Young Rissa (8 page)

Rissa looked at the woman she had known only a year; the woman who had changed her from an ignorant child to an able, competent person skilled in ways that a year ago she could not have imagined — the woman she could never see again. She blinked away tears; the kiss she gave was neither dry nor perfunctory.
 

“Earned it? Not yet. Erika — but I intend to.” When she turned away, she did not look back.
 

A dirigible steamer took her to Mexico City, a suborbital SST to Tokyo Complex, and a hydrofoil to UET's Hokkaido spaceport. She knew the hotels there, under whatever names, were UET-owned and subject to electronic surveillance; she took care not to breach her Lysse Harnain identity. Using stockholder's privilege, she booked passage on the
Mac-Namara
at company discount, bypassing the usual waiting list and screening process. She stayed in her suite and dined from the automated room-service.
 

Newsfax was part of the service; she made a show of scanning everything concerning the Western Hemisphere and Europe, but paid heed only to the North American printouts, with special attention to that continent's Midwest area.
 

A week before her scheduled departure she found the item she wanted. General Osbert Newhausen's wives and co-husbands had filed unanimously to divorce him, and the general was hospitalized following a suicide attempt. Rissa gave no outward sign of her intense satisfaction. The New Mafia representative had told the truth; the mutated virus was effective, as described.
 

Although she pretended — for the sake of possible observers — to continue to read the printouts, she had no further interest in Earth's affairs. During her last evening, however, she used the suite's communicator keyboard to dispatch a coded note to Erika Hulzein via a Buenos Aires message drop. Decoded, it would read, “On my way tonight. Greatest thanks for all you have done, and love to poor Ivan.”
 

 

It may have been the note that was almost her undoing. Leaving from the lower-level terminal, she timed her movements so as to be alone in the tube-capsule that would take her to the ship. But at the last moment a bulky woman ran to reopen the closing door and crowded in to join her. The woman wore the red and blue plastic hood-mask of the North American Committee Police; behind it showed only shadowed lips and eyes. Rissa looked at her and said nothing, thinking,
it could be coincidence — but it smells wrong!
 

“Going off Earth?” The voice was deep, and unexpectedly soft.
 

All right — the policebitch would have seen the records; there was no point in lying. “Yes, to Terranova. And you?”
 

A laugh, not soft like the voice, but harsh. “No such luck. Just a little business at the port. Where do you come from?”
 

She'd know that, too. Lysse Harnain could be — no doubt
had
been
 

— traced back to South America. Yet it had not been feasible to change
 

identities at the brief stops. “Most recently, Argentina.”
 

“Where in that country?”
 

The Committee's hound knew, all right — but make
her
say it. “A small town, near Buenos Aires. You wouldn't have heard of it.”
 

“But I've heard of it many times — including just this evening. It's rather notorious.”
 

“Then why do you ask?”
 

The heavy shoulders shrugged. “One way to get to the real questions.” Rissa did not answer. The woman said, “We know you come from Hulzeins'.”
 

A moment for thought. “I did visit a person of that name. What does that — or this place, for that matter — have to do with
your
jurisdiction?”
 

“At Hulzeins', is there a girl named Rissa Kerguelen?”
 

By God, they never quit looking! “There are many girls.”
 

“About seventeen — slim — dark hair. Did you see her?”
 

“I don't believe I met her. Why?”
 

“Wanted on a Committee warrant. The charge is treason. Hulzein should know better than to harbor such persons.”
 

Rissa manufactured a laugh. “I doubt that Madame Hulzein's much concerned with your Committee's machinations. But, yes — now I remember — this girl you mention — she must be the one who killed herself when she saw her brother again. A childish thing to do, but she was barely of legal age. Erika was quite disappointed in her.”
 

“You're sure?” The woman's grip hurt Rissa's shoulder; she was tempted to break a finger of the offending hand, but waited.
 

“You're hurting me! No, of course I'm not sure. I heard a lot of stories — who's to say which were true? I didn't follow the gossip closely, anyway. I had my own concerns.”
 

The hand gripped harder. “I'm sure you did — Rissa.”
 

It was time to act. Past time — the port was near. Maybe the sniffing bitch was only guessing, but the chance wasn't worth it. She felt the jolt of peril — now, as in the aircar, time
slowed
. She turned to face the plastic mask, took a breath, and drove the heel of her hand as hard as she could, up to the hidden nose. With luck she could have driven bone splinters into the brain, but the plastic was too rigid; her blow slipped off its bulge. The woman half-screamed — in fear, or was it anger? — and thrust out a meaty hand to squeeze Rissa's throat. Behind the mask her eyes shone, almost like burning coals. Rissa pointed stiff fingers at those eyes and jabbed.
 

She did not know how well or ill she wrought; the woman cried out and clapped her hands to her face. Rissa reached across her; overriding the safety interlock she button-punched the door open. She raked a heel down the woman's shin and drew a yelp of pain; then she braced herself and
pushed
, until the woman's head and shoulders were outside, rubbing against the tube wall as the capsule sped. The policewoman screamed — then friction took hold and the capsule swayed with the impact. Rissa heard bones snap as the woman's body was pulled outside to be crushed in the narrow space and vanish behind. Almost, Rissa followed it — she barely managed to disengage and catch herself against the door frame.
 

She punched the door closed again and sat back, panting, fighting for calm. A pang wrenched her — she had never killed before. Yet what choice had she?
 

A minute or so later, the capsule came to a halt. She left it and walked out of the terminal, across the spaceport to the ship.

