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15

Elaine lit a dreamer, inhaled, and waited while the first calming fingers began creeping from her lungs into the tissues of her body like water percolating through desert sand to find the roots of a thirsty plant. Then she crossed the living area of her home in Embarcadero to the veranda window and stood looking down at the canal and water gardens below, drawing in and exhaling several more times before feeling the full effect.

Having to try to act normally to keep up appearances had been bad enough during the regular day. Now, being on her own while Balmer met with a banking contact in town to arrange disposal of the proceeds, and Sarda lying low, she was finding it tougher. Step by step, she had felt herself being drawn into an entanglement that had progressed from trying to help someone who hadn't deserved the bizarre situation he had gotten himself into, to collusion in embezzlement and fraud, and now outright theft on a major scale, with somebody she was no longer sure she wanted any part of at all. She wasn't comfortable, but the feverish pace they were committed to allowed no time to extricate herself. All in all, she was very nervous.

She was no longer sure, even, where she planned to head for if they pulled it off. Earth had little appeal for her—fine if you moved among the privileged ranks of traditional social sets who lived above the rules, or the supporting castes of acolytes and technicians who engineered their comforts; but not for outsiders. Her misgivings about any kind of future with Sarda had grown worse by the day, and even with a third split of the cool billion that Balmer was hoping to net, she didn't know enough about the ways of the Belt or the outer systems to feel anything but apprehension at the thought of trying to make it in places like that alone. Continuing any kind of partnership with Balmer wasn't an option. She admitted to herself that it had been only ambition and an unseemly dose of career-consciousness on her part that had kept her with him this long; and after watching the prospect of big money drive him like a mania to concocting the scheme they were all now committed to, it would be all she could do to see it through to whatever end lay ahead. In odd moments she had even caught herself wondering if she—and Sarda, for that matter— could ever feel safe with Balmer out there in control of a third of a billion, knowing that they shared his secret. So what sort of paranoia was possessing her now?

Some friends of hers were crossing a bridge over the canal below. One looked up in the direction of Elaine's window. Elaine stepped back, not wanting to be seen. Two months ago, such a thing would have been unthinkable. What was this business doing to her already?

The house system beeped an incoming call. Elaine moved back across the room and sat down to take it on the screen by the corner recliner. It was Sarda. Elaine was perplexed. "Leo? What do you want? You know we're supposed to stay strictly off any communications. . . ." She noticed the background; it looked like a residence. It wasn't the second-rate lodging out near the far end of Gorky, where he was hiding out, away from anywhere he might be recognized, until the time came for him to play his role. "Where are you?" she asked him.

Sarda ignored the question. Concern was written all over his face. "There's a problem. I have to talk to you right away. Never mind whatever we said before. Everything's changed."

"Has Henry—"

"Never mind Henry. This just concerns us. I need to see you now. Can you meet me?"

A protest started to form on Elaine's lips, but she stifled it before it could turn into words. There was something different about him, in his voice and in his eyes. Even in those few seconds she could feel it. For the first time in weeks she felt herself responding to the person she had laughed and loved with, then found herself falling for . . . only to watch him turn into a stranger. Something had happened—something concerning them, not Balmer's insane scheme. That had to be what Leo wanted to talk about. She gave a quick nod. "Where?"

"You can get out by car okay?"

That seemed an odd question. Leo knew that she drove. She nodded again. "Of course."

"There's a strip of commercial places called Beacon Way, on the north side of Gorky near the Cherbourg tunnel. I'll meet you at an auto, truck and mobile plant dealer's there called Alazahad Machine. It's closed, but I'll be in the office. Don't tell anyone. Come alone. Shall we say half an hour?"

Again, it seemed an odd place to choose. Elaine hadn't known that Sarda had connections with places like that. But it made sense that he would want to avoid public places, she supposed. "Very well. Half an hour," she agreed.

