Tomorrow’s Heritage (27 page)

The bodyguards and aides began to leave, toting piles of broken glass and sopping bar towels. They looked back over their shoulders, and Todd read their mixed motives. They didn’t want to get dragged into this. But they hated to miss the juiciest part of the fight. The famous Saunder clan, screaming and slashing at one another. Todd assumed Jael had signed them on to a strict protection-of-privacy contract, or this fracas would be all over the rival media in the morning. Pat’s political opponents would love to get their hands on it.

“Don’t you turn away from me, Mother! I’ve got one hell of a lot more to say! We’re going to settle this!” Pat didn’t stop glaring at Jael as he addressed his brother. “You don’t have to put up with this, kid. Go on, Todd. You and Dian see ‘Rissa. . .”

Todd felt like a rat leaving a sinking ship. Dian wouldn’t let him hesitate. He knew she was right. A bodyguard shut the door on the yelling. A wall monitor screen showed Pat going at it again. Then the screen went blank. Jael or Pat had pulled the plug. The watchers weren’t going to be allowed to witness this event, under the guise of protecting them from harm. No eavesdroppers invited.

Dian took two steps to every one of his until Todd realized he was practically running back to the private bedroom suites. He slowed down and allowed Dian to catch her breath. “Pat’s held too much in, ever since he was a kid. It explodes now and then. But never this bad. He used to be able to work things off roughhousing with me, or racing boats or fliers with Mari. Maybe he ought to hire a sparring partner, one of those bodyguards. But when would he have time for exercise now? He’s on stage all the time. And all those responsibilities. Roy Paige was right; they’re killing him. And Pat hates to lie. Political fast talk to please the crowds, sure. But hot all those promises he knows he can’t deliver.”

“You think he’s lying?”

That was a knife, the blade ice-cold, thrust in Todd’s gut. “I don’t know. At least I hope I don’t.” Dian looked up at him, puzzling out the words. They didn’t say any more, conscious of the watchdog wall monitors. But she nodded. They would discuss it later, where there wouldn’t be anyone else to hear. Todd returned to the painful family argument. “I’ve seen him and Mother butt heads plenty of times. This one’s different. For one thing, this time he’s going to win.”

“Cutting the apron strings, now that he’s going to be a papa,” Dian said soberly. “Painful but necessary. It has to happen. Older generation. Younger generation. That baby’s the next generation. It’ll have to cut loose from Papa and Mama someday, too.” Dian pointed to the door to her right. “I’ll stop and chat with the doctor. You go on and see Carissa.”

Saunder money had converted one of Ippolito’s room-sized wardrobe storage areas into a small obstetrical facility. Day and night, trained med staff remote-monitored Carissa and the fetus. Todd checked to see if it was all right for him to go on into the bedroom suite. They cautioned him not to tire the expectant mother and granted permission.

Carissa was propped on mountains of pillows, as was her wont. Todd had spoken to her on the com several times the past week, and he had always seen her in pretty much the same situation—a small, pale face and figure in a huge bed, surrounded by frilly cushions and coverlets, monitor terminals and prescribed medicines cluttering the side tables and the shelf above the bed. The only thing that had changed from the last time he had spoken to her on the com was that this time she was wearing chic blue bedclothes, not green ones.

As he pulled up a chair, Carissa stretched her hands to him. “How are you?” he asked. “You look beautiful, as always.” Ritual compliment, expected.

Carissa drew him forward, kissing him on the mouth. It was more than a sisterly peck. He had been through this routine before, and resisted it as he had before, acutely uncomfortable. Nothing ever came out in the open, but it had been there since Pat met Carissa three years earlier. Todd had never voiced his feelings, preferring to bury them, not wanting to create trouble. He had thought the pregnancy would eliminate that subtle seductiveness in Carissa’s nature. Obviously it hadn’t. When he didn’t respond, she sighed and sank back on the pillows. “Oh, I’m fine. Tonics and vitamins and viral shield medications, the works.”

