Reunion (2 page)

At first it had been nothing more than a diversion, a game, a way to play with his disorienting intellect. Until recently, when he had been forced to use it to defend himself, it had not occurred to him that it might prove useful in other ways. And there was, as ever with his peculiar and still-undefined abilities, a good chance it would not work when he wanted it to. His talent had a wicked way of abandoning him just when he needed it most.

Such concerns had consumed him in the course of the tour of the Shell hub at Surire. In addition to viewing various aspects of the facility, the contented knot of tourists to which he had attached himself had been introduced to individual personnel at various stops along the tour. Maintenance, engineering, cryonics design, communications, cygenics—representatives of each department had paused in their daily duties to speak briefly to the members of the tour on the nature of their respective specialties.

Security had not been omitted.

In her spotless black-and-yellow uniform, Elena Carolles had methodically and without revealing sensitive detail explained the basics of the installation’s security system to her attentive, transient guests. When she had finished, the visitors were allowed several moments to inspect for themselves a sealed room located beyond the nearest transparent immunity wall. Flinx did not avail himself of the opportunity. Instead, with deliberation and a sense of purpose that were as alien to his personality as he was to his present surroundings, he had wandered away from the chattering tour guide and over to their host for that domain. To her credit, she had not flinched away from the pet minidrag dozing on his shoulder. Instead, she had eyed them both with polite indifference. Her mind had been elsewhere, and it had been closed to him.

But her emotions had not been.

She was only a few years older than he and was vulnerable, mildly insecure, and like many women her age, searching. Not for her inner self as much as for someone to complement her existence. He’d been able to feel it. Whether there already was someone in her life he did not know and had not been able to tell. He hoped not. It would complicate matters. Soaking up her feelings, he had categorized them each and every one, sorting them like cards. When he had felt he knew as much as there was to know about her emotional makeup, when he had been reasonably certain he knew where the buttons were and how to push them, he had extended himself in an effort of empathy to a degree he had never attempted before. It had made his head hurt, but he had persisted.

On his shoulder, Pip had suddenly looked up. The lethal little iridescent green head had begun to weave imperceptibly back and forth. Responding to the effort being put forth by her friend and companion, the minidrag’s own mind had opened. Having few and simple emotions of its own, the unique and uncomplicated organ acted as a lens for Flinx’s talent. She could enhance his ability to perceive. He had learned then that she could also heighten his capacity to project something less blatant than fear.

The security officer had blinked. A look of uncertainty tinged with surprise had palpated her face. Her expression had noticeably altered; she had stood as if struck by a sudden thought—or something else. A moment had passed before she turned to find a slim, green-eyed young man staring back at her. Flinx had smiled with just the proper degree of hesitancy. Though he had never enjoyed anything like a long-term relationship with any female except his adoptive parent Mother Mastiff, he
had
spent time in close contact with women—and other aliens. Lauren Walder, for example. Atha Moon, Isili Hasboga, Clarity Held—he dragged his thoughts back to the moment and away from entangling, fuzzy reminiscences. The officer’s expression creased with invitation.

As the tour moved on, he had held back. Though his dawdling violated accepted procedure, the woman had not objected to his lingering presence. Her name, he had learned, was Elena Carolles. Each time he had spoken, his words had been accompanied by a subtle emotional push, conveyed through a carefully calculated mental pulse. Each time she had responded, a part of him had absorbed what she was feeling much as his ears took in what she was saying. It was an awkward seduction made harder by the dispatch with which it had to be carried out and by the fact that he had hated what he was doing. Not long ago, he had been compelled to project overwhelming terror in order to secure his freedom. What he had attempted with the security officer required greater subtlety applied with moderating force, lest he overwhelm his subject.

He had not tried to persuade her right then and there to allow him access to sensitive, security-controlled sections of the facility. The queries he needed to make were not yet thought out, and such haste would have caused the mentally swooning woman to react with dangerous instability. Besides, the guide for his tour would certainly have missed him the next time the man conducted a head count of his charges. It was enough that a relationship had been established and that she had agreed to meet him elsewhere and elsewhen. He had made careful note of the directions she gave him.

Now he fought to recall every potentially useful detail of their initial meeting as he swerved away from the water and walked toward the artfully orchestrated pile of boulders she had described to him in the course of their first contact. He experienced a moment or two of unease as he searched among the beach crowd without locating her face. Then he saw her, seated beneath a polarizing sunshade. He had not recognized her right away with her clothes off. Annoyingly, she was not alone.

