Faring Soul - Science Fiction Romance (17 page)

“Girisha Matsushita, it is good to see
you once more,” Catherine called out.

“Katrina Sheraton! You bless my
household and my presence!” He strode right up to her and held out
his arms.

Catherine leaned down and gave him a
shallow hug. This was the price of doing business, she reminded
herself, although she always wanted to take a shower after dealing
with Matsushita. He was slippery, both physically and mentally.

“Matsushita, I apologize for intruding
upon your household before the appointed day and hour.
Circumstances have arranged themselves in such a way that it is
imperative we conclude our business arrangement now.”

From the edge of her vision, she saw
Brant step around so he could see Matsushita. Lilly stayed where
she was, watching the occupants of the three cars from within
firing range, although her dart gun was hidden under her short
jacket.

Bedivere stepped up to Catherine’s
other side.

Matsushita looked up at him and his
eyes widened. “Ah! So this is the recipient for whom you have gone
to so much trouble.” He studied Bedivere. “You are quite old. I see
why you want to rush this matter. But, let us talk about that
inside and out of this cold wind.”

When they reached the yard beside the
big farmhouse, Matsushita wanted them to come inside to settle
around his household table to eat and drink with him. Catherine
knew it was the polite thing to do, but she refused as
diplomatically as she could. Now that they were so close to
finalizing this business, she just wanted it to be over and done
with.

Matsushita didn’t like her refusal. His
tiny features crimped into a scowl. But he bowed toward her—a sign
of respect that looked odd, for his short and rotund shape did not
bend in the middle. “Everyone is in too much hurry to get to
business these days!” he declared.

“My hurry is not because I shun your
company, Matsushita. The trouble that I spoke of when we met just
now…there’s a chance it might have followed us here.” That was a
flat out lie. Nothing had shown on the sensors. But it would
mollify Matsushita’s pride.

Matsushita’s eyes narrowed as he
considered her. “Come. Come…” He turned toward the big working
sheds on the opposite side of the yard. “To business we must
go.”

They trooped across the yard behind
him, with Brant and Lilly fanning out to the side, gazing around
with indifferent expressions as they assessed the handful of people
lingering in the yard. Catherine had already managed to glance at
each of them at least once. Most of them, from their clothing and
the amount of dirt ground into it, she judged were farmers and
farmhands. The lands around the house and workshops had to be
tended.

But there were two whose clothes were
far too clean and neat. Both of them, a man and a woman, bracketed
the group as they headed for the biggest of the sheds. There was a
very large door that took up the full height of the shed. About
twenty meters high, Catherine guessed. It was almost as wide as it
was high. It had been slid aside by a few meters, to make a
human-size opening.

Matsushita passed through, waving to
one side as he did. There had probably been an active force field
that he had deactivated with the wave to allow them through. The
yard and the buildings around the house would have to look like
working farm buildings, so security would be tight, but
unobtrusive. The first time she had visited, three years ago, she
had been shown into the house itself and they had come to their
arrangement over tea and shortcakes. This would be the first time
she had gained access to any of the sensitive areas.

There was an ion light baffle just
inside the door, shaped in a semi-circle, creating a dimly lit area
that would have two benefits—new arrivals who had gotten past the
force field guarding the door would have to pause to let their
vision adjust. Also, from the outside, the view in through the door
would look appropriately like a working farm shed, dim and dingy
and filled with seasonal machinery. The dirt on the floor and the
smell of old oil and dust added to the impression.

There would be monitors focused on the
dark area, along with scanners and most likely some sort of lethal
weapon, too. Just for emergencies.

Catherine stepped through the barrier,
her skin prickling, into a clean, white, brightly lit room and
looked around as the others passed through and grouped silently
about her.

Matsushita had moved ahead, into
another area hidden behind partial walls that divided the big area
up into working space dedicated to the mysterious functions of his
business.

The air was cool and odorless and the
overall sense was one of cleanliness, even sterility. Matsushita’s
reputation in the black market was excellent for a reason.