“You have to follow orders. That’s a very important little fella you’re growing there,” Todd said encouragingly. She was studying his face, looking worried. “I’m okay, too. Not a scratch. Honest. They dented my flier a bit, but not me.”

“I’m so glad. The reports sounded awful.” She was silent a moment. She
was
beautiful, more beautiful than Todd had ever seen her. Dian had referred to something called the glow of pregnancy. That must be the explanation. Carissa’s pale fragility was now enhanced by a special form of new beauty. Despite all the concern for her, she didn’t seem particularly sick or weak. She looked pampered and was enjoying it. But her endearing little smile was gone. “Todd, couldn’t you stop them?”

The monitors at her bedside. Jael was right. Carissa had seen Pat and Jael going at it. “They won’t hurt each other. It’s just a lot of noise. I’ve been through it before.”

Carissa wasn’t convinced. “They cut off the signal. Pat doesn’t want me to see them, to be with them . . .” Her lower lip protruded in that silly little-girl pout that was so cute. The doctors were making her a prisoner for the next six months. She had been promised a window on the world so she wouldn’t miss anything. Pat had taken away her toy, not letting her participate—even if it was an ugly family fight she was missing right now.

“He just doesn’t want to upset you, ‘Rissa. You know you have to take things easy. They’re . . .”

“Arguing over me,” she finished for him. She had put her finger on the situation astutely, but her green eyes were innocently wide. The effect was disconcerting. “Maybe I should be flattered, but I’m not. Pat’s not even whoring around as much as he used to. Oh, don’t look so shocked, Todd. I’m not that naive. But he’s squabbling with Jael so much, with
everybody
. It scares me.” She let go of one of Todd’s hands and absently stroked her abdomen. As yet, there was no visible sign of her pregnancy.

We can’t see the incoming alien vehicle, either, but it’s there. And this baby’s going to grow up in a future that’s forever changed, because of that other, as-yet-unseen newcomer.

“‘Rissa, it’s just that they’re both under so much strain right now. They worry about you and the baby and about that campaign. Things will smooth out eventually, I’m sure of it.” Todd was lying. He wasn’t sure of anything any more. He had a momentary urge to ask Carissa about the Antarctic Enclave, but that was ludicrous. Aware of Pat’s affairs or not, sharper than she looked or not, she wouldn’t know anything about the reprogrammed computer or the missing people on Mari’s list. He realized, with an inner start of surprise, that he had missed the chance to ask Jael if she knew anything about it. Pat was too drunk now, and he hadn’t shown any guilty reaction to Todd’s remark. But Todd had ridden to the terminal with Jael. He could have asked then. He hadn’t. Todd examined his reasons, frightened:
Don’t ask. If she refuses to answer, she reveals something by it—covering up for Pat, perhaps. Better to assume she’d react as Pat had, blankly, knowing nothing.

Why can I seek knowledge, accepting the risks, when it comes to the alien messenger, but not when it comes to my own family?

Carissa was talking, not expecting him to answer. “I can’t campaign with him until the baby’s born. I hope that won’t hurt his chances with the voters.” She plucked at the antique, silken coverlets. “He worries so much. About that alien machine of yours . . .”

“It’s not my machine, ‘Rissa. I found it, that’s all, like someone spotting a comet through a backyard telescope. An amateur, stumbling onto something big. But now that I have found it, I want to talk to it, communicate with it. That’s terribly important, ‘Rissa, for you and your baby, for all the other babies about to be born now and in the future. It’s tomorrow.”

“I . . . I’m trying to understand that. So is Pat. He really is.”

Todd longed to use her as another means of communication, one that could reach Pat where he had failed. Pillow talk? He had denigrated Carissa’s talent for that. But she was pregnant, and Pat obviously was very proud and possessive. There was a chance that would change things, change them around the way Todd prayed they would go. If they could just repair the breaks in the connection . . .

“Don’t be angry with him, Todd,” Carissa said sadly. “Jael’s mad at him so much these days. And he’s so afraid everyone will judge him without hearing his side of the story. Afraid they’ll jump to conclusions.”

