Behold a Dark Mirror (9 page)

The Xee Eye chief continued:  "Your Excellence, we shipped a sample to a lab, but could not talk to our contact at all.  Phone and kernel connections to our contractor were severed as soon as the sample was delivered.  All communications were halted for more than twelve hours.  Later we attempted to recover our material, but we failed.  We are now pursuing recovery by other means.  Your Excellence, nobody but ConSEnt could carry out such a sabotage.  Yet, we have no proof.  Timing was perfect—they must have tapped the line waiting for the exact moment to act.  They knew what we were up to."

"Galt, by which 'other means' are you trying to recover your materials?"  She said, looking at his reflection in the window's glass, fury in her voice barely controlled.

"We kidnapped our contact's girlfriend, Your Excellence.  He's very attached to her.  If he still has the results we seek, we'll have them soon."

She turned on her heels, arms akimbo.  Ayin gazed at Galt like a panther stalking dinner but having second thoughts.  She said:  "Are you telling me that you hope your contact can thwart ConSEnt better than we can?  Are you trying to say that the poor bastard is our best bet in this damn high-stakes investigation?  You... Ah!  I'll do the human gene pool a favor and use your tanned balls for paperweights before this year is over.  Get out of here."

"I assure you that—"

"Out!"

Galt turned and left her office without another word.  Ayin paced for a minute, stopped at the wet bar, picked up a crystal tumbler and poured herself some water.  She climbed a tall stool, elbows resting on the countertop, and sipped.

She returned to her chair and pushed a red button under her desk.  The video jig came to life with a beep:  "Please provide your access code within fifteen seconds." 
Beep
.  "Fourteen." 
Beep
.  Ayin gave her identification sequence.  A severe face filled the video:  Its creased forehead and cheeks betrayed old age, yet flaming eyes and the curve of thin lips showed exuberant willpower, enough of it to fill a uniform where an old body would leave soft pouches;  enough to taint an old man’s judgment.  "Hello, Ayin," the face said.  "I was waiting for your call."

"Sir, the news about Virgil isn't what we hoped.  There's no progress towards a solution, and we've had complications.  In my opinion, however, we should still proceed and start recruiting the full complement of labor regardless of these impediments."

The Chairman pursed his lips.  "I appreciate your advice.  The Tower needs Virgil;  we can't stall any longer.  Do you know whether ConSEnt is behind our problems once more?"

"Not for certain, sir, but it's a strong possibility."

"They're nibbling at our toes, Ayin.  Our power base needs confirmation, or we'll be taken over.  The next board meeting is due soon, and approval of the plan for Virgil should be a formality.  Make preparations for your campaign."

"Yes, sir."  The jig shut down at the other end before she was done with her assent.  Ayin collapsed in her chair, grinning at the ceiling.  Tonight, state business or not, she was taking time off.  Time to have some fun.

*

Eugene Galt strode through the paneled corridors to the framepost hall.  The sooner he got out, the better he'd feel.  The bitch was tough.  After crossing the framepost to Xee Eye headquarters, he set off for his office.  There, he locked himself in and poured a strong drink.

He plopped into his antique task chair, which complained with a few squeaks.  His feet on the desk, sipping his liquor, Eugene closed his eyes for a while;  the situation, he considered, was complex.  When the glass dried up, Galt reopened his eyes and contemplated the portrait of a lady on the opposite wall, caressing the fearful undertones of the Flemish original.  That painting—the best piece of his collection—cost him a small fortune.  Good art was unaffordable.

Ayin was a bitch, and there was nothing he could do about it.  He'd have to try and recover that sample and the results.  Tom Bruxvoort was the man on the job.  Good agent;  maybe too rough at times.  Tom said he was going to get their contact back on line.  Good.  He'd like to talk some sense into the guy—what was his name?  Ah, Dorato, yes, Jenus Dorato.

On the other hand, there was an opportunity for adding another good piece to his stash.  A minor original from a master of the early Italian Renaissance was due on the auction block in a few months.

He wanted that painting.  Lust kept him awake at night.  He could imagine the hands drawing images on the wood tablet now centuries old, filling the shapes with hand-made dyes and precious brushes.  He could see the stony walls of the room where the painting sat while it was worked on,  smell the smoke and the ash of the fireplace in the cold air of that room;  see the landscapes of post-medieval Italy from its window.  He could
feel
the history of the artwork, and the magic of a world on the brink of renewal in its shapes and colors and rich imagery, the golden tones, the deep reds, the sparkling yellows of that painting.

