Sagittarius Whorl Page 26

  I closed the bathroom door and stripped, inserting my grimy clothes and footgear into the valet machine as she'd instructed me. Then I stepped into the shower and did my best to wash everything away.

  It didn't work, of course.

  She was waiting when I padded into the sitting room in my stocking feet. The soaked and battered Adidas hadn't survived the valet's attentions and the car-coat was beyond salvage; but the other clothing I'd appropriated from Dan was fresh and clean again.

  A thought of my wayward brother had flitted briefly through my mind as I dressed. I'd wondered if the Haluk had interrogated him yet. There was nothing he could say that would help the aliens find me, but they might persist in the questioning anyhow. Too bad for Dan ...

  "You smell much better," Joanna remarked. "Don't tell me you used the lavender bath oil."

  "I needed some soothing aromatherapy," I said, trying to sound casual. "You know I always liked lavender. It makes me feel relaxed." And horny, worse luck.

  Three couches were grouped in a U shape before a tall holoscreen. She'd programmed an underwater scene, blue-black tropical water with a school of gleaming opal moon-jellies rising and falling languidly amid ghostly spires of coral. The music was strange, soft blooming chords that might have been Olivier Messaien.

  "I like the holo," I said. "It almost reminds me of home. Kedge-Lockaby, that is. The freesoil Perseus world where I lived. Except the planet's sea never evolved jellyfish."

  "Is it a very beautiful place?" Joanna asked me.

  "Oh, yes."

  "And you were happy there."

  "Not at first. Later, when I got my head back together, I was very happy."

  The food waited in a covered hotdish on a low table in front of the couches. I sat across from her, noted the unfolded vidphone sitting beside a carafe of coffee and a bottle of Jameson whiskey.

  "Bea Mangan hasn't returned your call yet?" I inquired.

  "Yes, she did. She'll be here tomorrow morning at seven, with the genetic assay equipment. She said she'd take a taxi from ICS Tower."

  "That should be safe enough in daylight if she takes precautions."

  "Helly ... I'm afraid she guessed the truth. I'm sorry if it upsets your plans. I never hinted—"

  "It's all right. I might have known Bea would figure it out. After all, she's a cop."

  "She wants to talk to you right away. She said it was extremely urgent."

  "Rats." It had to be bad news. I knocked my fist against my ridged forehead, trying vainly to jump-start my brain. Switched the phone's viewer option off and went through the encrypt rigmarole. Bea picked up on the first buzz.

  "Beatrice Mangan here."

  "It's Helly. The weird voice goes with the rest of my Halukoid ensemble."

  "So the aliens subjected you to the preliminary genen procedure—"

  "Yes. And I escaped. Pardon me for not doing a vis-a-vis, but I'm really tired of being blue and hearing about it."

  Her warm, maternal face was full of sympathy. "How awful for you. I'll do whatever I can to help. You know that."

  "Thanks, Bea. Just verify my DNA tomorrow. After that I'll be getting in touch with Ef Sontag and some others to work out a plan of action. I haven't decided yet whether to go to the media right away or wait a couple of weeks to make my big revelation just before the Assembly vote on the Haluk colonies. In either case, I'd like you to redo my genetic profile in public, as part of the big show."

  "Helly, that's why I wanted to speak to you immediately. Joanna mentioned the Assembly vote, too. But you won't have two weeks to prepare for it. Ef Sontag called me earlier this evening and told me that the Conservatives suddenly forced cloture on the Haluk colony debate. They passed a resolution calling for a vote on Wednesday, the day after tomorrow."

  "No!" I whispered. "No no no."

  There goes the ball game: Haluk-300, Humans-0.

  Bea said, "On Tuesday, tomorrow, Ef and his group will be allowed to present a summary of their opposition. He asked me to appear as an expert witness reiterating the Brown Fleece cadaver evidence. The pro-Haluk committee will then do their own final summation. The Speaker will call for the vote promptly at 1000 hours on Wednesday morning."

  "I know why the debate was squelched," I said dully. "The Haluk leadership hit the panic button after I escaped. They were afraid they wouldn't recapture me before I blew the lid off."

  "I'm sure you're right about that. The Servant of Servants and the entire Haluk Council of Nine are here in Toronto. I've seen them myself in the Assembly Chamber VIP observation gallery."

