Tomorrow’s Heritage (24 page)

How many? One, or two? He tried to gauge speed and distance from the sounds. Without his accustomed electronic tools, he was thrown back into the more primitive era of hunter-and-quarry flying.

The whining dopplered. Immediately afterward, another power system’s sound rose in pitch, then dropped abruptly as a second craft flew past the skyscraper. They weren’t flying at his story level, Todd guessed. Lower, but not by too many stories.

In a few minutes, they came back. Search pattern. That wasn’t very encouraging. How long were they going to hunt him? And how thoroughly?

Todd flexed his shoulders and twisted his stiffening neck. It would be nice if Dian were here to soothe away the tenseness. With a rueful smile, Todd realized he was going to be a lot later picking her up at the shuttle terminal than he had anticipated.

His hand was resting on his thigh. Suddenly, Todd became conscious that he was touching the decoder strip Gib Owens had given him. He sat up very straight, blinking, and took the key out of his pocket. He stared at the darkened com panel.

Scrambler lock. They didn’t expect him to have one. They hadn’t bothered to use one themselves. Either they hadn’t cared if he overheard them, or they assumed he would be too stupid to eavesdrop successfully.

Todd cursed himself for not having remembered the key earlier. Fumbling in the semi-darkness, he fed the decoder into the com’s translator slot. The thing would work as well here—in reverse!—as it had in his office. Gingerly, he cued the com. The faint green glow seemed like a cheery electronic campfire, holding back the jungle.

He had contact. And the com’s readout reassured Todd he was safely hidden behind a masking wall of static.

“. . . couldn’t have made it over to the Inlet.”

“How did he get away? That bastard sure can fly . . .”

“We gotta report . . .”

Report? To whom? Todd’s growing curiosity was chasing his shivers and nausea into oblivion. He studied the hateful voices. Neutral inflection, like ComLink’s media ‘casters and entertainers. You had to train to achieve that sort of voice. The pilots could be from anywhere. They were talking in English, but there was no ethnic or regional tone at all in their words.

“. . . must have cut his systems. There’s nothing registering,” one of those flat voices complained.

Todd smiled. Damned right he had cut his systems, except for the scramble-locked com! And he didn’t intend to fire up again until those predators were out of his range.

“Look, we have to find him, at least confirm he didn’t ident us . . .”

“He didn’t. Hell, we did the job . . .”

Todd strained to hear. The whining of their engines was gone. They must be prowling other streets now, still hunting. If only they would let something slip! A name. A takeoff point. Anything!

“Gave him a scare . . .”

“That’s all we were supposed to do. They said spook him, scare him off . . .”

They?
Who were
they?
A fake! A phony attack! They had never meant to kill him at all, just scare him off. Off from
what?

Todd hated his immobility, wanting to strike back and shake the answers out of them. Who the hell wanted him scared badly enough to stage that risky aerial chase? He could have been killed, despite the intentions of the pilots!

“. . . prefer a clean job, like that Spacer pilot. That’s one of them we won’t have to worry about any more . . .”

What? Whom were they talking about now?

“. . . go home. Saunder’ll report this to Enforcement. They’ll hunt around and file it and forget it . . .”

The signals moved rapidly. Todd boosted gain, wanting to capture every scrap of information he could. He switched on navs, knowing now that they weren’t going to track him back via his circuitry and kill him, as he had believed they would. He swore at his having been duped. They were drifting off the navs. Could he fire up and hope to catch them? Todd checked the readout, knowing there was no chance.

The voices were fading, other signals cutting in as static.

“. . . lose bet . . . other team bragging . . . got Owens on that African transp . . .”

Icy shock dashed away Todd’s anger. Gib Owens? Dead?

The signal was almost gone. He boosted gain to max.imum, hanging on as long as he could.

“. . . fucking Colonists. Won’t . . . no slipping that one past us again . . .”

“. . . too bad about the civilians . . . Spacer’s fault sent him . . . should have known we’d . . .”

There was nothing there but static. They had the range to cross the continent in those ships. They had left to report their successful “scare mission” to an unspecified “they.” Todd switched to a commercial frequency. A newscast was in progress. Absently, he removed the scrambler lock and replaced it in his pocket.

“. . . no survivors. The Nairobi shuttle, with three-hundred-twenty passengers and crew, went down without contacting Global Flight Control. Sea-Search Rescue Director Capra speculated that equipment failure may have been the probable cause of the crash. A more complete analysis is expected when Protectors of Earth’s seabed salvage teams recover the wreckage from the ocean south of the Cape Verde Islands. All indications are that no lifesaving gear deployed. Director Capra says that in a Mach Five system failure, the physical properties of air and water produce such resistance that . . .”

