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9

Henry Balmer lived in a small but luxurious condominium contained in a system of glass-walled levels spanning the canyon above where the Trapezium joined Embarcadero, and known collectively as "Crystal Bridge." The search to trace Sarda's missing money was being conducted by the Investigative Department of Lowell's Administrative Congress, which kept their attention away from the real problem. The syndicate that the deputation sent to the Zodiac Bank represented were demanding the return of the quarter billion they had advanced for what the industry buzz was now dismissing as a technology too plagued with problems to be worth the investment. Although finding it was technically Balmer and Sarda's problem, the syndicate was making its people and resources available to the task. Given the choice, it preferred cash in the bank to bodies on mortuary slabs—at best a deterrent of debatable efficacy to others when all else failed.

Leo Sarda sat in the corner recliner, tugging at his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. At Stewart Perrel's suggestion, he was taking a week's convalescent leave from Quantonix, not least because as far as anyone else could tell, the therapy with Balmer seemed to be working, albeit still with some remaining gaps in Sarda's memories from the period immediately following the experiment. That, of course, was because the events he was supposed to remember from that time had been experienced by the other Sarda—the one who had gone missing—whom nobody at Quantonix knew about. Hence, the syndicate had a pretext for the time it needed to find out what had happened to the other Sarda and Elaine. So far, it had drawn a complete blank, even with Balmer's numerous and diverse contacts to draw on. Whoever had engineered the pair's disappearance had done a thorough job.

"We were set up from the start," Balmer said darkly, standing at the sliding glass door at the rear of the living area, unable to keep still. Outside was a small conservatory with tropical flowers and plants, and beyond, a reinforced picture window presenting a stunning view over the roofs of Embarcadero and along the canyon toward the main Marineris rift. "Probably since before the experiment. Obviously, you couldn't have been involved, or you would remember it. So it has to have been Elaine. This double cross was never her doing. It was the work of professionals who know the business. So they must have been involved from the beginning."

"Before the experiment?" Sarda repeated. "So what are you saying? The whole line of hers about using you to keep me around was part of the scam? She had something like this figured out all that way back?"

"Of course she must have." Balmer turned from the window. His eyes glared across the room from beneath the huge eyebrows. "She sold you the idea in order to create a victim figure they could work on. Then she must have poisoned your mind with fears, and resentments toward the other Sarda, who would risk nothing. Well, didn't she?"

Sarda nodded at the suggestion. He had to have been put up to it. Already, he was sure, he could remember her provocative words and sultry urgings for him to claim what was rightfully his. "And I walked right into it," he muttered blackly.

"I always knew she'd latched onto me for what she could get out of it," Balmer said. "But I have to admit I didn't see all the way through her either. An opportunist, yes; but I never realized she could be that much of one."

Sarda showed a hand. "And this pained, moral high tone she put on, suggesting it was me who was being unethical . . . when all the time she was working to clean out both of us."

Balmer breathed heavily. "It almost makes you want to lose faith in—" The chime from the front door interrupted. "Who's this?" He raised his voice slightly. "House manager. Door view." The wall screen opposite the couch activated to show two figures standing outside. One, tanned, suave, was Lee Mullen, a local "facilitator" engaged by the syndicate to help with its inquiries. The other was dark-skinned and bearded, also expensively dressed in a suit. Balmer didn't recognize him. "Function, door open," he said, moving in the direction of the hall. Mullen and the other man stepped inside just as Balmer came through the doorway to meet them.

"Hi, Doc," Mullen greeted. He looked past Balmer, into the living area, where Sarda had risen from the recliner. "Well, say, the other guy's here too. That makes it easier. We've got a few things to discuss," he told them. "But first, I just wanted to let you know that we've come up lucky on the guy with the dog. Seems like he's a doctor too—going under the name of Thane. He took off a week ago with a party that went out in the desert to dig up rocks. We're sending some friends out there to bring him back for a talk. So don't you two get any ideas on going anywhere, okay? We want you around to make sure he gets asked the right questions. People back at the Firm are getting very anxious about this. . . ."

 

Low and sleek, like a blue-and-white shark out of water, the Guardian Angel stood in front of the workshop behind the office at Alazahad Machine, where Solomon Leppo had towed it to be fitted with its automatic cannon from Mahom's miniature armory. Phil Verlan, the sales manager, stood, arms folded, contemplating it alongside Mahom, while Leppo and Mack, an avionics-specialist friend of Mahom's, finished installing the fire-control box inside an access hatch forward of the driving compartment.

"So what do you reckon, Phil?" Mahom asked, giving Verlan a picket-fence grin of pearly teeth. "Sol says there's gonna be a big market one day."