The other woman appeared to be approximately the same age, perhaps a year or two older. Neither was unpleasant to look upon, but Flinx had not extended himself on her behalf in search of sex. What he wanted from her was an entrée to information.

“Philip!” Espying him, Carolles sat up and smiled. “Arlette, this is my new friend, Philip Lynx.”

The other woman regarded the unclothed young man standing before her with a critical eye. Sensing hostility beneath her neutral expression, Flinx summoned up feelings of inoffensiveness, safety, and goodwill, and strained to project them onto her. For a worrisome moment he feared his wandering talent had taken the morning off. Then the woman smiled. It was a confused smile, as if its owner was uncertain of its origins, but it would do.

Taking a seat beside them, he let Carolles chatter on, making small talk while striving to convince the woman who was apparently her best friend of this new-won male’s virtues. Though these were more imagined than factual, he did nothing to dissuade her from accepting them whole and entire. Pip stirred infrequently on his shoulder, luxuriating in the heat. Beyond the surf, all manner of recreational watercraft hummed silently as their owners raced them in intricate patterns.

Occasionally he would inject a few words into the conversation. These were always pleasant and innocuous, just enough to feign interest in what was being said and indicate that he was paying attention. Inside, he chafed at the need to muddle through such preliminaries. They were necessary, he knew, if only to persuade the security officer’s friend of his benign intentions. Over the course of several hours this was accomplished through a combination of reassuring words from Carolles and a subtle empathetic push or two from the young man seated by her side. When the friend inquired as to his profession, he responded that he was a student living on a comfortable inheritance.

They went for a swim. They bought food from a passing, hovering robotic vendor. They discussed Commonwealth politics, about which Flinx cared little, and Church ethics, which interested him a little more. There was mention of travel, all of it Earth-bound, and he had to smile when they complained about the time and distances involved in getting from one place to another. His own voyaging he was used to measuring in parsecs, not kilometers.

It was a pleasant enough way to waste away a day, but his impatience prevented him from really enjoying the company of the two attractive young women. When Carolles’s friend Arlette decided to go for a solar sail up the beach, Flinx was left alone with the security officer. It was time to make his move—one different from that which would in similar circumstances have been contemplated by any other male on the long, curving stretch of sand.

Idly, he picked at the grains, letting stars of mica and quartz trickle away between his fingers. “You must really like your job, Elena.”

Lying on her back, she adjusted the sunscreen to let in more light and sky while continuing to filter out damaging rays. “It’s a job. It’s okay, I guess.”

“A lot of responsibility.” Slithering down his arm, Pip sampled the sand with her pointed tongue and flinched back sharply from its inedibility.

“Not so much,” she disagreed. “We’ve never had any trouble at the facility. It’s too out of the way. Anyway, sabotage and rebellion hasn’t been in fashion for quite a while.” Rolling over, she smiled affectionately up at him. Knowing that the source of the emotion she was projecting was involuntary, he felt the sudden need of absolution.

Grimly, he pressed on, a forced smile dominating his expression. “Well, I found it very interesting. The only problem is, I’d really like to see more. The public tour only hints at what lies beyond.” Glancing up the beach, he was pleased to see that there was no sign of her friend.

“You’re that interested in the mechanics of Shell administration?”

“I’m interested in everything,” he told her truthfully. “It would mean a lot to me to be able to go inside, even if just for an hour or so.”

Her smile flickered unsteadily. Sensing conflict boiling up within her, he exerted himself to suppress it. Pip twitched slightly. Elena’s smile returned, though there were some signs of strain in her expression.

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that, Philip. It could mean my job.”

His smile widened. “Aw, c’mon, Elena. I just want to have a little look around, see what you see. Access the Shell directly instead of from a remote for a few minutes. I’d be able to tell my grandkids about it. I won’t touch anything sensitive,” he lied flagrantly. He made himself edge nearer to her, bringing his face down toward hers. The dark eyes, the small mouth beneath him were close, vulnerable. Hating himself, he kissed her. Simultaneously, reading her like an open diary, he projected into her that which she most wanted to feel. What emotional defenses she still maintained collapsed beneath his effort. The back of his head throbbed mercilessly. He wanted to leave then, to stagger off to someplace private and dark, and retch.