The weight of Todd’s hand fell on the manual cutoff and the voice stopped. Fresh nausea rose in his throat. He understood the implications of systems failures at Mach 5 far better than the announcer did. She was merely reading copy, speaking dispassionately so the ComLink translator-splitter could send the news out in every human language. In plain English, there was no hope. They would probably never even find much wreckage. It had become part of the Gambia Abyssal Plain on the ocean floor.

Gib Owens, cocky, young, an expert pilot, a combat-ready Goddard Colonist, a trusted courier, a nice kid. Dead. And hundreds of others had died with him.

“Too bad about the civilians.”

The mysterious “they” who had sent the pilots had sent another team, probably saboteurs. “They” had killed 320 people in order to take out Gib Owens.

Gib, asking Todd how he had seen through his disguise, saying a flaw might cost him his life. The forged papers hadn’t worked. Someone else had also, seen through his disguise. Or someone had betrayed him.

Three hundred and twenty people. Pawns in a cold war between Earth and its first space colony.

In the new mysticism, which the majority of Earth’s population claimed to accept, life was infinitely precious. They followed that belief more in theory than in practice, but it had changed the penal laws, altered the attitudes of even those participating in war. Life must be preserved, or at least saved for the human gene pool. Killing was a savage thing out of Earth’s past, something man must somehow put behind him, led by the Spirit of Humanity. But now and then you have to make a few sacrifices in order to get the damn Spacers . . .

Todd sat very still, not seeing the flickering com screen continuing the now-silenced broadcast, not seeing the burned and blackened walls around him. He was seeing names and idents that weren’t quite right, and a picture remote-relayed from Antarctica, which a computer had cut off much too soon. He was getting advice from an enforcement officer telling him to take the air route henceforth and avoid trouble. Friendly counsel, honestly intended? Or had it been a method of steering Todd into the path of two assassins? Mari, on the tape, begging Todd to consult Fairchild, to get in touch with Goddard’s secret allies—“people in high places . . . a general . . .” Like General Ames, P.O.E. Enforcement’s second in command? Was he one of the anonymous friends of the Spacers? Or was Ames yet another factor in an enemy conspiracy? In his mind’s eye Todd saw Ames staring hard at Pat while he made a truce announcement, and Ames lurking in the back of the hall when the Science Council tried to quiet the public’s fears about the alien messenger. Coincidence? That Ames showed up where he did and when he did? That people were saying and doing things which later seemed to tie in with deadly events? Was Todd letting his suspicions run wild? Or did he have good reason to be on guard?

Whom could he trust? Whom could he depend on?

Games. He and Mari and Pat flying mock combats through the palms girdling Saunderhome. But this game was different, and very deadly.

Gib Owens, delivering the tape with those eighteen names. Todd had tried to check them out, unsuccessfully. And a short while later, he was forced to fly for his life. Another coincidence? A straight dive into the Atlantic at Mach 5 might look like a coincidence, an accidental systems failure, too. But Todd knew it wasn’t.

What about a frozen prison under the Antarctic glacier? Were systems, failures going on there as well?

“Was all this really worth Gib’s life, and the other lives, Mari?” Todd’s voice broke. No! The question was unfair to Mari, he was asking the wrong person. He flinched away from the alternative, the accusations forming in his mind.

Who wanted Gib Owens and the knowledge he might have shared out of the way? Who wanted any inquiries aimed at certain confinees in SB Antarctic Enclave dropped?

Two puzzles, maybe interrelated in ways Todd didn’t yet understand. But the pieces surrounding them were making frightening sense. When someone had firebombed Project Search, a mysterious call had taken Todd out of target range—a call on a circuit available only to top-level Saunder Enterprises personnel. And when Todd had made his probes of P.O.E. Archives and SE’s computer system, he had done so with his own top-privacy circuit. Had the same unknown enemy tapped in and found out what he was doing and decided to discourage him from trying that again?

Possibly. In fact, it was the most logical explanation. And it broke every law and required access to systems supposedly locked against everyone but the Saunders.

Protecting him from the firebombing, instructing the assassin pilots to scare him, but not kill him. Someone in power within the conspiracy had taken great pains to keep Todd Saunder alive. But it was okay to kill Anatole and Gib Owens and 320 people on the Nairobi transport. What was special about Todd Saunder? Why was he exempt?

He was exempt because he
was
a Saunder.

And the chief of assassins might have to answer to someone very close to the family. Perhaps someone who was family.

Todd’s mind and emotions shrank, icy cold. He withdrew into a personal eye of the hurricane deep within his being.