He wanted it.  His money was almost sufficient for a credible bid.  Almost—and now, Ayin was on his tail.  Eugene gave himself six months more with the Tower if he could recover the sample—or just one if he could not.  He had to stay with the Tower a while longer.  Once he left for ConSEnt, the goose with the golden eggs would be dead forever.

Eugene rose from his chair and waved at the Flemish portrait, walking out of his office to the lobby, telling his secretary to take messages—no, he didn’t know when he'd be back.  He made a call from a public booth, then dispatched himself to a luxurious restaurant, ordering white wine, caviar, crackers, and a private table.  And yes, he was waiting for a friend, please show him to his table when he arrived.

He was still chewing when his guest arrived, so he had to suspend his pleasure.  The stocky visitor accommodated himself in the damask-upholstered booth.

"Why did you call me?"

"I've a problem.  I need to know all you can tell me about the sample."

"You've been paid to keep away from that information."

"I can deliver even more interesting facts, but I
must
stay on board a while longer.  To stay on, I need some results," Galt said.

"What's the problem?"

"Influential officials are very displeased with my investigation."  He smirked:  "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

"What do you want to know?"

"The sample.  Tell me about the analysis."

"No."

Galt's heart sank. "Oh."

"Is this all?  If so, good-bye."  The visitor moved away.

"No!  Please wait."

"Speak."

"Anything.  Tell me anything you can about Dorato.  Help me buy time.  Please—you know I can be of service to you again."

"We failed to get rid of him."

"You want him dead.  What did he do?"  Galt said.

"Nothing—he just knows too much."

"What is there in that sample?  No.  Sorry, I didn't mean to ask.  Go ahead, tell me what you can."

"We failed, for one reason or another.  I guess he’s tougher than we thought.  We pinned him down in Southeast Asia.  Dorato is either very skillful or very lucky, and now he's on the run."

"Where is he?"

"He was back recently;  we’re still trying to trace him.  By the way, tell me about the mess at the lab."

"My man overdid it.  I understand there was a corpse left on the premises.  I had told him to scare the bastard;  it got out of hand," Galt said.

"You shouldn't have let your people search the lab.  They might have found information."

"I shouldn't have.  But I have to cover my back—there's a limit to how far I can push."

"I understand.  When we found out that the lab was searched, however, we disabled its frames.  Just a precaution."

"I hear you," Galt said.  "I need just enough to be helpful a while longer.  My cover will break soon."

"How soon?"

"Weeks.  Maybe a few months at best."

"Too bad.  You're a good source."

"I know.  I'll need your help afterwards."

"We'll see to that when we come to it."  The man stood up and walked away.

Galt nibbled at the remains of his food, and played with the wine goblet.  He was holding Dorato's girlfriend on behalf of the Tower, yes, but mostly for himself.  He'd have Dorato, too, soon enough—and he would get from him what he wanted.  Dorato was as slippery as an oiled fish.  Damn chemist.  Galt almost wished Dorato was dead already;  he loathed murder, it demonstrated such poor taste.

CHAPTER 9

Kebe was shivering after three steps out of the trailer:  Doka was cold beyond her worst imagination.  "Where is the garage?"  She mumbled, draping a blanket over her shoulders.  "Nero, what happened to you?"

Kebe's voice mixed with the crunch of her steps on the walkway and the steady howl of the wind.  Eerie gloweed light, too dim to show Cheshires on the prowl, shrouded Hi.

"Here I am, Lord.  Of all your creatures, a wretched one," Kebe said.  "I'm casting my lot with the dream a monster left in my head after trying to kill me.

"I don't doubt your wisdom, Lord, but I doubt my ways alright. If anything happens to Nero, I'll be trapped in this wasteland."

She struggled to control panic.  "Hell that was just a dream!  I bet Nero is OK, this is a dream, the lousy fuzz-ball didn't like me—that's all.  If not, I still..."

A road sign appeared in front of her;  many arrows indicated
Garage
,
Workshops
,
Pits
, a cluster of other destinations.  Kebe began coughing from inhaling air too cold for her lungs.

"Garage, that's where I want to be.  Isn't it?"  she said, puffs condensing from her mouth.  "Where else would the tractor be?"  She trotted to warm up, breathing shallow.

