In the lodging at the outer end of Gorky Avenue where he had been hiding since his unscheduled resuscitation, Leo Sarda checked through the collection of documents and data cartridges making up the phase-one delivery, and arranged them in his briefcase along with the downloaded papers from the bank. The room around him was cramped, cheaply furnished, and felt squalidconstruction workers' accommodations just inside one of the main locks out to the surface. He would be glad to get out of it. But he'd had to stay away from places where he might be recognized.
"Lousy five million," he snarled as he clicked the lid of the briefcase shut. Balmer was right. He would have been insane to settle for that, while his other preening, celebrity self, along with Herbert and Max Morch, and their financial backers were getting set up to share out billions. Well, he would be putting that little item right very shortly now.
He zipped up his jacket, checked one last time over the oddments strewn on the steel-frame bed and side table that he had been using as a desk to be sure he'd forgotten nothing, and let himself out into the stairwell. Two flights down, he came to a gray-walled passage flanked by entrance doors to other units, which took him out onto the shallow-stepped walkway leading down to the concourse where the maglev line ended. As he approached the terminal, a tall, athletic-looking man in a dark business suit and tie with tan topcoatconspicuously unusual attire for that part of townstepped forward from where he had been standing by the entrance to the boarding platform. He was smiling cheerfully and carrying a brown document folder under one arm.
"Good morning. Dr. Sarda?"
"Who are you?" Nobody was supposed to know of Sarda's whereabouts except Balmer and Elaine.
"Kennilworth Troon is the name, from Zodiac Commercial Bank. Henry Balmer wanted to be sure you arrived without mishap, so they sent a car. It's waiting on the lower level."
Sarda was suspicious. If that were so, why hadn't they called earlier? Because they were afraid he might check? "I think not," he said, moving around the stranger in a wide arc and quickening his pace.
"Guard!" the man commanded. A large black dog that Sarda hadn't noticed before, sitting on its haunches a few yards farther on in his direct path, stood up and growled. Sarda halted and turned. The stranger shrugged apologetically. "Sorry and all that. But as you see, I must insist."
Sarda's hand flashed inside his jacket, but even as he drew out the phone, his thumb punching in the emergency code, an arm appeared from behind him, and a black fist the size of a boxing glove plucked the phone from his fingers. He turned to find a beaming giant in a silky green coat, his eyes and teeth standing out against a jet black face, his hair wild and frizzy. "What is this?" Sarda demanded, his gaze alternating nervously between one and the other.
"Shall we?" the man who had called himself Troon invited, indicating the stairs leading down to the road traffic level.
Troon led the way down, his manner as breezy as if he were trotting down steps to the beach for a swim. Sarda followed, with the huge black man keeping close behind, the evil-looking dog trailing. Who they were or what could be going on, Sarda couldn't imagine. A rival outfit trying to steal the TX data wouldn't make any sense. The part that Sarda was carrying to exchange for the initial payment wouldn't be any use to them without the rest.
A car was standing in an open area to one side of the traffic lanesdark blue, sleek and luxurious compared to the norm on Mars, looking out of place among the utility autos, dump trucks, and surface rovers in this part of town. Sarda didn't recognize the model, but the trunk bore a chrome logo announcing the supplier. A womanor, at least, a figure that Sarda took to be a woman from the little he could glimpsewearing dark glasses, head wrapped in a scarf, and a fleece-lined suede jacket with the collar turned up, was at the wheel. Troon opened the rear door for Sarda to enter. The black slid in behind him, while Troon walked around to climb in the other side, and the dog hopped up beside the woman and turned to watch its charge dutifully. "There's nothing to worry about, Dr. Sarda," Troon assured him. "Just a few things we'd like you to identify." He slid a folder out from the document case that he was carrying and passed it across. Sarda took it, opened it . . . and found himself staring at a strangely vivid graphic image which drew his gaze in a way he was incapable of resistinga purple disk inside a silver outer ring containing a spiral pattern of red, yellow, and aquamarine. It was doing something to his mind; he could sense his thoughts coming apart, being rearranged like the image in a kaleidoscope, pieces of the picture disappearing . . . but he was unable to look away.
And then whatever had taken hold of him seemed to release its grip. He sat back in the seat, blinking and shaking his head bemusedly.
"An interesting design, don't you think?" Troon said chattily beside him. "Ever seen it before, out of curiosity?"