His next move was going to take careful planning. It could be—would be—tricky and very dangerous. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes. It only took one, for Ward Saunder or for his too-curious second son. Todd mulled the risks as grief and rage strengthened his determination. First he would have to call CNAU Enforcement and report this incident, as “they” anticipated he would. Follow their schedule, for now. Don’t arouse their suspicions. Not yet.

But before this thing was through, “they” were in for some surprises. Big ones. He was going to find the answers. He owed it to Gib and the other victims. And he, owed it to himself, and to the species the alien messenger had crossed light-years to meet.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ooooooooo

TODD had begun to shiver and sneeze from the damp of this place. He was still mildly queasy, but he cued the systems and checked the outside. He knew they weren’t waiting for him, weren’t trying to kill him—unless by accident—yet he almost wished he could fly out and meet them and give them a bit of a scare for a change.

Getting out of the building wasn’t as tricky as getting into it, but still, doing so took some careful maneuvering. Once he was out in the open air, he followed the four-lane avenue, heading back to the heart of New Washington and CNAU Civil Order Enforcement. Follow the regs. He contacted CNAU Flight Control and apprised them of his radically changed flight plan, and that he was on his way to report a whopper of a complaint against two other fliers, not that it would do any good. Then he called Iris.

He talked over and around her surprised questions, wondering if the experience was showing in his face that much. “Tell Dian . . . please. I’m due there right now, and I can’t make it until later.”

“Boss . . .”

Impatiently, Todd went on. “And have Bob send over a mechanic team to CNAU Enforcement. I put this poor beast through hell and need it checked to be sure it’s okay. Also, reserve a couple of seats on tomorrow’s orbital flight out of Orleans. I’ll be spacing, and Dian will probably be going with me—”

“Boss!” Iris finally broke through, sounding harried. “Your mother’s holding on another line. She wants to know where you are. I think she just got back from a campaign trip with your brother. What shall I tell her?”

Todd sighed. “You might as well tell her I’ll be at CNAU Enforcement. Otherwise she’ll ride everybody ragged. Where’s Falco?” A quick check informed him the crack ComLink interviewer was in the city, finishing up an assignment. “Get him and a tech team over to Enforcement HQ, too, as soon as they can make it. I’ve got a news release to get out under an interview cover. I want it to go global, so tell them to bring full translator gear. Got all of that?”

Iris nodded. “It’ll be there, boss.”

With genuine affection, Todd smiled at her. “You’re a gem. How about a raise? Starts yesterday. I’ll put it through before I lift off tomorrow.” She was grinning widely when he broke the connection.

Todd landed in CNAU Enforcement’s V.I.P. strip. Rank had its privileges, and Saunder Enterprises fed plenty into the public coffers of Central North American Union. The session with the police went about as he had expected. He had to edit his complaint. Some things he didn’t want to reveal—the illegal translator strip, for one, Yet he could, with convincing anger, put on a terrific performance as an outraged citizen who had been attacked and nearly killed. There were questions and more questions, and recorded forms for him to affirm with his hand-print. There was a space for signatures, though a lot of complainants had to sign via a comp printout. Todd impressed the higher brass and working investigators by using a pen as if he did it all the time.

He wondered if Falco had arrived yet. They would probably keep the reporter and the techs outside until the questioning was over. Jael would also be showing up soon, if she ran true to her habits.

The chief investigator was making noises as if the formalities were over. Todd was about to excuse himself and leave the rest of the digging to Enforcement when a com call interrupted them. There had been a slip-up in communications. Todd realized as he listened that he wasn’t supposed to hear the incoming report. Confidential police business. He couldn’t hide his shock.

“. . . matches the descriptions you just put out on the Saunder attack incident ninety minutes ago. Both pilots are dead.”

It didn’t make sense. The wrecked planes and the pilots had been found less than thirty blocks, from where Todd had hidden in the ruined building. He had watched his attackers leave the area. They had been much farther away from him than that when their com signals faded. It was very unlikely they had doubled back, or they would have spotted him when he finally emerged from his hiding place.

“. . . idents on bodies confirm probable Serene Future connections. One of their splinter groups, Chief . . .”

The ranking officer was looking unhappily at Todd. He didn’t want to be obvious and shut up the reporting officer, not when Todd Saunder was president of the world’s most powerful telecom network. There were laws about the suppression of information that should be available to the public. “Uh . . . thanks, Williams. Full investigative teams will be there in ten minutes. Seal off the evidence.” The chief nervously turned to Todd. “We don’t know anything for sure yet. It’ll have to go through the labs. I’d appreciate it if you’d be discreet about this, Mr. Saunder. Wouldn’t do to go blabbing it until we have some proof. Could be a frame-up.”