  "The Servant would be in a position to add threats to the usual Haluk lobbying efforts with the Hundred Concerns. The corporate Syndics squeezed the pocket Delegates to force the early vote. Shit! This probably means that a majority of the Assembly will approve the colonies, too."

  "Ef thought so. But I think you should talk to him, Helly. He's spending the night in Government House with his staff, working on last ditch tactics. Perhaps—"

  "Sorry. That's a no-go. I'm totally exhausted. Too strung out to think straight."

  The metaphoric black pit yawned in front of me, and oblivion had never looked so appealing. I'd go into hiding, fight the impossible fight some other day ...

  But Bea was saying, "Why don't I go to Ef early tomorrow, break the news about your return, and ask him to come along to Professor DeVet's house with me?"

  "If his office has a demi mole—" I objected.

  "All of Ef's people give DNA samples every week, and he has stringent security monitoring. There's no mole. If the Haluk do have his offices under surveillance, it can only be the crudest kind of corridor peeping. I can get him out of there cleanly, Helly. Trust me."

  "I do ... But damn it all to hell, Bea! What can we hope to accomplish in one day? Ef can present me to the Assembly as Exhibit A and I can give a nice little speech. But would it really make any difference in the voting?"

  Joanna suddenly said, "Pocket Delegates, Helly. Rampart's own."

  Stupid stupid. I didn't get it. "What?"

  On the phone, Bea echoed, "What?"

  I activated the speaker option and Joanna spoke louder.

  "There are a substantial number of Delegates beholden to Rampart now, following the Galapharma consolidation. Those votes can be swayed if you undercut Drummond's influence immediately, by removing him from the syndic post and replacing him with an ally. Can't you think of some sneaky lawyerish way of doing it so you wouldn't have to confront the impostor himself?"

  I finally understood what she was saying. The logjam in my cerebrum exploded in a flash of fresh hope. "Christ! If it could only work!"

  I'd persisted in thinking of Rampart as it used to be, a beleaguered little outfit without political influence. Before the consolidation, the Rampart worlds of Zone 23 had rated a meager four Commonwealth Assembly votes under the complex allocation formula that took into consideration both population and corporate worth. With Galapharma's pocket Delegates added in, the total would now be eighty or ninety. It might be enough—

  Bea Mangan's incredulous voice interrupted my train of thought. "Did I hear Professor DeVet mention Alistair Drummond?"

  "He's me," I said tersely. "Fake Helly the First. There was also a Haluk copy of me. It died. If you want the complete scoop on Asahel in Demicloneland, I'll tell you tomorrow."

  Joanna brought us back to the point. "How does a Concern oust its syndic?"

  "According to Rampart's bylaws," I said, "he's customarily appointed or dismissed by the president. A simple majority vote of the Board of Directors can also do it. Drummond is president as well as syndic and he won't fire himself, so that leaves the board. Gunter Eckert, the chairman, can call an emergency meeting. But I'll tell you ladies right now that a hardheaded old businessman like Eckert won't accept me as the real Helly unless he sees a DNA assay done right before his eyes and then has me interrogated with a psychotronic probe."

  "Then do it," Joanna said.

  I had
to laugh at her naivete. "I don't even know Gunter's goddamned personal code! He's certainly ex-database. But that's moot. We'll never get him to call a meeting or watch the assay because he'll never believe that the Asahel Frost who's President of Rampart is an impostor. He won't want to believe it. Neither will Eve, or my father, or any of the other directors. Because if it's true, and the Haluk get their shit blown out of the water, Rampart stands to lose more than any of the other Hundred Concerns. There's no one on the board who—"

  I shut my mouth, overcome with the abrupt realization that I was wrong. There was someone.

  "Helly?" Bea Mangan said anxiously.

  "I just had a thought. I'll have to follow through on it. The odds are long, but the Rampart situation might not be completely hopeless after all. Listen, Bea. You come here tomorrow with Ef Sontag and your genetic profiling equipment. And I'd also like you to bring a Hogan H-18 miniaturized low-power psychotronic interrogation device."

  "Of course. I can borrow one from Enforcement. Is there anything else?"

  "Pray," I said, and told her goodbye.

