Behold a Dark Mirror (19 page)

Tissa tilted the corners of his lips in a devilish smile.  Sitting on the comfortable couch in
Regalia's
saloon he fanned a deck of microfiches—copies of the longhand scanned into the beacon, courtesy of the beacon's masters.

*

The phone in Tissa's luxurious office rang.

"A call on the red line, sir."

"Very well, Hanna.  I'm ready."

The receiver snowed, then a face without expression, without character, appeared in mid-air.  An artificial voice spoke.

"Seeo D'Souza, do you know who I am?"

"I imagine I am speaking with the person to whom I sent a small package yesterday."

"Do you know why I am calling you?"

"I imagine this is about a beacon message recorded in a nodule, and a deck of microfiches."

"You're a clever man, Seeo.  What is your purpose?"

"Negotiation."

"Why do you think I would negotiate?"

"Because you called.  Because you think I know something that you don't that may be advantageous for you to know."

"The beacon is far away, Seeo.  We want that beacon stopped.  Do you know how to stop it?"

"I can help you stop it.  I cannot stop it by myself."

"I know that you habitually use the framepost on your company's yacht.  You used it very recently.  I deduce that the yacht is not far from the beacon.  Why would I negotiate with you when I can seize that framepost?"

"Because I'm reasonable, and because I have other copies of the beacon's message.  It's not my intention to publish them:  I don't wish for chaos—unless you force me to.  By letting the unavoidable happen, allowing the message to crawl towards Earth, I can give you the time you need to prepare.  Last but not least, seizing control of a framepost would be a tragedy for your public relations.  You've never done it before;  why start now?  It'd give credibility to...  Well, you know."

"What do you want?"

"I want to become your second in command."

The anonymous face laughed briefly.  "I don't have a second in command.  But I have a few lieutenants.  I can put you in charge of damage control as another of them.  You can see how it would work to our mutual advantage."

"Yes.  I know about the beacon's message.  I know who knows about it, and the fewer, the better.  However, this is less than what I expected."

"It isn't.  You'd report to me directly.  You'd have a lot of freedom of action.  And a
lot
of resources—your company's gross sales are the rounding errors of our profits."

"Tempting.  Can I think about it?"

"No.  It's yes or no, now. "

"Ah...  Then I accept."

"Good.  Your loyalty is mine, effective immediately.  You have some time to settle the details, then you'll report to me as soon as possible, before I feel the need to call you again."

"Yes, sir."

"Where's the yacht?"

"Planetside on Doka."

"Excellent.  There's a shipnet station on Doka.  I will reactivate it and proceed to take the beacon.  I will have three technicians ready to go in four hours.  As far as they know, they will be awakening yet another way station.  They will teleframe to your yacht.  You will make any necessary arrangement to help them in their mission, and to maintain confidentiality."

"Yes, sir."  His new boss hung up.

Tissa activated the intercom:  "Hanna?"

"Yes, Seeo?"

"Please page Matthews.  I need to see him."  Stepping down was unprecedented.  He read once more the letter of resignation he had written for the board of directors.

“My family served Hades and Company for many generations;  however, I am now stepping down from my position as chief executive officer.  The opportunity of service that Hades and Company has offered me, my ancestors before me, and my children is invaluable.  All my children are contributing to the welfare of our cherished corporation, and will continue to do so.  I must announce I have not informed them of my choice, which will be a surprise to them as it is to you.  It is not discontent that moves me to leave.  On the contrary, it is a sense of appeasement that drives me.  I don't know what the future holds, but I feel compelled to unveil its secrets from a different perspective.

I recommend to this Board my successor in the person of Mikis Stefanopulos, whose help, vision and wisdom has proven invaluable on many occasions.  I dare to suggest that, if this board has been pleased with my service, this Board may consider celebrating my gratitude and departure by granting me
Regalia
as a farewell gift, that I may carry Hades and Company in my new quest as I will carry it in my heart forever. 
Regalia
is key to the voyage of exploration and discovery that I intend to undertake in the immediate future...”

Someone knocked, the door opened:  "Seeo, sir!"

"Ah, Matthews, very good.  How was your leave?"

"Fine, sir!"

"It's through, isn't it?"

"Just about, sir!"

"Would you mind donning your colors right away and bring my compliments to Captain Roxi?  Please let him know verbatim to make ready to receive a few visitors and accommodate all their needs on a need-to-know basis."

"Aye aye, Seeo sir!"

"Thank you Matthews."

*

The Board interview, that same afternoon, was long.  But Tissa was glib, and suave, and at last the happy owner of
Regalia
.

