Behold a Dark Mirror (17 page)

"Maybe not," she said.

"Where do we meet in two weeks?"

"Two weeks?"  Kebe said shaking her head.  "No time limits, Nero:  deadlines create pressure.  We'll have enough pressure evading surveillance."

"What are my chances?"

She turned away without answering.

"That bad?  What about yours?"  Nero said.

"Been there, done that," she shrugged, looking out of the window.

"Is this my death sentence?"

"No," she said to the window.  You're smart.  You have money.  You have drive.  You need experience;  you'll get it—under fire."

"Any tips?"

She turned.  "Don't be curious.  Here," she handed him three cards from her back pocket.  "I came to give these to you."

He looked at them.  "Fake IDs."

"Yes, fake framepost cards.  Loaded; you can go anywhere you want.  Throw yours away—they're already looking for Nero Vetrol."

"How do you know?"

"I do."

He nodded.

"I'll be waiting for you at a safe house, Nero."

"How will I find you?"  He stood up.

"I can tell you how to get there;  then I’ll find you."

He held her hands and said solemnly,  "Hail life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness;  down with peace, order and fat government."  His lips quivered.  "I feel like I've got to get out of the executioner's den through a trap door, yet I don’t know if my shoulders will fit through it."

"You knew it was going to be like this!"

"It's different when it happens;  I've never been wanted before."

"Welcome to the world of the free, Nero.  If it's any consolation, you're not technically wanted.  We're harassing ConSEnt, not the government."

"How do I find the safe house?"

"Show up at the Space Crab in Vivitar City, on Vivitar III.  It's a bar.  Someone will come, ask you a few questions, and give you directions.  If no one approaches you the first time, keep at it until it happens."

"That's all?"

"Yes.  It's teamwork, Nero."

"Do you promise to be there?"

"I do.  And pack a change of clothes, food, a blanket, a small weapon you know well."

"How about a ceramic electrogun?"

"I'm impressed, but we're wasting time.  Get ready to go, Nero.  Can we leave in two hours?"

"I'll need two and a half hours to wake up the outbound framepost, if the automatic reveille doesn't glitch.  Should I pick you up, or will you meet me at the way station?"

"I'll walk.  See you there in one hundred and fifty minutes,"  Kebe said and walked out of the room. 

Nero showered and started packing.  Doka had become a familiar retreat to him;  soon he would be lost.  His hands trembled as he put the electrogun in the backpack.

The gun had been a present from Margo.  The engraving on the grip read: 
For my favorite company man, in case of mutiny.
  Margo couldn't have guessed he'd be the mutineer.

Nero put the Cheshire tail into an airtight box.  He didn't want to look around for a last time.  His throat was tight.  Doka was a desert, but it had been a good home in a way, a predictable home.  Now he'd be on the run, maybe he'd be dead soon.  Hi had been his home for too long.  It had been a tomb, not a retreat.  He walked out of his room, slamming the door.

At the way station, Nero kicked the entrance door open.  He strode through the flap doors to the control room of the teleportation equipment, sat at the main console, and concentrated on waking up the smallest people carrier.

Kebe walked in a few minutes ahead of schedule.  Nero acknowledge her presence with a wave.

"How's the awakening, Nero?"

"On schedule.  We'll be ready to go in a few minutes.  The framepost is set for Locus, two people.  After the second passage, it'll fall asleep.  We'll be out for good."

"Very well.  Where do you plan to go from Locus?"

Nero shook his head.  "I'll pick a destination."

"Try Borodin.  It's a relatively big place, easy to get lost, security still not too strict."

"Thanks."

He looked at the console.  "We're ready."

They went through the ritual of crossing the airlocks.  The non-dimensional lattice within the framepost shone;  its absolute half-reality was beautiful and ready to carry them through its mystery to any receiver in the universe.

"You go first, Kebe."

She winked.  "You’re always the gallant gentleman."

"That's flattering, but my purpose was practical."

Kebe made a kissy-mouth and stepped into the lattice.  Her leg disappeared, then her arm, head and body, the other leg.  She had vanished.  Nero followed her as soon as the machine told him to go.  On the other side, on Locus, she was gone—maybe to rent shuttles, who knew.  If she didn't wait, he wouldn't follow;  Kebe always had her reasons.  Yet he couldn't ignore the pang in his heart.