Todd was positive that it was indeed a frame-up. The Serene Future political party was part of the Spacer coalition, fighting for Goddard’s rights in Protectors of Earth’s assembly. True, Serene Future had reacted very badly to the news about the alien messenger. It was as panicky and paranoid in that regard as the most rabid Earth Firsters, though for different philosophical reasons. But Serene Future was a mystical movement. Its members had been known to commit suicide in protest of the death penalty, one of the most extremist and eccentric actions yet produced by the Spirit of Humanity religion.

The dead men couldn’t have been those who attacked him. Dupes. More pawns and sacrifices. The logic was obvious. And Todd wasn’t so sure the blurted com call from the officer in the field was an accident, either. Maybe he had been meant to hear and believe so that his suspicions would focus on Serene Future—and not on the real culprits.

I’m becoming as paranoid as Mari. But, like her, it isn’t paranoia when they really are trying to get you . . .

“No, I won’t broadcast it, Chief. You have my word on that. But I want to be kept updated on what you find out,” Todd stated sternly.

“You sure will, sir. Soon as we know anything definite.”

The suspicion had been planted. The lid clamped on. Todd would play the enemy’s game, for now.

Miguel Falco’s ComLink team and Jael, accompanied by a horde of muscular bodyguards, arrived at CNAU Enforcement HQ simultaneously. When Todd came out of the building, they were engaged in a hot argument, as hot as Falco dared. One of Jael’s bodyguards had fetched Todd’s coat out of the flier. He shrugged into it as the ComLink interviewer closed in on him.

Jael advanced on him, too.

“In a minute, Mother.”

“I’ve got my trains waiting. Your mechanics are taking that plane of yours apart. Iris said you have to pick up Dian. That poor girl has been cooling her heels for—”

“In a minute!” Todd said loudly. He didn’t have Pat’s wonderful, carrying voice, but he had recovered his volume, after the hoarseness caused by the Search fire. Jael reeled back, stunned, looking up at her son as if she didn’t recognize him. “Dian’s going to wait. She knows me. I sent her a message. Right now there’s something I’ve got to do. It won’t take long, but I’m going to do it, Mother. Do you understand?”

A slow, deep flush spread up from her fleshy chin to her forehead, the reddening skin standing out in contrast to the white ermine fur fringing her coat hood. Her velvety tone was gone. “I understand,” she said harshly. “We’re going to talk about this later, Todd.”

“No doubt. Miguel . . .” He briefed his media star quickly, priming Falco on which questions to ask and how to stage the brief interview. Jael’s bodyguards began fanning out to form a fence around them, keeping curious CNAU troopers away. Beyond them, out on the V.I.P. airstrip, Todd noticed some of ComLink’s mechanics busy dismantling parts of the swift little flier. Troopers watched them, some fingering the scrape marks on the flier’s belly and speculating on what the craft had been through.

Falco’s techs framed him and Todd and signaled go. “Listeners of Earth,” Falco began, shamelessly borrowing from his boss’s brother, “we’re here with a late-breaking bulletin. Todd Saunder, president of SE ComLink, has just been attacked by two unidentified hostile pilots and was nearly killed. Police are investigating right now. It looks like an assassination attempt, isn’t that so, Mr. Saunder?”

Todd hadn’t been in front of a lens for a few years, but he hadn’t forgotten the techniques. He pulled old talents out of storage, letting some of his leftover fear show. Pat termed that the Everyman Syndrome—show the audience you’re human and that you can be scared, too. Pat needn’t be the only actor in the family.

“Yes, that’s right, Miguel. It was very close. I’m a pretty good flier myself, but those guys meant business. For a little while there I thought I was done for. Finally managed to shake them . . .”

Jael butted in, breaking her own rules about staying in the shadows. “This is simply terrible, Miguel . . .” Hastily, sotto voce, Falco introduced her to the audience while Jael went on. “The police must solve this thing quickly and bring those men to justice. No one is safe these days! It’s exactly what my son Patrick has been saying—that we have to bring some order to Earth before we slip back into the Chaos. They’ve even made attempts on Patrick’s life, you know, during those tours in South America and Europe. . .”

“Do you think this latest attack is really aimed at your older son, then?”

Todd hadn’t interrupted, but Jael was aware of his burning stare. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. They’re trying to hurt all my family, and I think they must be caught and punished to the fullest extent of the law. I don’t want to make any insinuations, but it could be some of Patrick’s enemies, striking at him by attacking Todd . . .”

