I do know that, like all users, Aram wanted to make everyone around him use, too. He offered the stuff often enough to me and Tonio, though I never heard him make the same offer to Maud.

Whoever made up Maud's mind for her, she then went on to make a stupid, elementary mistake. She gave herself the same dose that Aram gave himself, without his magic genes and all the immunity he'd built up over the decades, and she screamed and thrashed and went into convulsions. Tonio got his fingers savagely bitten trying to keep the vomit clear of her mouth while I madly shifted the ship through about eight Probabilities to get her to a hospital. By the time we got her there she didn't have much of a brain left. She still blushed easily, and looked at you with dreamy green eyes. She had the sweet-natured smile, but there was nothing behind it but the void.

We left her in a place where they'd look after her, a stately white building on a pleasant green lawn, and
Olympe
resumed its wanderings. Aram deteriorated quickly. He no longer talked in the mornings. We'd find him alone and crying, the tears pouring down his face in silence, and then he'd put a new patch on his arm and drift away. One afternoon we found him dead, with six patches on his arm.

In his will he left all his money to a trust for Maud, and he left
Olympe
and its contents to me. He left Tonio some money. I gave Tonio everything in the pharmacy, and he sold it to someone on Burnes Upside and we gave Aram a long, crazy wake with the profits. The rest of Tonio's money went to lawyers to fix a misunderstanding that occurred during the course of the wake.

When we sobered up, I realized I had a yacht but no money to support it.

Tonio was the only crew I ever had, because he didn't expect to be paid. He did the job of a crew, and when he had money he paid me, as if he were a passenger. When I had money, I shared it with him.

We kept moving, the same kind of random shifts we'd made with Aram.

It was almost enough to keep us out of trouble.

 

Tonio spent that first night in the stateroom with Katarina Pryor. I tried to console myself with the fact that this was all happening in a whole other Probability from the one Katarina normally lived in. I also tried to concentrate on how I was going to handle Eldridge when I saw him again.

I checked some data sources and inquired about Katarina Pryor. She was about fifty years old, though she looked half that and would for the next millennium, if she so desired. She was one of the Council of Seven that ran Socorro on behalf of the Pryor gene line.

Her husband, Denys, was one of the other Seven.

I let that settle in my brain for a while. Then I sent a message to Eldridge telling him that I wanted to meet him as soon as
Olympe
docked Topside. He replied that it would be his pleasure to do so.

We'd see how much fun he'd have.

I told Tonio of this development as we were walking to the lounge. As he stepped into the room, he gave me the news. "Katarina has invited me to accompany her to Downside on completion of our returnment. I have accepted, yiss, pending of course my captain's sanction."

Katarina's secretary, a young Pryor named Andrew, happened to be sitting in the lounge as we entered, and he looked as if someone had hit him in the head with a brick.

"It's not as if people are going out of their way to hire us," I said, "so the ship can spare you. But . . . " I hesitated, aware of the presence of Andrew. "Doesn't this
remind
you of anything, Tonio?"

He gave me a look of offended dignity. "The situation of which you speak was on an entirely different plane," he said. "This on the contrary is
real
."

The conversation was taking place in a Probability where stars looked like spinning billiard balls on a felt-green sky, and he and Katarina were traveling to another place where oxygen burned in their blood like naphtha. Who knew how real
anything
could be under such circumstances?

I asked Tonio if he could delay his departure with Katrina until Eldridge came aboard.

"Oh yiss. Most assuredly."

He seemed perfectly confident.

I wish I could have echoed his assurance.

 

Eldridge was present when
Olympe
arrived at Upside, and he had brought a couple of thick-necked thugs with him. They were hanging back from the personnel lock because there were plainclothes Pryor security present, waiting to escort Katarina and her new beau on the first stage of their planetary honeymoon.

I called Eldridge from the control room. "Come on in," I said. "Leave your friends behind."

When he came on board he looked as if he was fully capable of dismembering me all by himself, his small size notwithstanding. I escorted him through the lounge, where Katarina and Andrew waited for Tonio to finish his packing job, a job that would not be completed until I gave him the high sign.

His eyes went wide as he saw Katarina. She wore a compromise between the local balloon-suits and the form-fitting outfit she'd worn when she came aboard, which amounted to a slinky suit with a puffy jacket on top. But I don't think it was her looks that riveted his attention.

He recognized her.

"This is Miss Katarina Pryor," I told him, redundantly I hoped, "and Mr. Andrew Pryor."

"Pryor," Eldridge repeated, as if he wanted to confirm this striking fact for himself.

Andrew gave him a barely civil nod. Katarina just gave him her stone-eyed stare, let him know he had been measured and found wanting.

I went to the bar and poured myself a cup of coffee. You had to drink coffee quickly here, because in this Probability it cools very fast.

"Eldridge," I remarked. "I haven't received my on-delivery fee."

He gave me a scarlet stare out of his white face. "The cargo did not arrive intact."

"One crate went missing," I said. "It was probably the fault of the loaders, but since I signed for it, you should feel free to deduct its value from the delivery fee." I made a show of looking at the manifest on my pocket adjutant. "What was in that crate—? Ah, jugs of spray foam mix. Value three hundred—would you say that's a correct value, Miss Pryor?"

Katarina drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa. "Sounds about right, Captain Crossbie," she said, in a voice that said
Don't bother me with this crap.

I called up my bank account. "Might as well do the transfer now," I said.

Eldridge's eyes cut to Katarina, then cut back. His lips went even whiter than usual.

If the Pryors decided to step on him, he wouldn't leave so much as a grease spot on their shoes. He knew that, as did I.

He got out his own adjutant and tapped in codes with his one long thumbnail. I saw my bank account jump by the anticipated amount, and I put away my adjutant and sipped my coffee. It was already lukewarm.

"Want some coffee, by the way?" I asked.

Eldridge gazed at me out of those flaming eyes. "No," he said.

"We have some other business, but there's no reason to bother Miss Pryor with it," I said.

He followed me into the control room, where I closed the door and gestured him toward a chair.

"Consider that a penalty," I said, "for thinking I was new to the multiverse."

"The Pryors aren't really protecting you," he said. "They can't be."

"They're old family friends," I said. I sat in the padded captain's chair—genuine Tibetan goat hide, Aram had told me—and swivelled it toward him. He just stared at me, his busy fingers plucking at his knees.

"I'm willing to sell you coordinates," I said.

He licked his lips, pink tongue on paper-white. "Coordinates to what?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

He didn't answer.

We had put the blue salt in orbit around an ice moon, one that circled the same gas giant as Vantage.

"The coordinates go for the same price as the cargo." I smiled. "Plus three hundred."

He just kept staring. Probably that agate gaze had frightened a lot of people, but I wasn't scared at all.

Five days around Katarina Pryor had given me immunity to lesser terrors.

"If you don't want the coordinates," I said, "your competition will."

He sneered. "There
is
no competition."

"There will be if Katarina takes you and your tame police out of the equation," I said.

So in the end he paid. Once the money was in the account, I gave Eldridge the seven orbital elements that described the salt's amble about its moon. Someone from Vantage could easily hop over and pick up the salt for him, and the strung-out miners would go on getting their daily nerve-searing dose of fate.

I showed Eldridge out, and as he bustled away he cast a look over his shoulder that promised payback.

I sent a message to Tonio telling him to solve his packing crisis, and as I returned to the lounge, he came loping out of his quarters, his belongings carried in a rucksack on one shoulder. Andrew raised an eyebrow at the tiny amount of baggage that had taken so long to pack.