 

It was dark when Elaine found the strip of small office units, industrial shops, and fenced lots that formed Beacon Way. The artificial illumination inside the city was phased to match the natural daylight cycle outside. Round-the-clock lighting had been tried in earlier days, but most people found they didn't like it.

A flashing sign of garish lights and colors announced the presence of Alazahad Machine. The place comprised a typical-looking office cabin and adjacent workshop tucked behind a distinctly non-typical assortment of vehicles and other equipment. A more solid-looking, windowless, concrete building stood immediately behind. Lights were showing in the office. A car was drawn up outside, standing apart from the stock models lined up along the front. Elaine drove in and parked next to it. It was empty, a Kodiak of some dark color impossible to discern under the flashing colors from above. A more sober mood had come over her on the way from Embarcadero. Perhaps her anxiety, wishful thinking, and the dreamer she'd been smoking had caused her to read too much into what she thought she had seen. Bracing herself to be prepared for a disappointment, she went inside.

But the person sprawled leisurely and smiling in the leather chair behind the desk in the chaotic office, his face thrown into relief by the sole light from the lamp standing at one end beside him, wasn't Leo at all. Dressed casually but elegantly in a blue jacket with white shirt, he was lean and tanned, with a regally cut face of strong jaw, sensitive mouth, and narrow nose and cheeks, the overall effect softened by wavy brown hair. His eyes were pale blue, fixing her with an intensity that was unsettling despite his relaxed posture and easygoing expression. "Elaine, I take it," he greeted cheerfully. "I'm so glad you could come. Sorry about the late hour and the mild deception. But as you yourself are only too well aware, we don't have a lot of time." He indicated a chair already drawn up on the far side of the desk. "Make yourself comfortable. There are some coffee self-brews if you'd like."

"Who are you? Where's Leo?"

"Kennilworth Troon, at your service. Or, I suppose it would be more precise to say, at Leo's. I'm representing him. You could say, as a kind of attorney."

"Whatever this is, I don't want any part of it." Elaine's reaction was automatic. What she meant was that she didn't want to be involved in anything deeper than she was in already. Before she had registered any conscious decision, she had turned and started opening the door. And then she stopped. He had called no warning, done nothing to stop her. She could sense him watching her. If she had been happy with the existing situation, she wouldn't be here. If Troon's appearance meant there was a way to change it—for better or worse as the case may be—there was only one way she was going to know. His manner was telling her that she was the one who stood to be affected. It was up to her. She closed the door and turned back. Troon waved again at the chair, still smiling, as if he had been waiting for her to arrive at the inevitable for herself.

"Would you like something?" he asked again as she sat down. Elaine shook her head. "Probably best. I'd imagine you've had enough stimulants and depressants today already, one way or another. It's the stress of these situations, you know. Plays havoc with the nervous system."

Elaine's faculties were regrouping after her initial confusion. "What kind of attorney are you?" she demanded. "Who ever heard of meeting for business in a place like this?"

"The owner is an old friend of mine. I can recommend him personally if you're ever interested in getting a good deal from inside the trade. You'd need to know how to bargain, though." Troon looked around. "Actually, you're right. It was something of a psychological ploy, I suppose. You'd hardly have expected Leo to suggest some public place, would you?"

How much did this man Troon know? Where did he fit in? Elaine couldn't even begin framing guesses. "Where is Leo?" she asked again.

Ignoring her question, Troon recited, "Elaine Lydia Corley. Current residence, 14B Watergardens, Embarcadero. Profession, nursing practitioner with a specialty in neural physiology." The clear blue eyes fixed on her, losing a shade of their playfulness. "Just the person who'd know how to resuscitate a body from stasis suspension and substitute one that was past caring; also, how to tell a monitoring computer to carry on reporting what it's supposed to be seeing . . . if anyone should want to do something strange like that. But there's no saying what some people might get up to, is there?"