  Joanna regarded me with a puzzled expression. I said, "Give me a minute." Then I sat still, closed my eyes, and tried to remember a phone code, unlisted, that I'd used only once before, months ago. A code that might mean the difference between galactic war or peace.

  Got it, you crafty blue bastard, you!

  I tapped the pads. This time I left the viewer turned on. There was no need for extra encryption. The man I was calling had the best personal security in the universe.

  He answered his phone, stared at me, and said, "Good God in heaven!"

  "No, sir," I corrected him. "Helly Frost, back from a very bad trip. Captured by the enemy in the Sagittarius Whorl. Demicloned and horribly transmogrified by Haluk villains. But my Barky Hunt wasn't a fiasco. I got the answers we were looking for. Do you want to hear about it?"

  "Yes," said Adam Stanislawski evenly. "If you can prove you are who you say you are." No hesitation, no emotional dithering. He weighed Drumrnond's Helly persona against my unlikely claim and was willing to keep an open mind! What a guy ...

  "Have you ever heard of Joanna DeVet, Morehonse Professor of Poli Sci at Commonwealth University?"

  "The former wife of Asahel Frost. I've read several of her books. Thought they were brilliant."

  "I'm at her house in Cabbagetown. If you come here tomorrow morning at about 0700 hours, I'll prove who I am with a DNA test and a truth machine. After that I'd like you to get hold of your man John Ellington, Vice Chairman of Rampart. Have him force Gunter Eckert to call an immediate emergency meeting of Rampart's Board of Directors—without the participation of the individual presently masquerading as Asahel Frost."

  Stanislawski frowned thoughtfully, then a broad smile broke over his shrewd, guarded features. "I see. Turning the pocket Delegates, eh?"

  "There ain't no flies on you, sir. You guessed it. It was Joanna's idea."

  "Is Professor DeVet there? Let me talk to her."

  I pushed the phone in front of her. She said, "Good evening, Citizen Stanislawski. Thank you for your kind words about my books. I'm rather surprised, since they condemn the coercive role of business in galactic politics. I'm even more surprised that my former husband should have contacted you under these extreme circumstances."

  "Is it really Helly?"

  "Absolutely. Escaped from Haluk durance vile. They cloned him."

  "I'll be damned. Tell me how to get to your house."

  She did. "Until seven tomorrow, then, citizen."

  "I'm really looking forward to it, Professor."

  She ended the call, folded the phone, and uncovered the dish of chicken.

  "Eat your food now, while it's hot. Would you like an Irish coffee? I'm going to have one. Maybe several. It's decaf, so it won't prevent you from sleeping." She picked up the carafe and began filling a glass mug.

  Sleep! With my brain fumbling to process the stunning developments of the past half hour, there was small hope of that. But I said, "Sounds good to me, babe."

  She partially filled both mugs from the carafe, stirred in a little sugar, added generous measures of whiskey, inverted a spoon and used it to carefully float a layer of heavy cream on top. We lifted the mugs and tapped them together, simultaneously murmuring, "Cheers." Sipped, avoiding each other's eyes.

  I began picking dutifully at the food. The baked chicken was meltingly tender and delicious, but I had no appetite. I should have made small talk, asked about her work at Commonwealth University, her life during the years we'd been apart.

  I couldn't. The nearness of her, the very real possibility that I'd be killed tomorrow by alien agents or the hirelings of Alistair Drummond—even the lingering scent of the goddamned lavender bath oil—had cranked up my blood pressure to the point where I didn't even trust myself to speak to the woman seated across the table from me.

  I wanted her so much.

  Goofy old human nature has a paradoxical instinct that sometimes asserts itself under circumstances of impending peril: before the male Neanderthal goes out to hunt the mammoth, before the knight sallies forth against the invincible foe, before the Sioux warrior meets the Seventh Cavalry, before battered Blue Supercop charges blindly into the lair of the corporate bad guys.

  But this time around my body's urgent need to reaffirm life was doomed to frustration. If it was only a need, and not a symptom of something deeper ...

  Seeing my alien hands clumsily manipulating the knife and fork, painfully conscious of the awful face that had stared back at me from the bathroom mirror, I was prey to a burning sense of self-loathing and despair that was only partially associated with my horrifying appearance. I had rejected my wife out of stupid pride, denied my feelings for her because I had been afraid, come back to her only as a last resort.