He passed through the formalities of customs and immigration.  The interplanetary way station of Locus was an unpretentious building in character with a small-economy world.  Locus was at the edge of civilization;  local staff was used to adventurers and crackpots, and the law was lax.

Nero stopped for a hot meal and dawdled over a drink, waiting for the staff to change shifts.  He was leaving with a different identity, and didn't want suspicious eyes noticing him, regardless of how lax the law might be.

When the next clerk arrived at the counter, Nero approached him.  The clerk sipped from a cup while paging through a reader, lips pursed.  The clerk looked up, closing his reader, hiding it swiftly under the counter.  He picked up Nero's card and looked at his customer with a neutral expression.

"Name?"  the clerk said.

"Frank Goldsmith."

"Destination?"

"Borodin, WCC14S32."

"Motive for the trip?"

"Youhup hunting."  The
People's Space Almanac
had suggested him that motive.

"How long did you stay on Locus?"

"Forever," Nero said.  Pretending to be a native might confuse investigations of his departure:  Kebe's paranoid attitude was contagious.

"So you're a hunter, eh?  I wish we could swap.  I'll charge your card.  Please proceed to the kernel.  You'll go through the hub at Doolin—our generators can't get you to Borodin non-stop, but it's only two jumps.  Do you need help?"

Nero caught himself before answering
No;
  his theater act was beginning.  If he was a native, he'd need help—frames were rare on Locus;  so he let the clerk rehearse his instructions.

He stepped through the framepost and popped out on Doolin for his connection.  There, he switched to Borodin transfer.  At destination he had to pass through more immigration debriefing;  thereafter, he was a free bird.  He needed now to execute their plan and ship the memoirs.  Maybe he'd take one of the shuttles into orbit himself, have a good look at this place.

He strolled across the way station.  The floors were polished stone, the desks were stained shiny wood, the glass panes were spotless, the officers wore creased uniforms.  Mural ads peddled hunting gear, youhup hunting permits—very expensive—and trips to beautiful places.

Nero wanted modest accommodation to set up his base.  The guide recommended a few budget hotels;  he picked one with a name he liked and dialed himself half a kilometer from it.  The walk carried him through a park;  the local sun, Nus, shone warmly in a shade of yellow, coloring everything in earth tones.  The sight was relaxing after the red light of Rook, the green light of Zochar, and the games they played with each other.  His sack was light on his back, the air smelled of flowers, and he felt like looking at the girls.

After taking possession of his room, Nero turned on the news and lay on the bed.  Somewhere a cargo shuttle had crashed into an orbital station, and someone had caught the whole event on camera.  An infection of driseola was now pandemic on Sertion, which had been quarantined.  Little else of consequence caught his attention.  Nero thought that Kebe was too paranoid and he should really go hunting youhups;  but he decided to attend to duty first and returned to the business district.

*

"I'd like to rent four shuttles."

"Four, sir?"

"Yes, it's a large party."

"Very well, sir.  When do you plan to return?"

"Can you leave it open?"

"Sure;  if we don’t receive contact within two weeks, we'll open a case with the authorities, standard policy.  There's an additional charge for insurance, non-refundable.  Any model preference?"

"A small cruiser with extraorbital capability."

Nero patronized several rental outlets;  by evening he'd collected fourteen vehicles.  He'd launch thirteen over a three-day period, keeping one for hunting.  Along the way Nero had picked up an application for a hunting license;  it turned out there was a test, so he bought a hunting manual, too.

At the spaceport, Nero launched the first copy of the memoirs.  Afterwards he sat at the club lounge for a while, allowing time before launching the second shuttle with another copy of the memoirs.  He ordered licorice tea—they had some!—and glanced over his hunting license application.

*

After three days, he was out of shuttles and ready for the test.  So he took it:

Q:  What does a youhup look like?  (a) a six-legged canine, (b) a clawed deer, (c) a fifty-kilograms stout ape, (d) a half meter long winged lizard, (e) all of the above, (f) none of the above.

Youhups were one hundred and ten centimeters tall anthropoid bipeds, according to his book, so (c) was the closest answer.

Q:  Youhups are dangerous because:  (a) they eat meat, (b) they attack without provocation, (c) they move in herds, (d) they use tools, (e) all of the above, (f) none of the above.