Still smiling, he drew back from her. She was adrift in the throes of feelings she did not understand. That made sense, since they were not entirely hers.

“You can do it, Elena,” he whispered tenderly. “It’s such a little thing, and I promise I’ll never ask it of you again.” That much, at least, was true. “You can do it—for me.”

Panting, her eyes half closed in false reverie, lids fluttering, she considered his request. “It might be possible—won’t be easy.” Her eyes flicked open. “I know! No one is allowed to wear security gear home, or even off hub grounds. We change in a locker room on site. If I can slip you in there, we can find you a uniform. There are always personnel changes, and transfers within the complex. It’s much too big a place for every employee to know everyone else, even within individual departments. Over a period of days you’d be found out, but for a couple of hours—” She choked abruptly, one hand going to her bare throat.

Alarmed, he reached for her. “Elena! Are you all right?”

She swallowed hard several times in succession. “I think so. I guess so.” Uncertainty returned to her smile, pulling at it like a bend in a high-speed thrill ride. “I just had the strangest feeling.” The smile widened. “It’s gone now.”

It wasn’t, Flinx knew, but it had been curbed. “I’d like to do it as soon as possible.”

“Why the rush?” She gazed up at him out of limpid, dazed eyes.

“I don’t want to give you time to change your mind.” Reaching up, he stroked Pip’s muscular length, and the minidrag all but purred. “Who knows? Next week you might not like me as much.”

“Philip, you’re different from anyone I’ve ever met.” Wandering toward him, her fingers twined in his. “I can’t imagine ever not liking you.”

That’s funny, he thought silently. I can.

Chapter 2

She found room for him on an afternoon tour, but did not include him in the official count. Near the end, before the usual group of attentive seniors and noisy families and the occasional solo visitor were to be discharged, there came a moment when everyone’s attention was diverted. Waiting impatiently while a door scanner read her retinas, she hurriedly slipped him through the resultant opening. No alarms sounded. As long as an on-duty officer accompanied them, guests from specialist repair technicians to visiting politicians regularly made use of such portals.

While Elena made her concluding presentation and individual farewells to the other members of the tour group, Flinx found himself in the empty locker room, checking idents on each individual cubicle until he found the one she had specified. Entering the unsecured module, he found himself surrounded by items that identified it as hers. Electrostatically suspended in a corner was a tenantless security officer’s uniform. As he slipped into the one-piece garment he found himself wondering how she had acquired it. Borrowed it without asking, she had whispered naughtily to him, without going into details.

These did not really matter. He was
inside.
Idly examining the other items within the cubicle, he tried not to watch the time as he waited for her. Beneath the upper part of the uniform, Pip stirred against his shoulder. She sensed his nervousness, and he had to repeatedly murmur soothing whispers to quiet her.

After what seemed like an interminable wait but in reality was no more than a few minutes, Elena reappeared and beckoned for him to follow. Exiting the locker room via a different portal, he soon found himself within the heart of the Surire hub.

“Remember,” she whispered to him, “if anyone challenges us, leave the talking to me. If someone addresses you directly, tell them that you’re a transfer from Fourth Sector. There’ve been a lot of personnel changes there recently.”

He nodded, only half hearing her. The greater part of his attention was devoted to the facilities they were passing, from small privacy-screened offices to larger chambers occupied by busy, silent technicians wearing identical absorbed expressions. Occasionally they would encounter another security officer. Elena would invariably smile at them, or wave in their direction. Once, she saluted. But no one challenged them.

They were now deep inside the ring of bone-dry, barren, ash-brown peaks that surrounded the flamingo-infested, alpaca-browsed salt lake that gave its name to the installation they were roaming. Outside, the sky was a painfully bright blue. Located five thousand meters above the not-very-distant, crowded beaches below, the Surire hub might as well have been on the moon. No towns congested its borders, no major transport venues meandered close to its high valley. It flaunted the exceptional isolation that was the hallmark of every one of its sibling facilities scattered around the planet.

Scanning their surroundings, she directed him quickly into an unoccupied office. In response to her softly murmured code string, the cubicle promptly erected a privacy screen, cutting them off both visually and aurally from the rest of the installation. Gathering unease showed in her face and he hastened to calm her.

“There you go.” She indicated an empty chair. “Hurry up. I checked the work schedule last night, and this office is supposed to be unoccupied for another week. The tech who uses it is on vacation. No one has registered to use it in her absence, but you never can tell.”