At the sound of Troon's voice, Sarda was able to tear his eyes away. But now his confusion was total and all-immersing. He knew Troon's name, but he wasn't sure why . . . or where he was, or how he had gotten here. The people with him had intercepted him upstairs and said something about going to a bank, but he had no idea why he should be going to a bank. He realized that he wasn't even sure when this was. . . . He knew he had been holed up in a cheap room that he didn't recognize, but didn't know why; and there were disassociated recollections pertaining to the experiment. He could remember the preparations, and being wired up for the scanning procedure in the T-Lab. . . . But why couldn't he remember emerging from the process in the R-Lab? There was nothing coherent after then. How long ago had it been? Did it mean that the experiment had failed, somehow? What had happened to him? Where was he now? Who were these people?
"Does the name Henry Balmer mean anything?" Troon asked, watching him intently. "How about Elaine Corley?"
Sarda crumpled up the graphic that he was holding and threw it savagely back in Troon's lap. "What is this shit?" he demanded. "I don't have to talk to you people."
Troon made a sign toward another car parked a short distance away, which Sarda hadn't noticed previously, and a woman got out. There was another figure in there too: a man, wearing a hat pulled low, obscuring his face. Troon opened the window next to him as the woman came across. She was tall and slim with curly black hair, dressed in a patterned sweater and dark pants. "Recognize her?" Troon asked casually.
Sarda jutted his jaw obstinately as she peered into the car. "No, I don't. Why should I? Look, I've just about had it with these games. Is anybody gonna tell me what's going on around here?" The woman stared at him with an expression of disbelief on her face, then shook her head. She seemed distressed, pleading almost, in a strange kind of way. So, she had problems. Sarda had plenty of his own too, just at this moment. "Who are you staring at, lady?" he shot at her. "Look, I don't know you, okay? Is that it? Everybody satisfied?" Troon nodded to the woman. She turned and walked quickly back to the other car. "Right, that's enough. I'm outta here."
Sarda made to move, but Troon's restraining grip on his arm was like a steel clamp. At the same time, the black barred his way with an arm from the other side. In the front passenger seat, the dog growled. "I think not," Troon said, echoing Sarda's own words upstairs at the terminal. The sudden authority in his voice, quiet yet insistent, would have been enough on its own to make him desist. Sarda slumped back, still angry but defeated. "Actually, we're from your medical team," Troon said. "I've got some bad news for you, Leo. Something went wrong with the experiment. We haven't unraveled exactly what yet, but you've been acting strangely, forgetting things, and getting loose all over the place. Now I have to go, but these nice people are going to take you back in again. Try not to worry about it. It's all very comfortable and civilized." Sarda could only look at him, bewildered now. Gently but firmly, Troon took the briefcase that he had been carrying. Sarda wasn't sure why he had been carrying a briefcase. "It's all right, Leo. You won't be needing this. I'll make sure that everything goes back where it belongs."
And then, before Sarda could collect his wits enough to object, Troon was outside, closing the door, and striding across toward the other car. Before Troon reached it, the woman in the suede coat started the motor of the car that Sarda was in, and he felt them moving away.
The Lowell City offices of the Zodiac Commercial Bank were located in the commercial sector at the inner end of Gorky Avenue, where it joined the Trapezium. Kieran and Sarda-Two arrived ten minutes before the time that Sarda-One had scheduled to meet the delegates from the intermediary that Balmer had set up. They were received by a bank official called Walworth, who ushered them smilingly through to a conference room where four men were already waiting. He indicated coffee brewing on a side table, an assortment of other beverages and snacks, and after gushing at them to call if there was anything else they needed, left them to conclude their negotiations privately. He would rejoin them later to attend to the details.
Two of the men were dressed expensively but flashily, one in a loud striped suit with crimson shirt and white tie, the other in royal blue with glittery links, studs, and rings. They seemed ill at ease in the bank, glancing around surreptitiously as if suspicious of bugs or hidden cameras. The man with them was plainly dressed and more easily forgettablethe technical expert, to vet the contents of the briefcase, Kieran guessed. The fourth, soberly attired in a charcoal three-piece with plain blue shirt and tightly knotted tie, introduced the others as Mr. Brown, Mr. Black, and Mr. Green, and himself as their nameless attorney. He seemed disconcerted to find that Sarda was not alone. "Who's this?" he asked, indicating Kieran. "My understanding was that you were to be the sole contact."
"Kennilworth Troon, gentlemen," Kieran said, smiling pleasantly and extending a hand. "You will appreciate that Dr. Sarda's field of expertise is limited to strictly scientific matters. In a situation such as this, he naturally feels it prudent to avail himself of professional representationas do your own clients." He placed the briefcase he had been carrying on the top of the table and opened it to reveal a standard comscreen inside the lid, and the interior filled with wads of neatly separated and labeled documents, several folders of papers, and a multiple container for high-density data cartridges. "I think you'll find everything in order," he informed the company breezily, and gestured toward the waiting chairs. "And now, shall we get started?"