Part III: Agitato

Freedom without moral restraints breeds slaves.  Never confuse freedom and license; and run from those that trade freedom for the latter.

Mama Mara.

CHAPTER 18

Nero spent a few days on Borodin for fun.  He read, practiced his meditation, slept, enjoyed music at the library, went fishing, and nursed licorice teas while watching people walk by in the sunshine.  He was sitting at a shared outdoor table when a lanky stranger pulled up a chair and sat with him.  When the waiter arrived, the man ordered "the same he's drinking."  His hair was short, the creases on his tanned face deep, his nose thin and sharp.

"Hello," he said to Nero.

Nero nodded.  The stranger pulled his chair closer.  "Nice chicks you're looking at," he said, nodding at the passers-by.  "Would you care for some company?"

Nero looked over his shoulders, checking if the stranger might mean someone else.

"Are you talking to me?"  Nero said.

"Yeah.  Aren't you Frank Goldsmith?"

"Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry," the stranger stretched out his hand. "My name is Joe."

Nero ignored the hand:  "What's this about?"

The stranger pulled back his hand and sipped his drink.  "I'm a businessman.  I'm marketing my business.  Do you want some company?  I was told you were alone; you haven't had any guests in your room."

"So?"

The stranger shrugged.  "I guessed you might like company.  You seem to like watching women.  I can arrange anything—men too, if you prefer."

"Nah," Nero answered, waving him away.

"Are you certain? I cater to all tastes.  Maybe you're after something exotic."

Nero stared at him.

"Well," the stranger continued, pulling a marble from his pocket, "This is my business card," he gave it to Nero.  "Call if you ever change your mind."  He picked up his tab and left.

The marble looked like a flash holograph, only it was larger, heavier than those he'd seen on Earth;  a cheap copy manufactured locally, Nero concluded.

He tossed the device from hand to hand a few times.

Nero thought of throwing it away, but he changed his mind and put it in his pocket.  He called the waiter.

"May I bring you another of the same, sir?"

"Who was the man who just left?"

"Him?"  The young waiter looked at the back of the disappearing stranger.  "I think I saw him here a few nights ago.  I'm not sure, he's not a regular."

Nero shook the coins in his pocket, picked a heavy one, looked at it, and at the waiter.

"I overheard a conversation," the waiter said, watching the coin. "Very strange—that's why I remembered him.  He was talking about a revolution starting soon;  very strange."

Nero gave him the coin.  "Is he a pimp?"

The waiter looked at Nero.  "Are you a cop?"

Nero shook his head.  "He offered me company.  I want to know if I’m being taken."

"If he is, sir, he doesn't work around here often."

"Thanks."  He gave another coin to the waiter and left.

Bye bye, Borodin.  I'm leaving now, without going back to the hotel,
Nero thought.  He walked across a lawn lined with flower beds that sparkled with the colors of the rainbow. 
No, I'm not!  I shouldn't—Kebe warned me.  Joe called me Goldsmith.  Maybe he—they don't know who I am:  they would have already settled the issue.

The mid-afternoon sun was still bright, the air tepid.  A breeze carried the scent of flowers;  the smell of food wafted from a nearby eatery.  Conversation noises and occasional laughter sprang up from bar patios and small clusters of bystanders.

I'll take a shower and check out the business card.

Nero strode to the hotel, trying not to hurry.  He entered his room and locked the door.  After peeking under the bed and in the bathroom to check that there wasn't anyone hiding, he put the marble on the dresser and pressed it.  A quarter-sized hologram of a sitting older man appeared.

The older man started talking.  "I'm pleased to have this opportunity to address you.  I'm sure we can do business.  Whatever your wishes, whatever your conditions, let's talk."  The image shifted to that of the uplink dish on Doka.

Nero stopped breathing.

"What the future will bring," the voice continued as the image panned to the sky above the antenna, "has already begun. But the future won't last long.  So let's enjoy the moment."  The old man reappeared.  "Our mutual interests may be more alike than you imagine.  I'm sure that quality company is as important to you as it is to us."  The old man was replaced by a still picture of a tall lady wearing a black evening dress.

Nero’s blood froze:  "Margo."

"We can grant any wish, any desire of yours."  The old man reappeared.  "And we can find you anywhere.  My associate will be available at the place where you received this message.  Call on him:  You won't be disappointed."

The hologram disappeared.  Nero stared at the air where the image had been, then restarted the projection.