“That’s my situation regarding the alien messenger.” Todd said, seizing on the analogy. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions about the aliens who built it. We can’t even talk to that little machine yet, not really. I want to hear its makers’ side of the story—just as I’d want to hear Pat’s.”

She stared at him a while, then said, “I’m scared.” Todd started to reassure her, thinking she referred to the supposed menace of the alien vehicle. “All these bodyguards and weapons,” she went on, “we’ve never had so many before. Jael and Pat say they want to make sure no fanatic or enemy breaks through and hurts us . . . hurts the baby.” Again she stroked her abdomen, looking at nothing, plainly worrying about the dangers of being an attractive target.

Todd heard someone come in, glanced over his shoulder, and saw Dian. She smiled and greeted Carissa, standing on the other side of the big bed. Carissa nodded and continued as if there had been no interruption. “Pat said something about ‘full strike and counterstrike ability.’ Missiles and all that. He said I’d be safe anywhere in the Saunder empire. Isn’t that a funny way of thinking of it? Empire!” She saw their shock and went on ingenuously. “Oh, yes! At Saunderhome and the Swiss estates and Manila—everywhere. Pat said it was all taken care of and I shouldn’t worry about him or Jael when they’re away from me on the campaign. They’ll have bodyguards and armed vehicles . . .”

“Are they really in that much danger?” Todd asked weakly, exchanging a worried look with Dian. “Why do they need so
much
firepower? The Trans-Pacific war’s over now. These riots aren’t that much of a threat to him. Pat’s the world’s most popular politician,” he finished with some bitterness.

Carissa snuggled into the pillows, smiling like a cat. “Yes, I know. He’s going to win. All the predictors say so. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all be together again at Saunderhome this summer, after the baby’s born? We could watch the election returns from there.”

A lovely wish. Impossible. Not in that space of time. Goddard’s enemies weren’t going to go away. Neither was the alien messenger. All the paranoia Pat’s warning speeches were causing now would still be there, probably intensified, in August and September.

“ ‘Rissa, would you do something for me?” Todd said suddenly. She was lightly raking her nails across his palm, but he managed to extricate his hand without being obvious. “Would you try to make Pat see that the alien messenger needn’t be an enemy we have to fight? Make him understand that—”

“It’s for you and your baby, Carissa,” Dian chimed in. “You don’t want that baby to be involved in an interstellar war, do you?”

Three years ago, Todd would have thought that argument futile, used on Carissa. He hadn’t seen beyond the little-girl manners and the sweet, husky voice. Now he knew Carissa was thinking it over, comprehending more than she seemed to.

“No, of course not. No one wants that.” She didn’t reach for Todd’s hand again, but she held him, sensing the two of them were looking for an excuse to leave. They didn’t want to tire her, yet she clung to their presence. Carissa’s head turned, her blond hair swirling about her shoulders. She looked at one and then the other. “You have to promise
me
something.”

“If we can,” Dian said, taking the words away from Todd lest he be tempted to agree to too much without knowing what the commitment involved.

“Don’t judge Patrick, not without a trial. He’s afraid that’s what you’ll do.” Carissa giggled childishly. “I’ll be your spy, try to make him understand about the messenger.” The silliness evaporated. She was deadly serious. “And you, if I need you, you’ve got to help. I don’t know how much longer I can keep them from . . .”

“Carissa,” Todd explained carefully, “Dian and I will be in space. It’s not safe for Project Search down here, and I can handle ComLink from orbit just as well as from Earth.” Dian eyed him sharply, again reading things underneath the words.

The woman in the bed shrugged off his excuse. “You’ll come. I know you will. You’ll have to, Todd.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice. Todd didn’t know her nearly as well as he knew Pat, but, as he sometimes was in talking to Pat, he became convinced Carissa was sincere about this. No act. No little-girl melodramatics. “Don’t judge him until you talk to him. Help me. Help me to help them.”