"Who with?" Verlan replied. "Are we planning on expanding into the military supply business?"

"Private security," Leppo said over his shoulder as he held the cover panel while Mack gunned in the fixing screws. "There's no Mars law here yet that everyone agrees on, and the place is filling up. People who matter are already organizing their own protection and alliance deals. Five years from now they'll all be wanting one."

"Is that the way it's gonna go, Phil?" Mahom asked Verlan. "Should we be thinking about taking options?" All prospective business ranked equally in Mahom's estimation. Passing judgments on what ought or ought not to be didn't figure into his way of calculating.

"Let me sound out a few contacts before I answer that," Verlan said. He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, I'm supposed to be meeting a couple of guys, and I'm running late already. I need to pick up some things from the office, too."

"I'll walk back in with you," Mahom said.

"Keep at it, Sol," Verlan tossed back as he and Mahom walked away. "You could be onto something there, all right. I'll start doing some sounding around on it, like I said."

"We can't lose. You'll see," Leppo called after them confidently.

Mack began replacing items in the toolbox from his truck, parked a few yards away. "That should be fine when the sights are calibrated. We'll fly it out to the range at Stony Flats tomorrow for some test firings. Suppose I stop by at ten?"

"That'll work fine," Leppo said. "I'll get Casey over. He works out that way anyhow."

"A couple of boxes of tracer and one minipack of live should be enough. Mahom's got them in the back. I already checked."

"Will do. I'll square it with him as soon as you're gone."

"Okay." Mack closed the toolbox and straightened up expectantly. "What was it we said . . . ?" Leppo felt inside his jacket and took out the envelope that had been delivered from Mullen. He opened it and peeled out four inner-system fifty-dollar bills. Mack checked them, then folded and stuffed them into a back pocket of his jeans. "Okay, Sol. So we'll see you here again tomorrow."

"Ten."

"On the dot." Mack hoisted up the toolbox and walked over to his truck. Leppo watched while he climbed in, started up, and drove off along Beacon Way.

The envelope was still in Leppo's hand. He stared at it for several seconds before returning it slowly to his inside jacket pocket. It was money, yes; and he had long considered money to be the key to everything else that was desirable. But blood money, very possibly? The thought wasn't comfortable at all. He was still wrestling with it when the sound of a motor started on the far side of the office shack; moments later, Phil Verlan's auto came into sight and turned onto Beacon Way, heading in the opposite direction from the one Mack had taken. Leppo felt the envelope in his jacket again. Then he walked up to the office and let himself in by the side door.

Mahom was fiddling with the adjustment of a drawer in his desk that wasn't closing properly. "You got Phil thinking now, Sol," he chuckled. "Whatever gave you the idea of getting involved with people who wanna start private wars?"

Leppo shrugged. "I just think protection is going to get big around here."

"Well, you came to a good place to do your apprenticeship. Was that the idea?"

"Hey, what you pay me for always comes first. You know that."

"Oh, I'm not complaining. You do good work. It sounds like pretty sharp thinking to me. I never held that against anybody. That's what you need to do to get along."

There was a short silence. Leppo walked over to the water fountain and poured himself a cup. "What happened to that blue Kodiak that was out front?" he asked without looking back. "I haven't seen it around. Did we sell it?"

"Rented it. Someone might be interested in one of the lux DH models coming from the lunar plants. The Kodiak'll give him a taste of DH and get him around in the meantime."

"Anyone we know?" Leppo forced his voice to remain casually curious.

"Oh, a real good friend. One of the best."

Leppo's stomach tightened. "Oh, really?"

Mahom nodded his massive, frizzy mane. "They call him the Knight. He comes and goes, gets involved in all kinds of situations you wouldn't believe. Real smart—but always straight. Sides with what's right, especially when it's some little guy who needs help. Has fun getting a piece of the action from the big takers. A while ago, long before you started here, I was being leaned on by a heavy-style protection operation who would have cut me down to being a rent collector for my own place. It was the Knight who fixed them then." Mahom cackled again at the recollection and drew the drawer out experimentally. "Fixed 'em so good that they ain't around anymore. I don't know where he is right now, but maybe when he's back this way you might want to talk to him about private security. He'd give you some angles you never thought of." Mahom nodded, satisfied, and slid the drawer home again. "One of the best," he said again. "You won't ever meet a better friend than that one, Sol."

* * *

Leppo had a date that night with a girl called Mitzi, whom he had known casually for a while. Partway through the evening, she remarked that Leppo didn't seem to be his usual talkative self. Was there something wrong? Leppo replied that it was nothing to do with them. He had a business problem that was worrying him.

 

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Framed