Cold, clammy feelings slithered down Elaine's spine. Knots tightened in her stomach, and for a moment she thought she was going to be physically sick. When she tried to lick her lips, she found that her mouth had gone dry. She opened her purse on her knee, rummaged for the tube of "tigers," and shook one of the yellow-and-black capsules into her palm. Troon unfolded from the chair and walked across the office to pour a cup of water from a dispenser by the window. He was tall, powerfully built, but moved lightly with catlike economy of effort. Elaine popped the capsule into her mouth and took the cup when he offered it, but her hand shook, spilling some of the contents. Troon took the cup from her and held it while she sipped and swallowed. She nodded in acknowledgment. He set the cup down on the desk, went back around to the other side, and sat down.

"Also, the professional working partner of Henry Balmer," he resumed as if nothing had happened. "You know, I've always been fascinated by hypnosis. Can it really do all the things you hear about—deaden pain, make people ten times stronger, enable them to recall things they thought they'd forgotten? It's supposed to be capable of doing the opposite, too: people can be made to forget a whole chunk of their life, just on experiencing a posthypnotic trigger . . ." Troon shrugged, as if trying to think of an example. "Maybe a graphic design that they've been programmed to respond to. Do you think it's possible, Elaine? Can Henry do things like that?" He paused, pointedly. "Or could the popular beliefs be overrating things a bit? Might it not work as well as it's supposed to sometimes?"

Elaine felt any inner resistance she might have mustered collapse in defeat. There was no point in trying to bluff or evade. He knew everything. And the only way he could have known was as he had just intimated: the posthypnotic suggestion hadn't worked properly; the other Sarda had come out of the process remembering. The whole scheme was blown. . . . She looked up to meet Troon's eyes as the implication hit her. He seemed to be waiting, as if reading her thoughts and giving her time to put the obvious conclusion together. At least, in his own strangely capricious way, he had shown grace enough to spare her a direct conflict from the beginning.

"He was the other Leo—the one that I talked to," she whispered.

"Of course. You've got your one hidden away somewhere. We've no way of tracing him."

The call had been a trick. She stared at the cup in front of her on the desk, and considered her options now. Troon waited. She could get up and leave, putting herself back in the situation that had been getting more unbearable by the hour; or she could wait and see what kind of alternative there was. Put that way, it didn't leave a lot of choice.

"Very well, Mr. Troon," she acknowledged. "What do you want?"

He nodded in a satisfied way; at the same time, his manner became businesslike. "I think you've worked out for yourself what happened. I can't guarantee anything, but obviously your best way to make things easiest for yourself would be to cooperate and come clean. We need to know where the original Sarda and Henry Balmer are now, and how far they've progressed with the rest of the plan. . . ."

Elaine had stopped listening somewhere around halfway through what Troon was saying. She gasped barely audibly and slumped back in the chair, shaking her head in protest. For what it meant was that the Leo she thought she had glimpsed again briefly on the screen less than an hour ago, the person she had felt for and wanted to preserve, was the one who now knew her only as a betrayer. Revenge would be his only motive now; restitution, his object. The only Sarda she had prospects of sharing the future with was the one at present in hiding—the one she had come to despise and reject.

All she knew was that she couldn't face the Leo that Troon was presumably intending to confront her with now. Somehow she was on her feet, as if another power had taken over her body and she were just a spectator of its movements. "I'm sorry, I can't . . ." She clutched a hand to her mouth. "It's too much. . . ."

Troon watched, his eyes reading her intently; yet he remained sitting, unmoving. She turned, and the surroundings blurred into a tunnel of confused impressions leading her toward the door; then she was outside in sudden darkness beneath the flashing colored lights, and climbing into her car. She was vaguely aware of starting the motor, backing out from beside the Kodiak, expecting Troon or someone else to run out and stop her. But nothing happened. Then she was back on the roadway and heading in the direction of Lowell center. . . .

When her mind began functioning coherently again, she was through the Trapezium and halfway back to Embarcadero, with no clear recollection of getting there.

 

 

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