Reluctantly, unsure if the bargain was an honest one, or if he had even a small portion of the reasons behind it, Todd took her hand once more. “I promise.” Dian sucked in her breath, disapproving. “I’ll come. I’ll help.” Todd forced a very shaky smile. “After all, as Mother always told us, we Saunders have got to stick together.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ooooooooo

WHEN they left the underground apartments, Todd turned down the guards’ offer to bring him whatever vehicle he wanted as a stand-in for his damaged aircraft. Wary of any train or car that might be bugged, Todd shook his head and led Dian out of the immense structure. The guards stared after them, bewildered, unable to believe a Saunder would go out into the city on foot, without an escort.

The broad avenue north of the SE Complex was brightly lit and patrolled by CNAU Enforcement. Crowds were smaller there, now that it was past midnight. Still, the bustle of people and traffic provided a kind of haven, anonymity amid the night life. The sounds were white noise, covering conversation, letting two people talk about dangerous secrets.

Dian had been remarkably patient. Grateful for that trust, Todd let the accumulated rage and frustration boil out. Dian listened, appalled. As he detailed the suspicions and the terrible proofs, she shook with empathic anger and fought back tears. “Damn them!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “I just felt it, ever since they destroyed Project Search . . .”

“Just the offices. The project’s going on,” Todd insisted, his arm about her.

Dian leaned against him, still shaking. “Everything fits. I just knew it. Anatole and Gib and what they did to Beth, and now you . . .”

“No. Killing me would have been breaking their orders.” Todd added grimly, “But the next time they might not be so fussy. I’m not going to give them a sitting target any more. From now on, I’m taking the initiative.”

“
We
are,” Dian corrected him. Her tone left no room for discussion. She sniffled and wiped her eyes, and asked with blunt simplicity, “How do we beat them?”

“First, I’m going to Antarctica.” Street noises surged around them as Dian sucked in her breath and held it for a long moment. “They have two targets,” Todd continued, “and I’m connected with both of them. They want Project Search shut up. They can’t control it and it threatens Earth First’s campaign. But now I’ve started to poke into something else—the anti-Spacer conspiracy. Somehow the SE Antarctic Enclave is critical to them. And I intend to find out what’s so damned dangerous to them that they’re killing people for it. The computers are rigged. They can be bypassed, but only an eyeball check is going to tell the real story. I helped Dad build that installation. I know what makes it tick. And I’m the one they made mad. I’m going.”

Dian cocked her head, peering up at him. Shambling drunks and night workers hurried by them; late partygoers moved in and out of the all-night stores lining the street. Yet they were alone on an island of shared knowledge. “I guess . . . I can’t talk you out of it,” she said. “You’re too damned stubborn.”

“You ought to recognize stubborn from personal experience,” Todd teased.

They strolled along side by side. Todd could almost imagine the wheels turning within Dian’s quick mind. “You have a plan?” she asked. “Or are you just going to walk right into that top-security polar Enclave?”

“No. I’ll have to swap idents with someone who has a clearance. And I better do it soon. The semi-annual Human Rights inspection tour takes off in less than two weeks.” Todd frowned. “I thought maybe one of the maintenance staffers, coming in to relieve someone else at the station . . .”

“Uh-uh,” Dian said firmly. “No good. You think anybody could slip a ringer in on ComLink and not be noticed?”

Todd thought about Gib Owens masquerading in just that way. “Probably not,” he conceded unhappily. “Suggestions? You’ve been up to something. I hear it in the sly way you asked that.”

“Yeah. Might be a way I can get you in, as a member of the tour.”

Todd stopped walking, taking her by the shoulders and staring at her intently. “Who do I pay? Genuine idents? My God. That’d be worth . . . but Mari’s people must have tried that.”

Dian was contemptuous. “Didn’t work. I checked. The Committee members are thoroughly screened.” She took pity on his confusion. “Remember I said I knew people on that Committee? Well, after you and Mari kicked each other on that ride down from Geosynch last month—nagging back and forth about the Enclave—I decided to do some checking myself. Old times. Curiosity. This person I’m thinking of owes me, wants to pay. And he’s the type who can’t be bought. Not for money. But I think he will do it, for loyalty and for what you’re digging at—and he’s on the team that’s heading south in February.”