 

UET's stockholders had first option on the freeze-chambers. Rissa had considered the matter. Overall time dilation for the trip — not the one she had booked, but the shorter one she intended — was slightly less than eighteen. Twelve years for the price of, perhaps, eight months. Faster ships made better tradeoffs, but none were scheduled to meet her need. The question was, did she want to spend those eight months awake on a cramped ship, all the while alert to keep the role of Lysse Harnain? Not really, she decided. And the freezing and revival procedures, Erika had assured her, posed no threat to her disguise.
 

So she “bumped” a man who could have bought and sold her ten times over — but who owned less UET stock — and prepared to enter freeze. To justify being revivified at the stopover, she mentioned an investment possibility at Far Corner. Then she went to chilly sleep.
 

When the ship landed and she was awakened and treated, she went aground with only her essential luggage, content to let the rest go on to a destination that was not hers. So far, she felt, she was well ahead of the game. It remained to be seen what turns that game would take in future.
 

 

She did not risk UET's spaceport hostelry; near the ship she hailed a groundcab, and once inside, took certain precautions with her appearance. The cab took her to and past the town of Second Site, to a ramshackle inn called the First Ever. It catered largely, the driver told her, to miners and trappers.
 

Inside, signing the register as Tari Obrigo, she paid triple the usual rate because she needed a room to herself. The landlord looked at her — head covered by a hood, her face veiled — and grinned behind his grizzled beard.
 

“Private doings — eh, Ms. Obrigo?”
 

“I am accustomed to privacy and willing to pay for it.” Her voice was soft, slightly accented, and she spoke in the precise manner of Tari Obrigo.
 

“No offense, Ms. Here — I'll show you your room. Want any help with your duffel?”
 

“No — well, yes — you might take this one. It is not heavy, but with the other two, awkward to carry.” The man nodded and led her to a second-floor room, complete with bathing and toilet facilities. Going to the room's one window, he opened the curtains.
 

“Nice view across town,” he said. “Spaceport just past the valley, and the big trees behind it.” He made no move to leave.
 

“Yes — thank you.” Far Corner custom, she recalled, added all tips to the final billing, so that wasn't what he was waiting for. “I think that is all, for the moment.”
 

“You haven't said — you want to take your meals here, or out?”
 

Annoyed, she shook her head. “Can I not do either, as is convenient?”
 

“Sure. Cost you more, though. Cheaper to sign up for meals with the room.”
 

“I cannot help that. My plans are . . . flexible.”
 

“Suit yourself, Ms. Well — anything you need, just ask.”
 

“Yes. I will. Thank you,” and finally the man left. She locked the
 

door, reclosed the curtains and removed her veil and hooded cloak. The next hour she spent transforming Lysse Harnain to Tari Obrigo — age twenty-two — dark brown eyes, black hair falling in loose curls around her face and brushing her shoulders. Her nose was Rissa's own, but with a small fleshy mole alongside the left nostril. The crooked tooth-cap was replaced by one that gave prominence to the upper front incisors. Tweezers emphasized the arching of her brows. And she did not forget to change her fingerprints.
 

The mirror satisfied her. Now she was ready to show her face — Tari Obrigo's — on Far Corner.
 

 

Osallin's office, she knew, was in the Independent Brokers' warehouse; she had seen the looming structure from the groundcab. She guessed its distance at roughly three kilometers and decided to walk. Stepping out into cool early-afternoon sunlight, she enjoyed the use of her muscles in Far Corner's gravity, nearly a fourth slighter than Earth's. She faced a breeze; from the forest beyond the spaceport she smelled strange, pleasant fragrances.
 

She approached the building from the warehouse side and walked another two hundred meters to reach the office section. Entering, she came into a lobby that contained several receptionists' desks — three occupied and one occupant not busy. Rissa approached; the thin, elderly woman looked up.
 

“I would like to meet with Broker Osallin.”
 

The woman cleared her throat. “I must approve all the Broker's appointments. Your name?”
 

Rissa smiled. “If you would inform him, please, that I bring greeting from Erika?”
 

The other paused, then nodded. “Oh, yes — certainly.” She spoke into a hushtalk handset, then said, “It will be only a few minutes, Ms. Be seated, if you like.”
 

“Thank you.” But Rissa had no desire to sit; she strolled around the lobby, looking at pictures and at glass-enclosed exhibits of Far Corner's produce. After perhaps ten minutes, the woman called to her and gave directions to Osallin's office, two floors above. Again, she decided to walk.
 

 

The office was small, cluttered, and brightly lit. The man was short and wide, with a face to match. When he smiled she saw three gold teeth and a space where a bicuspid was missing. He held out his single hand, the left. “Erika sent you? From Earth?”
 

She found the handshake awkward. He released her hand and motioned for her to sit, facing him across the desk. “Not exactly,” she said. “Erika was my mentor and my friend. She is not my employer; I have none.”
 

Osallin pushed graying hair back from his forehead. “This is a social call, not business? And I don't know your name yet, do I?”
 

“It is business, also. I am going farther out. Erika suggested that she — her Establishment — and I, work through you as our relay point, for financial and other communications.”
 

“All right — fine. On all transactions I charge five percent of gross. Other communications, courtesy of the house. You still haven't said who you are, though.”
 

“Establishment secrecy applies. Agreed?” The man nodded. “I am here as Tari Obrigo. Other names that may apply in our dealings together and with Erika's group are Lysse Harnain, Cele Metrokin, and Rissa Kerguelen.”
 

Abruptly, he sat straight. “You're
that
one!”
 

“I do not understand. You have heard something? How?”
 

“You landed today with the
MacNamara
; right? Well, there's faster ships. One that left Earth not long after you did, arrived here — oh, call it two months ago. With a packet for you from Erika, for one thing. And, for another, a UET agent.