“We see you brought some bodyguards with you, Mrs. Saunder. Is that going to be common practice from now on?”

“I fear so, at least until the campaign is over. There’s too much at stake . . .”

“Especially with a new little Saunder in the making, too, right, Mrs. Saunder?” Falco obviously thought it wouldn’t harm his standing with the family corporation if he alluded to the expectant parents’ happy announcement to the media a couple of weeks earlier. Then he swung back to the man paying his salary. “Todd, any speculations why they might be after you specifically?”

Todd timed the pauses as best he could, copying Pat’s skillful delivery. “This attack might have been aimed at the family, and at Pat’s campaign. But I believe it has something to do with Project Search, because I’m sponsoring the contact attempt with the alien vehicle.”

Jael’s motherly facade was crumbling, and the lens techs tactfully trimmed focus away from her, concentrating on Falco and Todd.

“They burned out Project Search’s New Washington headquarters last week, and now this attack on me. Just put two and two together,” Todd said coldly.

“It’s obvious you and your brother differ in your attitudes about this alien messenger, Todd. He says it’s a scout for an invasion from space. You don’t think so?”

They had covered this territory before, many times, since the Science Council presentation and the worldwide release of the news. Usually Todd had let more media-comfortable spokesmen talk for him. Now he took the initiative. “No, I don’t. I think it’s the greatest opportunity ever offered to mankind. Our future for centuries to come will be different—and better,” Todd said emphatically. He couldn’t express his own uncertainties. Not here. This was the time to do his own propaganda spreading. “But there are people who hide their heads, who aren’t willing to reach out for the wonderful opportunity that’s coming. These misguided, frightened people are the ones who scare me. I sincerely believe they’re the ones who sent fliers to attack me and firebombed Project Search and killed a man and hurt eight innocent people.” Jael had turned her back on him, refusing to look at or hear him. Todd breathed deeply, hoping to convince the viewers he was taking a reluctant but absolutely necessary step. “I can’t allow any more of my people to be hurt, and I’m not going to play target myself. So I’m transferring Project Search to space.”

Jael reacted, whirling around, her mouth open in disbelief as Miguel Falco picked up his cue. “When is this going to happen, Todd?”

“Immediately. Some of my people are still in the hospital, of course. But all the equipment and translation linkages will be moved to space. When my staff has recovered, they’ll join us in orbit.” Falco moved in close to him for a two-shot, contributing his presence to the concluding statements, grabbing a little ego-flattering broadcast space for himself in the bargain. “Project Search will go on. These people who are trying to stop me have failed. When the alien messenger reaches Earth orbit, about a year from now, my people are going to be the ones to go out and meet it—as friends, not as frightened, cowardly enemies who would burn or shoot innocent people. Rely on it.”

Falco wrapped up. Todd waited to see what Jael would do. She didn’t speak. After a long moment of glaring daggers at him, she marched out across the airstrip toward the SE Trans Co spur. Todd and her bodyguards followed. There were three cars, two security brackets and one for the illustrious passengers. Todd wasn’t overly fond of modern rail travel, but he climbed in the private car and sat with Jael. The propulsion systems took them up to speed very rapidly, and they connected with the direct line to the terminal.

Silence was a black cloud enveloping them. They hurtled through the tunnels at top speed, magnetic resistance nil. Jael’s car was the best money could buy, custom-manufactured by the same people who catered to kings and dictators. She could live in this car, if she chose, and live far better than most of the world’s population was living right now.

“Mother,” Todd said softly.

“You talk too much.”

Well, that was something. At least she wasn’t shutting him outside with her silence any more.

“I inherited that from Dad. He always said what he thought, and not always at the best possible times for other people,” Todd reminded her.

She still refused to look at him. “Ward didn’t propagandize.”

“He did when he believed in a cause. So do his children. Pat hasn’t got a patent on using my network to broadcast his message of hate—”

“Stop it!”

“That’s what it is, Mother—hate. Hate for the aliens he doesn’t even know, won’t make any real effort to understand, through their communications. The only reason he wants my decryption data as it comes in is so he can build it into still more hate propaganda and whip the whole damned world into a paranoiac frenzy. Get them so scared they’ll vote straight Earth First Party. Isn’t that the strategy, Mother? He manipulates. He always has, and you let him. You egg him on, don’t you? Nothing’s too good for Pat . . .”

“Stop it!” Jael was on the verge of tears, angry tears, But there was something else in her face. “You don’t understand—
won’t
. People are
scared
. They’d be scared whether or not Pat made speeches. You did this to them, Todd. Acknowledge it! You and that damned alien thing. You had to find it, didn’t you?”