Todd kissed her, oblivious to their surroundings. “You’re marvelous. That’s the most important part of getting in there . . .”

“You can’t go looking like you,” Dian told him, smiling.

Todd envisioned Gib Owens’s unsuccessful disguise. But Dian wasn’t referring to a Scandinavian type. Her source would be a United Ghetto States citizen. “Well, rumor has it Ward’s grandmother came from a good family that could trace its line back to slave days,” Todd said, returning her smile. “A bit of hair dye and some darkening of the eyes . . . the genes are right.”

“You’re gonna get that tan you’ve needed, finally.” She linked her arm through his and they started walking again, quickly now, almost in lock step. Dian leaned against Todd’s shoulder, chuckling. “You’ll look terrific.”

“Fairchild. I’ll contact her. I
need
contacts, and Mari said we can trust her. If we go roundabout, through some of my lesser-known subsidiaries, I think we can get the message to her without tipping our plans. And the accounts the computer wouldn’t give me—got to dig those loose, somehow.”

Dian jerked her chin down emphatically. “That’s my field, breaking codes. I’ve got contacts, too. We’ll take them from all sides, like they’ve been hitting us.”

Todd flung up his arm, hailing a commercial transport approaching the corner station nearby. He hurried Dian forward as the driver opened the doors for them. “Right now, we get to one of ComLink’s airparks and pick up a flier. I made a big public announcement this afternoon. Tomorrow we’re going to be on that shuttle, heading for orbit. And we’ve got an awful lot to do before that ship lifts.”

Dian dropped back into the seat, catching her breath as Todd relayed their destination to the driver. They felt the acceleration when the transport hummed up to full speed. The driver was pushing it, noting Todd’s ident and thinking that pleasing a Saunder with his service would be good for a nice bonus. Dian indicated the chronometer on the control panel. “Today. We’ve already started on a new twenty-four-hours.”

Todd set his jaw, his mind racing, plotting an incredibly busy—and dangerous—Schedule. “Today. And we’ve already used up an hour of it.”

The remaining hours before liftoff were nerve-racking. Before they were through, he and Dian were both running on adrenaline. If they had been able to make direct contact to call in the debts and obligations they needed, things would have been easy. But they couldn’t collect those debts openly. They had to resort to dodges, intermediaries, innocent-sounding inquiries, running, burning the com circuits raw, both of them aware of a deadline in the very real sense of the term.

Neither one got any sleep until they lifted ship that evening. It was a positive relief to be cut off from a telecom or—for a while—any need to watch one’s words and veil one’s meaning in codes. Todd closed his eyes, almost relishing the dynamic pressures of lower launch stages, and free fall sent him off into much-needed dreaming.

It didn’t last, An attendant woke him barely two hours into the flight. Message. Dian roused, peered across from the couch next to Todd’s, apprehension visible in her face. Warily, Todd cued the individual monitor in front of his flight couch. Printout. No voice. That was unusual. The message was even more unusual. Put to anyone save himself and Dian, it would have seemed quite ordinary:

URGENT. TODD SAUNDER. ANOMALY REGISTERING AT COM LINK TRANSLATOR SAT FOURTEEN. NEED IMMEDIATE EXECUTIVE JUDGMENT WHETHER SCRAP OR RESTORE. WILL AWAIT YOUR ORDERS. SIGNED COMLINK MELBOURNE.

Melbourne ComLink division was a sales and entertainment office. It wouldn’t send a message regarding a glitch in one of Todd’s remote satellites.

But Fairchild’s secret network
had
received a message and sent him an answer:

YES. GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS, PER OUR INSTRUCTIONS. WE WILL CONTACT YOU.

Dian’s eyes glowed with relief. Todd faked a yawn, canceling the printout. The attendant glanced at him, and Todd shrugged. “Not really important. Some techs get excited easily.” The man smiled sympathetically. Todd let himself float once more, daring to build his courage. He and Dian had sent out the bills—and the payments were already starting to come in!