When it was over, he stood up and paced the room.  "They made it to Doka," he said, throwing his hands in the air.  "How on earth?  They know who I am!  What did I do?  What did I do wrong?  Oh, Kebe, how I failed you."  Immediately he put a hand over his mouth: 
what if the room is bugged?  And what if...
  He restarted the holograph. 

It's just a pitch!
  He thought.  Opening the door, he looked left and right;  he closed and locked it, then sat on the bed. 
If the room had been bugged, they’d be here;  be bold, Nero.

Walking back to the bar gave Nero a chance to shake off the grip of fear.  He had not categorically refused the offer from Joe;  he could have indeed changed his mind.  So he sat and waited.  Joe showed up.

"Did you change your mind about company?"  Joe said.

"I did.  I am, well, let's say particular in my taste—and I liked your pitch:  That lady in black was stunning."  Nero could not stop his heart from racing. 

"You recognize class, Mr. Goldsmith, don't you?"

Nero leaned forward.  "Can you find me someone like her?  I'm prepared to pay, but I want a very pliant lady."  Nero grinned;  this set-up could be funny, were it not so painful.

"I will have to check, yes.  You see, I can't remember everything by heart, of course.  But, yes, I'm sure we can fix what you want, and it will be reasonable, of course, very reasonable, yes.  Can we meet in a couple of hours?"

"No.  Just send me the lady," Nero said.

"Sure, sure, OK, where?"

"My room.  You seem to know where I’m staying."

"Yes, of course."  Joe stood up and left.

Nero finished his drink before getting up. "Bondage, sodomy, and leather lingerie," he said aloud as he left.  The young waiter looked at him and nodded approvingly.

At the hotel, Nero waited in the hallway for the hooker, hiding in a dark cranny outside of his room:  Expecting some trick, he didn't want to be caught inside.  At last he heard high-heeled footsteps on the tiles;  as he peeked, a tall figure knocked at his door.  Nero jumped, grabbed the woman at the waist, gagging her mouth while applying a lock to her neck.  He pushed her into the room—the door, which he had left unlatched, yielded under his pressure.  Inside the room, he let her go.

She jumped away, turning to face him.  "Hello," she said under her breath, rubbing her neck.  "I was told you'd be exotic, but this is one
hot
introduction!"

Nero stared at her:  She was an exact copy of the picture of Margo in the hologram.  "You are... beautiful."

"Thank you," she said.

Her voice was too nasal, too high-pitched.  Otherwise, she might have been Margo's twin.  Maybe she was.  Nero stretched out a trembling hand to touch her;  she accepted the caress in silence, and led his hand to the shoulder strap of her dress.

The rest of the experience was unsettling.  If he opened his eyes, he saw Margo, but Margo she wasn't—that was certain.

"Nero, oh, Nero!"  once she moaned.

"Who is Nero?"  he said, without need to feign anger.

She ignored him, putting if possible an even greater zeal into her business.  Nero pursued her fiercely, exacting his mechanical revenge from the illusion she pandered, from the vain resemblance between the woman he had loved and a biological machine of no consequence to him.

When her professional obligation was fulfilled, she left.  Nero's duty to protect his own cover was also fulfilled.  Yet the shower he took was too hot and the scrubbing too hard.  Before lying down, he stripped the bedsheets.  He lay down on the blanket, unable to stop turning.  He sat up in the dark yelling,  "Nero, oh, Nero!"  He felt for the marble on the night stand, picked it up and threw it at the mirror.  The glass shattered.  Nero cupped his face in his hands and wept, and the marble, activated on impact, starter projecting its holographic pitch.

He got up, turned the light on, tossed the projector in a drawer to shut it up, brewed one of the remaining licorice bags and sipped, blowing on the steaming cup.  On one hand, Nero knew he was being observed;  Kebe was right.  On the other, ConSEnt didn't have much to go by.

Thank heavens for the faceshift Kebe had given him.  But how could he escape?  Somebody at ConSEnt would soon investigate Frank Goldsmith’s background—how could he disappear so well as to make the problem of tracing him intractable?

What if he went to Earth?  Traffic was enormous, but ConSEnt kept careful records.  If he switched identity at a transfer station, a crosscheck would give him away immediately:  John Doe arrived, but never left.  Jimmy Doe left, but never arrived.  Thus John Doe and Jimmy Doe must be the same person.

There has to be a way out.

His cup of imported licorice steamed peacefully.

...of course there is.

*

He left Borodin as Frank Goldsmith, teleframing to the Hong Kong interchange, the busiest interplanetary kernel ever.  From there he moved on to Europe, where a Caucasian could hide more easily.