No one spoke. The atmosphere and the
quiet sense of industry repressed casual chatter. Catherine was
aware of her own rising tension and deliberately relaxed her
muscles. Quick reactions were slowed by muscles held too
stiffly.

Matsushita reappeared with two
technicians in tow, both of them carrying mobile equipment. “Here,
here, this is the one,” he told them and pointed out Bedivere.

“They need to match your DNA,”
Catherine murmured to him. “To confirm it is your mule.”

Bedivere nodded and stepped
forward.

The taller of the two technicians
picked up his hand and placed it on a flat scanning pad. The pad
hummed. “Thank you,” the technician murmured and stepped back,
giving Bedivere back his hand.

Bedivere shook it and studied the
fingertips. From many scans she’d had herself, Catherine knew his
fingers would be tingling.

Matsushita was standing well to one
side of them, a hand on the countertop there, watching the
technicians. The second one seemed to be simply waiting, the array
of equipment he had brought with him sitting by his hip.

“I must confess, Mr. Sheraton,”
Matsushita said, as the first technician frowned down at the
scanning pad, “that I did wonder if you would produce the
mysterious recipient of the mule, when we first struck our
bargain.”

“I paid you a suitable bonus to work
from a sample, rather than the subject himself, on the
understanding that when the mule was ready, the subject would be
produced,” Catherine reminded him. In fact, the price had been
staggering, but it was the only way the purchase could be made. It
was also the reason she had been forced to use a bootlegger.

The technician staring at the pad
nodded and hurried away.

Matsushita smiled broadly. “Indeed, you
have lived up to your end of the deal completely. Mr. Ayers here
will be able to prep Mr. Bedivere for the transfer—”

“I want to see the mule, first,”
Catherine said.

Matsushita blinked. “That is a most
unusual request,” he said, playing for time.

“We started from an unusual
arrangement,” she reminded him. “DNA samples are not as reliable as
fresh markers. I want to see the mule for myself.”

“Me, too,” Bedivere said quietly.

Brant shifted around from behind
Catherine to stand to her right and just a little in front of her.
It put Matsushita directly opposite him. It wasn’t a hostile move,
but Matsushita would recognize the strategic position.

Matsushita tilted his head. “You aren’t
sterile.”

“The mule is fully formed,” Bedivere
said. “The danger of infection would have passed about six months
ago.”

“Fully formed, yes, but as Mr. Sheraton
pointed out when we met, you have arrived early. It is like
plucking a manolilly before its time.”

“We passed fields of manolillies on our
way here,” Catherine said. “They were all just buds and they were
all performing just fine.”

Matsushita bowed. “You are my customer.
I want only to please you.”

His servility didn’t fool Catherine.
Matsushita wanted his money and she was holding the final
balance.

He waved toward the second technician,
who had been listening to the conversation with placid curiosity.
He had probably witnessed far stranger conversations, working for
Matsushita. He also hurried away behind the wall.

The silence lengthened. Bedivere didn’t
glance at her and no one spoke. She was grateful for their
discretion. Bedivere was playing this perfectly—the wealthy client
with peculiar demands and no patience.

A low humming announced the arrival of
the mule. The sled eased through the gap in the walls and came
toward them, buoyed by suspension fields. The tall technician was
steering it with a hand on the back end. There was an opaque cover
over the top of it.

The sled turned side-on to them and
stopped half a meter away from Bedivere. He stepped forward and
removed the cover and looked down.

Brant drew in a harsh breath, loud and
startling in that white room. Catherine glanced at him. He was
staring down at the sled, the lines on either side of his mouth
deep as he held in his reaction.

Lilly moved closer to look at the sled,
too. “It’s very young,” she observed.

The body on the sled was a duplicate of
Bedivere. They had not tampered with the genetic markers as per
Bedivere’s request. But the mule looked much younger than Bedivere
himself, which was understandable. Bedivere had been holding back
most of the symptoms of passing time with the handful of
rejuvenation therapies that worked on male DNA—the ones that were
available in the fringes. There were others that Catherine had
taught herself to administer, too. But Bedivere was nearly a
hundred years old and despite the off-setting therapies, he looked
like a man in his forties.