“I won’t be long.” He sounded hopeful as he settled himself into the chair. Slipping the induction band over his red hair, he glanced back at her. “I’m ready.”

She nodded, the curtness of the gesture surprising her, and recited a string of verbal commands. Flinx felt the familiar slight warmth at the top and back of his head as the band read his E-pattern and established the requisite neural connection between himself and the station. On board the
Teacher,
he preferred to speak directly to the resident AI instead of using a wave band because he enjoyed hearing the sound of another voice besides his own. Here, verbal commands could be bypassed in favor of more direct neurological connections. In addition, he wanted to keep the exact nature of his inquiries concealed from his companion.

At his request, the planetwide citizens’ Shell opened up before him. At the same time, he was well aware that the unit he was utilizing, while personally secure, was not coded exclusively to one user. If that were the case, others would not be able to make use of the office. The station was, after all, only a small component of a much greater machine. He did not expect to be able to peruse actual spools with the same degree of ease.

Behind him, Elena Carolles was struggling to suppress a growing alarm—and uncertainty.

“Hurry up, Philip.”

He replied without looking back at her, concentrating on burrowing deeper into the Shell. “I thought you said this office wasn’t scheduled for use.”

“I know, I did.” He could sense her undergoing the mental equivalent of a wringing of hands. “But you never know when someone might come along to run a service check, or just call in.” She was looking around nervously. “This is crazy, Philip. The penalties for unauthorized use of restricted hub facilities are severe. How did I ever let you talk me into this? What do you want here, anyway? Come to think of it, I don’t really know you, do I? It’s only been a couple of days since we even met, and I . . .”

Alerted to her companion’s rising concern, Pip poked her head out from beneath the collar of his borrowed uniform. Turning in the chair, a compassionate Flinx regarded his suddenly apprehensive hostess. Tired. It had been a strenuous morning, a wearisome week. She was
so
tired. Or so he persuaded her, projecting an irresistible lassitude that overrode anything and everything else she might be feeling. When she leaned back against the wall of the office, and then slid down its unyielding length, and finally slumped over onto her side, he rose from the operator’s chair to gently place a couple of seat pads beneath her head. Her emotional exhaustion reinforced through his exertions, she would sleep soundly for a while. By that time he hoped to be done with his search. Afterward, he need only maintain his empathic hold on her until they were safely out of the facility and back down among the swirling vacation crowds of Tacrica. Leaving her on a familiar street corner dazed and bewildered but otherwise unhurt, he would quietly vanish from her life forever.

That was for tonight. Presently, he had work to do.

She had already entered the necessary keywords. Entry had been parsed. Nothing more was required of him. Given the amount of security outside the cubicle, that was not surprising. Relevant authority had chosen to put its energies into screening out the unwanted and unauthorized before they could ever reach the interior of the hub. Having done so, it had been decided that there was no need to lavish on excessive redundancy within. Still, he was wary of overconfidence. So far he had only accessed hardware. The real test would come when he attempted to probe beyond levels that were open and accessible to the general public.

Automatically adjusting to the appropriate thought impulses from the human seated before it, the terminal imaged a flat page in the weft space above the desk projector. As required, this device could wrap space to produce any three-dimensional object required, from simple spheres and squares to complex maps and elaborate engineering diagrams. No such exotics were required by Flinx. In reply to his thoughts he hoped only for responsive words.

A glance backward showed that Elena Carolles was snoring softly. Directing the unit to respond verbally to specific commands, he double-checked the office’s privacy curtain to make certain it was intact. With a flip of a mental switch, he could see out whenever he wished, but none of those striding past the cubicle could see in. Finding the unceasing procession of others a distraction, he directed the unit to opaque the curtain from within as well as without. Not a sound would escape the confines of the cubicle until he ordered it dropped.

Thus comfortably cocooned, he settled back in the chair, the induction band resting easily on his head, and started digging.

He began with a casual search of global news for 533: the year of his birth. Needless to say, his coming into the world had not been front-page news. A narrowing of focus to the Indian subcontinent yielded little except what he already knew from previous inquiries. Most of the headlines for the week when he had been born were full of news about the legendary Joao Acorizal winning the surfing competition on Dis. Having not expected to encounter anything startling, he was not prematurely disappointed. What he was trying to do was back into the information he sought without coming upon it directly, just in case any alarms were attached to specific files. A rambling, semirandom search was much less likely to attract unwanted attention.