  Persons I'd respected had told me that I had never stopped loving Joanna: Mimo Bermudez, Matilde Gregoire, my sister Eve. I'd denied it with all my strength, even as I kept the two wedding rings on their platinum chain. I was still trying to deny it, now that we were together again and the situation was hopeless.

  I was no longer a man, and yet I was.

  Joanna sat in apparent ease, bare feet crossed at the ankles, red velvet robe falling away from her white gown, watching the drifting moon-jellies when it became evident that I was incapable of conversation. Finally I couldn't eat any more. She cleared the table and put the dirty dishes into a dumbwaiter.

  "Would you like another Irish coffee, Helly?" So polite and compassionate toward the poor freak.

  "Yes, please. No cream this time."

  She handed the cup to me but didn't resume her seat, walking instead to the windows overlooking the street and briefly parting the drapes. "This is a very safe part of the city, regularly patrolled and well-equipped with security devices. I'm sure you'll be all right staying with me."

  "Just show me the guest room," I said. "Or I can lie down here on one of the couches."

  "You're welcome to stay as long as you like," she insisted. "If we're careful, there's no reason why any of your enemies should suspect you're here. I'd also be happy to help with your ... appointments at Rampart Tower and the Assembly tomorrow."

  "I couldn't possibly jeopardize your safety or impose on you any more than I already have."

  "But where will you go?" She seemed genuinely concerned. "Helly, there'll be a media frenzy! And you'll be in danger from Drummond and the Haluk, no matter how the vote goes."

  "I have a hiding place in mind," I said brusquely. "Don't worry about me." After I'd done what I could in Toronto, I'd go to the place I'd thought of earlier. My first idea had been to retreat to Karl Nazarian's fortified cottage; but I'd rejected that idea instantly. It would be one of the first places my enemies would look.

  And Karl might have already gone the way of Jake Silver ...

  I drank down the last of the coffee, gabbling about how grateful I was to Joanna for her kindness. If she wanted to do more, she cou
ld provide me with a file of news magazines and holovid newscasts. I'd spend the night skimming them, since I doubted I'd be able to sleep.

  "Poor Helly," she said, smiling. "I'll gladly do that for you if you wish. But there are better ways to relax." She untied her robe, slipped it off, and tossed it onto a chair. Then she began to undo the long golden braid of her hair.

  The coffee cup almost fell out of my hand. I said, "Joanna."

  She said, "My dear. I've missed you so very much."

  "No," I moaned. Alien flesh, human hormones. Oh, God. I was coming alive again. They were.

  "Let me see you." She had turned off the room lamps with a snap of her fingers and was undoing the front buttons of her demure white nightdress one by one. It was made of some delicate opaque fabric, with soft lace at the wrists and collar. The only illumination came from the opalescent sea creatures that seemed to float in the virtual water behind her. I could see the thrust of her nipples, her shining eyes.

  "I'm hideous," I said hoarsely. "Changed. You don't understand."

  She shook her head, the smile widening. "You're intriguing. A fantasy come alive. Don't tell me you've never thought about such things. All human beings have."

  The gown fell to the floor. Her wonderful body was the same as always, pale and glowing, with an ash-blond ecu that matched her long hair. She lowered the zipper of my track suit, removed the jacket, slipped her cool hands under my T-shirt and lifted it.

  "Oh!" Not revolted, interested. Caressing my chest's bizarre cobalt trapunto ridges, the twin rows of vestigial mammaries like ornate golden buttons on a hussar's coat. "What in the world are these?"

  "Fuckin' extras," I muttered. "The damned Haluk have litters." She pulled the T-shirt off. "And that's not the worst of it. Please don't—"

  She was fitting her hands around my stupid wasp waist. "That's amazing! How in the world does it accommodate your diaphragm and digestive tract?"

  "I don't know! Joanna, for the love of God—"

  She took my face in both hands, drew it down and kissed me, long and slow, savoring the alien juices of my mouth, accepting the responding thrusts of my awful tongue, crushing her body eagerly against mine, feeling my erection but still not aware of the ultimate indignity.