The mule had been ripened to the point
where it looked like it was in its twenties. The eyes were closed,
the face was bland and neutral. With no brain functions and no
personality, it had not had a chance to acquire wrinkles from
laughter or frowning. No weather had touched the flesh. There were
no scars, no imperfections from a life lived hard or well.

The hair was several inches long, but
the same golden brown she was used to. The body was covered by a
modesty sheet, but not to hide the nakedness. Various pieces of
equipment would be attached for monitoring, feeding and bodily
functions. To the lay person they could look alarming.

Her gaze moved back to the face. The
mule was perhaps too young for Bedivere’s tastes, but the shortened
timeline meant they couldn’t wait for the full maturation process
to be completed. Besides, time itself would correct the
condition.

Catherine reached into her jacket and
withdrew the portable terminal and punched up her financial screen.
“Bedivere, are you satisfied?”

Bedivere looked down at himself, a
small frown forming. “Yes,” he said distantly.

Catherine nodded. “I’m sending the
final balance to you, Girisha.”

Matsushita clapped his hands together
sharply. “This is very good. My therapists will be able to complete
the transfer within a few hours. You will come to the house and
rest and eat and we will pass time together.”

“I’m afraid that just isn’t going to
happen,” Catherine said, completing the transfer. She put the
terminal away and looked at Matsushita. “We’ll just take the mule
and be on our way.”

Matsushita’s mouth opened wide. So did
his eyes.

Lilly glanced at Catherine,
puzzled.

Brant, thankfully, didn’t move. His
hand was resting on the butt of the gun and his gaze was on
Matsushita and unwavering.

Matsushita recovered from his shock.
“You cannot just
take
the mule. Not without transferring to
it first. That is…that would be….” He swallowed, horror showing in
his eyes.

Catherine nodded in sympathy. Stealing
mules was possibly the most abhorred crime in the galaxy. But this
was different and she had to make everyone see that. “We’ll take
care of the transfer at the appropriate time, Girisha. I’m a good
therapist. Good enough to complete a transfer, which is simple
enough.”

“But…there will be two of him!”
Matsushita cried.

Brant was breathing heavily, but his
concentration hadn’t slipped. His hand was still on his gun, even
if the knuckles were white. This had to be jarring his moral
compass, but Matsushita was doing enough protesting for both of
them.

“This is Bedivere’s mule,” she pointed
out. “He owns the DNA. You just established that for yourself. It’s
not stealing if he wants to take his own mule away.”

“But this is unheard of!” Matsushita
said, throwing his hands up.

Catherine glanced at Brant. He
swallowed and nodded. He was ready. His eyes were troubled but
there wasn’t time to deal with his dilemma. She didn’t reach for
her gun. Not yet.

“Girisha,” she said, pulling the little
man’s attention away from the sled. “It has been pleasurable doing
business with you, but you must understand that we are going to
take the mule with your cooperation or without it. I would rather
have your cooperation.”

Matsushita wrung his hands together.
“But if word ever passes that I allowed two of the same man to
co-exist, that I let a mule pass beyond my control, I would be
ruined. No one would trust me with their DNA anymore.”

“You knew that this was a different
sort of commission when you took the job,” Catherine told him. “You
were happy enough to build a mule from a sample. I could have
gotten that sample anywhere. Why didn’t you protest then? Or did
the amount I was willing to pay you for your cooperation overcome
your objections then?”

“The mule would have stayed under my
control until the transfer,” Matsushita replied. “If you had not
produced the original, I would have destroyed it out of hand. I am
a bootlegger, yes, but this is…it is just
wrong
.”

“You’re going to have to live with an
extra degree of illegality in your life then,” Catherine said. She
looked at Lilly. “Take it and go. As fast as you can. Whatever
happens, you don’t look back and you don’t stop. Get it
aboard.”