They couldn’t head directly for the isolated satellite. There were things that had to be done at Geosynch, and loyal staffers Todd had to take into his confidence. He and Dian agreed on which people were solid. No arguments. There weren’t many of them, but they were absolutely essential. The world had to be convinced that Todd Saunder and Dian Foix were in orbit, busy reconstructing the shattered pieces of Project Search, preparing to renew contact with the alien messenger.

That was going on. So were certain secret hologrammatic recording sessions and coded exchanges with certain people planetside and at other orbiting locations.

Then, all too soon, with too little rest to sustain them, Todd and Dian boarded one of ComLink’s tiny maintenance shuttles and went off on an “inspection” orbit, checking various translator-splitter sections of the network. They reached Relay Fourteen six hours later.

For a while, they thought the wires had been crossed, that they had come to a rendezvous with no one to meet them. And for several bad minutes Todd feared that they had been tricked, that maybe the enemy had penetrated the codes and the message hadn’t been from Fairchild’s people after all.

Then the little station’s short-range com came alive abruptly. “Permission to come aboard, Mr. Saunder?”

No preliminaries at all. Startled, Todd checked the nav screens. They said there was nothing outside for thousands of kilometers in all directions. The voice signal, though, was on docking vector, closing very fast.

“Military,” Todd declared, putting the obvious together. Dian looked wary. “They’re masked against detection,” he said. “We can’t see them. Wouldn’t hear them unless they opened their scramblers. At this range, nobody else will pick up that signal, either. That’s impressive hardware. Must be brass, to have that on his ship. Mari said some of Goddard’s potential allies held very important positions on Earth.” He leaned toward the com. “Come aboard.”

Final approach, docking—all very smooth, and accomplished with an invisible ship. Not until the air lock cycled and a man stepped through the port did the person behind the mysterious voice become real.

“I—I know you,” Dian blurted as the black man removed his helmet.

“So do I,” Todd said. He laughed sheepishly. “General Ames. I thought you were on the other side. When I saw you at the science press conference, I figured you were spying on me, maybe had even ordered up the firebombing and those pilots later on.”

Ames seemed bemused. “That’s good. Keep thinking like that, for public consumption. Supports my image as a hard liner.” He anchored himself amid some empty webbing, as at home in space as he was giving orders at Protectors of Earth Enforcement HQ. This man
was
big brass, commanding thousands of troops.

“And you’re not a hard liner?” Dian asked suspiciously.

“No. If I were,” Ames said without resentment, “I would have blown you out of space, knowing what I do about your adventure with a scrambler lock and your overhearing those assassins. And the fact that you’ve gotten hold of one Ed Lutz planetside, who happens to be a member of the P.O.E. Human Rights Committee assigned to inspect SE Antarctic Enclave. You need a doctor with the ability to alter ident handprints, hair texture, skin coloring, and eyes. You need top-secret, non-detectable transport back to Earth in order to link up with Lutz and switch places with him before the inspection tour. Have I got it correct?”

Todd sagged in his webbing despite the lack of gravity. “You didn’t get all of that from . . .”

“Fairchild? Not entirely. I have my sources. And incidentally, I made sure the ‘other side,’ as you put it,
didn’t
get those sources.” Ames had honed all of his original accent out of his voice. Like the assassins, he spoke telecomese, uninflected English. But there was something in the way he had said that last that chilled Todd.

“I . . . I don’t want anyone else to die,” Todd said weakly.

“Who said anyone died?” Todd couldn’t read that black face and was afraid to press Ames on the matter. The man’s tone didn’t change, but there was even more steel under the words. “You’d better trust me, Mr. Saunder. I’d say time was of the essence in this case. You want the doctor? You want the transport Earthside when he’s done his job? Yes or no?”

“I didn’t expect . . .”