The basic birth records for Allahabad were there, just as they had been when he had accessed them years earlier on Bali. But he was after other data this time, information dealing with a far more sensitive subject. From 533 he skipped unobtrusively backward to 530, spiraling in on his subject like a raven dropping down on road-kill. And there they were: several small articles on the discovery and subsequent exposure of the Meliorare Society and its illegal, outrageous work in eugenics. As he devoured the details of the Society’s unmasking, the arrest of its members, and the removal of their unwitting “experiments” to an assortment of homes, hospitals, and medical laboratories, he felt as if he were sitting in witness to his own creation.

Some of the information was known to him. Some was new. During his previous visit to Earth he had researched only his birth history, knowing nothing then about the Meliorare Society, its experiments and misshapen aims, and how they related to him. When he came across the uncensored details of the euthanasia that the authorities had been compelled to carry out on the Society’s least successful “procedures,” his spine went cold and Pip stirred uneasily. In addition to the cool, detached prose of the report there were accompanying visuals: disturbing images, of twisted bodies housing tormented minds. Forcing himself, he deliberately enlarged the most grotesque. Out of eyes overflowing with anguished innocence, fear and terror and uncomprehending madness spilled forth in profusion unbounded. He forced himself to look at them, to not turn away. Any one of them, he knew, might be relations; distant genetic cousins hideously deformed through no fault of their own.

For the most severe cases there was no future save a quick and mercifully painless death. For those deemed sufficiently undamaged, the government provided new identities and lives. These nominally healthy survivors were scattered across the Commonwealth so that any lingering, undetected genetic time bombs implanted in their DNA by the Society would be dispersed among the species as widely as possible. Even those considered normal would be subject to scrutiny by the authorities for the rest of their natural lives.

Eventually, it was solemnly intoned in one article, all would die out, and the potentially injurious effects of the Meliorares’ nefarious gengineering would pass harmlessly into history.

Except—at least one participant in the Meliorares’ work had escaped the attention of the pursuing authorities long enough to give birth. Her history and that of her offspring had thus far escaped the notice of the otherwise relentlessly efficient monitors. Somehow evading their attention, raised on the backward colony world of Moth by a kindly old woman with no children of her own, he had matured unobserved by Commonwealth science. Now he stood on the brink of adulthood, gazing back at what little scraps he could scrape together of his personal history. Conceived in a laboratory he might have been, but he still had parents. The egg had belonged to a live woman named Ruud Anasage, the sperm to an unknown man, even if the ingredients had subsequently been stirred and shaken and diced and spliced by the well-meaning but wildly eclectic Meliorares. He wanted to know everything about them, especially the still unknown sperm donor—his father. And he wanted to know the specifics, insofar as they might be possible to know, of his own individual case and what the Meliorares had hoped to achieve by manipulating the innermost secrets of his fetal DNA. Possessing only hints, he sought certainty.

He probed further, combining keywords from the reports with what he already knew. This was dangerous. If there were alarms posted on such information, cross-correlating might well trigger them.

Tunneling deeper into the most detailed of the correspondence, he found himself searching actual original source material. That led him from the media siever that had compiled the report to central Commonwealth science repositories on Bali and in Mexico City. Newly emergent warnings were followed by implacable lockouts. Utilizing skills sharpened from months of working with the sophisticated system on board the
Teacher,
he bypassed them all. Disappointingly, much of the material he ultimately scanned was useless, or repetitive. So far, he was tempting grave danger for very little reward.

One file was disarmingly demarcated “Meliorares, Eugenics, History.” It appeared to contain material already perused, but it remained sealed under the by now familiar heavy security. He fiddled, and tweaked, and wormed his way in. As expected, he found himself scanning well-known information, dry and indifferently transcribed. Public sybfiles and footnotes of equal content mentioning his birth mother’s name—nothing new, nothing revelatory. Among his hopes, boredom proposed to frustration: a terminal matrimony. Perhaps he really had seen everything there was to see about his personal history during his previous visit to Earth and to the science center on Bali.

He drifted into a sybfile labeled “Relationships, Crossovers, Charts.” Cruising effortlessly, he gave a mental push. Nothing happened. The syb stayed shut even though its security overlay seemed unexceptional. But he could not get in. Then something very interesting happened.