(e)—No doubts here.

Q:  How smart are youhups?  (a) like an eight-year old child, (b) they have an estimated IQ of 30, (c) they are pretty stupid, (d) not quantified, but very smart, (e) all of the above, (f) none of the above.

Maybe (a), maybe (d).  Try (d).

Q:  How dangerous is it to hunt youhups?  (a) not dangerous at all, (b) somewhat dangerous, (c) deadly at all times, (d) very dangerous during mating season, (e) all of the above, (f) none of the above.

According to the manual he studied, (c) was the answer.

Q:  What weapons are allowed for the hunt?  (a) bow and arrows, (b) electrostatic guns, (c) ray guns, (d) slug guns, (e) all of the above, (f) none of the above.

On this, the manual was repetitive
ad nauseam
:  (f).  Youhups were hunted using traps.  Weapons were forbidden because if the hunter became hunted and lost the battle, youhups would capture the weapon and use it against the next man who showed up.

The test went on and on, for pages.  Obtaining the license required a score of 95% or better.  Nero scored 96%.

He picked up his belongings, some supplies, and a manual to learn how to set traps.  He locked his ceramic gun in the safe of the shuttle and set a course toward the hunting ground.

*

Nero landed the shuttle in a thick forest.  The vehicle was smaller than the tall growth:  once the transponder was shut off, the shuttle would become invisible.  If he was injured nobody would be able to find him and bring help—just like Doka.

Since youhups were smart, they must also be curious:  Nero started setting up traps all around the shuttle.  The knife he bought worked the softwood of the cuepee trees easily.  Cuepee trees made up most of the forest;  they resembled poplars, but were taller and had no bark.  The wood in their trunks grew harder with age, so the tree trunks were soft at the surface and had a hard core.  Branches were the same, on a smaller scale.  Nero used branches, limbs, and chunks of softwood tied with ropes to build his traps.  By sunset he had rigged seven.  Four were rather simple, two were more complex, and one was the next-to-best in his book.

He was physically exhausted from his construction work, and he had gone through the thirty-hour day with no nap.  The evening forest was loud with wild calls and strange noises;  he felt threatened by the clatter, being used to the windy silence of Doka.  His nostrils had taken in all day the local smells with unceasing surprise:  sweet wafts of flowery scents, musty vegetation, decomposing organic remains.  He had mixed feelings about locking himself up in the shuttle for the night, yet he dutifully obliged and immediately fell asleep in his bunk.

He woke up at daybreak, hungry.  Even before breakfast, he opened the hatch and looked outside:  the air smelled musty;  a thin fog was dissipating.  For the first time he heard live the youhup's two-tonal call that had given the animals their name.  The call was the loudest cry that broke the enchantment of dawn wrapped in silver mist.

Air indoors was stale and unpleasant, so he left the hatch ajar.  In the kitchenette, he grilled a bottlefish steak.  He had seen a whole bottlefish on the bench of a merchant and couldn't resist;  he enjoyed playing tourist.  "It's excellent," the merchant had said, "especially if seasoned with my spice mix."

So he bought the weird fish with the stumpy body and elongated snout, plus a few grams of spices.  He would have loved to cook it outside on a bonfire, but that wouldn't be prudent.

Something squeaked behind him.  He turned to catch a glimpse of fur sneaking into the shuttle.  Instantly, he locked the cutlery drawer and grabbed the heaviest pan from among his utensils.  The apron still draped over his clothes, he locked the hatch and set out to chase the intruder.

The living quarters of the shuttle were small with few places to hide, as his guest had found out.  Nero walked past a blind corner and the youhup attacked.  The meter-tall creature jumped him, making up with momentum what it lacked in mass.  They both rolled onto the floor.  Nero hit the youhup with the pan, doing little harm.  On top of him, the youhup reached for Nero's face and tried to pluck his eyes out.  Nero shook his head quickly to make it difficult for the animal to find a grip.  Exploiting his greater reach, he retracted his knee, hitting the buttock of the animal hard.  The youhup careened through the living quarters, banging hard into a structural bulkhead.  The animal tried to stand, confused by the crash.  Nero rose, gripped the pan, ran to the youhup and hit the animal in the head, putting no restraint into his effort.  The youhup went down.  Nero hit it until it stopped moving.