For the first time, Ames smiled. It was a charming smile, if you didn’t look at his eyes. “Didn’t expect such fast service? Fairchild’s agents have their own timetable, and it’s crowding me. I can’t spend much time up here, either. I’ve got places planetside I have to be seen. Frankly, Mr. Saunder, I don’t approve of this whole thing. It’s not a civilian’s line of expertise. If it weren’t for Fairchild’s asking me . . . I don’t know why the hell you’re doing this yourself instead of letting one of your subordinates try the infiltration.”

Todd met the dark gaze levelly. “Why are you here, General? You say it’s risky for
you
to be away from Earth right now. Why didn’t
you
delegate this mission? If you want a job done right . . . and besides, I’ve got the motivation, more than any of my subordinates will ever have.”

For a tense moment, the men stared at each other. Finally Ames nodded. “Okay. Let’s move. Give me your specs, and I’ll have what you need. There’s a doctor who can do what you want, as long as he gets a sanctuary in space until this current mess settles down. Agreed? We’ll work out something for Dr. Foix’s friend Lutz, too, if necessary. We don’t always succeed, but we try to take care of our people.” He paused and shot a warning glance at Dian. “But once he leaves for Antarctica, he’s on his own.”

Dian sought to hide her fear. “She knows that,” Todd said with some heat. “I won’t have it any other way. I may not be as much of an amateur as you think I am, General. Or maybe I am, if I’m trusting you.”

Ames sighed and gave up. There would be no more warnings.

“Okay, Mr. Saunder. As of now, we’re in business together—trying to save what’s left of that planet before it disintegrates.”

The next six days were even more hectic than the preceding ones. Ames came through, the doctor he delivered to orbit protested that surgery in free fall had not been part of his training. But after the initial protest, he went ahead brilliantly, so brilliantly Todd wondered where an honest physician would learn such a trade. The mela-tabs that darkened Todd’s reshaped face and altered hand-prints as well as the rest of his skin were a wealthy-class fad to produce quick-tanning and pseudo-Negroid coloration. They were also supposedly employed by criminals and espionage agents who could afford the expensive treatments. Handprint alteration, of course, was illegal in every nation on Earth. The ident system would be useless if the technique became generally available. Dr. Tedesco also had the medications and equipment to kink and dye Todd’s hair, as well as to change the color of his irises to a Negroid brown. When the doctor was finished, the face looking back at Todd from the mirror was virtually unrecognizable. The shock was bearable when he reminded himself that the changes were temporary. Besides, it was all in a very good cause. A life-and-death cause. Life and death for Earth and
Homo sapiens
. . . and for Todd Saunder.

He owed a lot of people before the six days were done. Ames, Fairchild, and many more whose names he wouldn’t be told, not if they all wanted to survive. But if what he was going to attempt pulled Earth out of its current nightmare, that ought to even the ledgers. Then . . . it was time to go. Time to pay the bills.

He and Dian went planetside on board a fully masked and scrambler-concealed military vessel, landed at a secret port in the Mediterranean, hopping westward by a complex pre-planned route toward the Central North American Union. Had Gib Owens followed this same course, thinking it would hide him? Todd thrust his qualms aside. The decision had been made. Time to carry it out. They entered Dian’s old territory. She became Todd’s guide, leading him through the maze of a mid-continent boom town to a ramshackle train station. They mingled with the crowds and headed north toward the United Ghetto States. The train was a filthy and smelly disaster, the tracks dangerous. The company that owned the line was corrupt. That was one more item on a long list of projects Pat had promised to do something about, once he got the Chairmanship.

Todd stared out at dismal scenery as the train crossed the Illinois plains. The landscape would have been depressing even had it not been winter. The outlands of much of the continent were factory farms or owned by the Old Earth religious factions, and in this season all the area was frozen and barren. No one got off at any of the little way stations en route, and the engineer put on reckless speed to avoid being stopped. A year ago, in a notorious incident, a unit of the Old Earth evangelical army had commandeered a train at one of these villages and executed the passengers and crew as “demons who put a curse on our land.” The only safe way to get through this region without taking to the air was to move as fast as possible and stop for nothing.