A boxy building appeared in the crepuscular luminescence.  Kebe slowed to a walk;  soon she reached a wall, felt her way to a door.  She tried the handle:  unlocked!  When into the building she tripped a switch.  Cold yellow light flooded a vast emptiness;  in its center towered a gigantic vehicle mounted on tracks.

She climbed the ladder to the driver's cabin, the rungs cold even unto pain.  Inside she focused on the main controls and studied them.  After disengaging the hydraulic clutch, she pressed the start button:  the big machine whined to life, its noise muffled by the airtight cabin.

"Have wheels, well, tracks rather, now I need a way out," Kebe said.

She climbed down.  The tractor's wail was growing louder, its pitch higher and higher.  If Nero was injured, the goose bumps on her forearms said, he might suffer hypothermia soon.

The lock on the big door was remote-controlled.  Where would she put the activator?  The walls nearby were barren.  She searched behind a clatter of hardware:  nothing.  The tractor was ready, now barely humming—the low, pleasing noise was an understated hint of the power it concealed.

Any solution was good:  She needed out.  Kebe ran to the door, tapped it and banged her fists on it—just weather protection.  She looked at the tractor.

Climbing up, the metal of the ladder's handrail was sticking to her hands, lancing her knuckles and fingers with stabs of ice.  In the cabin she sat in the driver's chair, took another look around. 

"Here it is—where else?"

Kebe pushed
Open
on the remote.  The door swung.  She engaged the drive, and the flywheels began launching the tractor ahead.  The headlights flicked on and—jubilation!—she found the heater.  The main motors purred, the tractor picked up speed.

"Look at this," she said.

The vehicle was equipped with radar, ultrasonic scanner, UV and infrared imaging systems, and a ridiculous array of telecommunication devices.  The heater, set on
max
, had already turned the cabin into a torrid enclosure.

"Good stuff!"  She giggled in her newfound comfort.  The tractor was clanking along, unstoppable.  Wind and cold were gone, replaced by the next goal:  finding Nero.

"Look for the lights, he can't work in the dark.  But where?"  The hauling road became straight, broad, brainlessly immense.  The tractor plodded along.  Warm and cozy, now  her chills were for Nero:  outside, the temperature had dropped two more degrees.  Her eyes strained, piercing through darkness for a glimpse of light—or of a Cheshire.

Kebe grabbed the mike:  "Nero, this is Kebe.  I am coming from Hi to the mine pit riding the thoroughfare.  If you can, show me where you are.  Over."

Again.  And again:  still no answer.  A light came into sight, a far pinprick in the darkness, too faint even to tell its color.  Her heart started to race.  She pushed the throttle:  the speedometer rose, the efficiency monitor crashed from 88% to below 40%.  But the fuel cells were full;  and the light was growing.  A smaller speck of red also appeared.

"Tail lights!"

After the travel time to the red lights Kebe parked the tractor next to the cart, leaving it idling.  She opened the cabin door—the wind grabbed it and slammed it;  its chilling violence made the bite on her skin even more intense after the comfort of the tractor.  Kebe was shivering before she reached the bottom of the ladder.  Walking by the cart, she could imagine the discomfort of riding the open vehicle through the night wind.

"You're still a kid when you get excited, Nero—the kid you never were," she said.  The first-aid suitcase from the tractor kicked against her thigh, its strap catching the holster of her gun.  She pulled her weapon and called from outside:

"Nero!  Are you here?"

Her hair felt weird.  She turned in panic, her weapon ready to fire:  A blue Cheshire stood before her eyes, three meters away.  Her gun went off, a broken shriek from her throat accompanying its discharge.  The Cheshire flicked sideways.  Kebe engaged in a shooting delirium, each burst from her weapon anticipated by the creature.  The Cheshire shortly disappeared, leaving behind the scorch marks from Kebe's missed shots.

She waffled, hesitating at the door, panting and puffing in the frigid air, her heart racing.  Like a cliff diver taking the highest jump ever, she stormed into the building.

Kebe's nimble frame, legs spread for equilibrium, shook from the cold, her teeth chattering.  Her eyes scanned the empty hangar, darting from side to side as she swung her gun to and fro in broad sweeps, searching for targets.  The trigger finger flexed a hair away from firing.

"Nero, where are you?"  she yelled.  Echoes answered her call, waving in ripples across the deserted building.  Nothing moved.