Most of the passengers were heading north for the midwinter holiday break. They were construction techs or service workers catering to that industry. A lot of rebuilding was underway along the northeastern shores of Lake New Madrid. Civilization encroaching again, now that the earthquake’s map making was finished. The fact that so many people had sought work at such a distance from their United Ghetto States didn’t say much for the economic picture in those enclaves. But the economic picture wasn’t exactly rosy in the Central North American Union, come to that; it was just a little better than in the U.G.S.

Todd was thoroughly inside his disguise, looking like any other nondescript black man riding the train. Dian’s prettiness was hidden by a straggly wig and makeup. Nobody paid them any attention. At journey’s end, they piled out of the train, moving with the throng, just two more work-weary people coming home. The roof of the big antique train depot had been blown away in the Chaos wars. As a result, the concourse was dotted with little drifts of snow that fell from the cracked ceiling. Todd kicked through a pile of the stuff, thinking that snow must mean the climate was shifting once more. Enough winter precipitation could nourish the spring crops. Maybe U.G.S. and CNAU would have enough food for everyone, for a change, this year.

The old depot was well east of the crater towns where Todd had grown up. Dian showed him the way through Chicago’s confusing streets. Some sections were nothing but rubble left over from the Chaos. Others bloomed with new construction, rivaling any of the showcase areas in the East and along the Gulf Coast. In general, though, employment was far below P.O.E.’s global target of fifty percent, and the condition of the city and its people was evidence of slow growth and poverty. They boarded a motorized skid carrier and rode in the open, enduring wind and pellet snow, until they reached Lutz’s section of town. After leaving the municipal transport, it was a five-block walk. Todd wasn’t sure his feet were still attached to his legs by the time they reached the security fence of Lutz’s apartment building.

This would be the first real test of Dr. Tedesco’s talents. Todd pulled off his glove and pressed his right hand against the ident plate. The whorls and indentations on the skin were no longer his, if the surgery proved out. The system was programmed to recognize only legitimate building occupants. It read the print as Ed Lutz’s, lit up promptly, and opened the gate. Letting out his breath, Todd escorted Dian inside.

They climbed the stairs to the third story and used the key Lutz had smuggled to Dian by a very roundabout courier route. They tried to look as if they belonged in this place as they hurried on in. The moment they did, Ed Lutz closed and locked the door behind them.

Todd looked at the man curiously. He couldn’t say he was exactly seeing himself. He hadn’t been born with brown skin, kinky reddish black hair, or brown eyes. Yet the features were remarkably similar, just as Dian had said they would be. The holo-mode the doctor had worked from hadn’t quite shown the man himself. Now Todd could make real-life comparisons. In many ways, the resemblances were superficial. Yet it was a very good match. Ed Lutz didn’t have any strong facial characteristics. Like Todd Saunder, he was the type other people tended to take for granted, visually.

“Man, you
do
look like me,” Ed Lutz marveled. His accent wasn’t too heavy. That was another bonus. Todd had ingested hyperendors to enhance his memory, and he had been copying Lutz’s voice patterns off a tape Dian had acquired. It was a relief that he needn’t worry about duplicating a thick United Ghetto States inflection. “Dian claimed we could be related,” Lutz said, “but I thought you’d look more like your brother.”

“I should be so fortunate,” Todd replied with a chuckle. “If I did, maybe this job would be simpler.”

Lutz shook his head. “Uh-uh! Can’t get in without idents. And your brother, rich as he is, can’t buy ‘em.”

“But we can be given them, for old times’ sake, huh?” Dian peeled off her ugly wig. “How are you, Ed?”

“I’m here. And I wouldn’t be, if it wasn’t for your grandma.”

Guilt was eating at Dian, guilt that she was involving an old friend in such danger. “Ed, you know you don’t have to do this. You can still back out even now. They’ve already killed people.”

“Yeah, so you told me.” Lutz was angry. “Firebombs. Crashing planes. Mean stuff. That’s why I
want
to help. I never came out much, politics style. But that’s damn wrong. Made up my mind for me.” He moved to a dispenser and drew them three cups of caffa liquid. Todd sipped greedily at the hot stimulant.