Viewpoints critical, p.25
Viewpoints Critical, page 25
Hermit had headed off to Heaven concourse. Moyra snaplooked at me, then back down before her. I eased back over to the kiosk.
She didn't look up. Her voice wasn't even a whisper. "Snark, I heard one of the angel captains. She was saying that there are diablos in Highport. They've set up something."
Wondered. Was that someone me? Saalmo. Had he been in on it? Made sure I'd gotten the Oligari. Why? "Thanks." "Be careful."
Smiled at her. "Tonight's on me."
She looked up and raised her eyebrows. "You've told me that three times and left me here." "Not tonight." "You've said that, too."
Saw a patroller coming and eased away from the kiosk. Messenger wouldn't stop at the kiosk. Been Saalmo, my entry to the fareast concourse be dead. He knows I stop to talk to Moyra. Patroller was a newbie. Didn't even look my way.
Ferica was running guidesnaps outside the gate from Sansalibre. Legit, but just his excuse to prowl the concourses. Wouldn't pay a hundredth of what he got from his real stuff. Snaps gave a full Highport map, quick call-up, golden lines to the Heaven concourse. Saved souls from Sansalibre could have called up almost the same thing on the port net. Most didn't have mems, though. Understood that the Imperatior didn't allow them. Didn't even like the angels having a consulate there, but even an Imperatior doesn't buck the angels. Not when a single angelfire scout can take down any other system's dreadnought.
Meant that every so often the angels sent saved souls Heavenward, even from Sansalibre. Some even bought Ferica's guidesnaps.
Saw Ferica's gig, and slowed my pace, waiting until the pilgrims all passed him.
"What you got, Snark?"
"Eight prime cubes to Purgatory. Lorico said you might be interested. Also two back to Sansalibre." Sansalibre was a throwaway. Not that much shipped back from Highport to Sansalibre. Other places, but not there.
"Solid cubes?" Ferica sounded bored.
"Solid. Reserved. Failed transfer, nonseeking clause."
"Can take five. Em-cred a cube."
"They want two em-creds. Might be able to get you one and a half for five."
"Try for one and a third."
I backed off and ran the inquiry through. "One point four, and you pay clearances." ·
"Done." Ferica smiled. Teeth looked steel, too. "Pass me the codes." Raised my eyebrows.
"Two hundred creds for you. And something else."
Would have liked more than two hundred, but I'd been running close to margin. Did owe Moyra a good dinner, up-level in town. "Codes . . . blue." Used the remote to trigger the transfer.
"Some hotware there, Snark. Careful who knows you're packing it."
"Loaner," I said. "Repaying a favor. Won't have it long." One way or another, I wouldn't. Snark with an Oligari would be a target if it got around; but things had been thin, and the multiple access had already netted me more options than I'd had in months. "Know anyone else who's looking?"
"Galusi—bulk cubes for Clarkburg. Can't pay more than half an entered per cube."
"You said . . ."
"Oh . . . something you need to watch. Someone knows you got hot-ware. Snoop look on you."
"Thanks." All I needed. Suspected something like that might happen. Headed farther out on the concourse. Galusi called himself a cargo broker. Had a real office. Small—less than three meters on a side. Real business, but not how or where he made most of his creds. Did removals—usually pilgrims who'd gone to the angels to escape. Folks who used Galusi didn't want recovery—wanted the word spread that even the permanent pilgrimage to Heaven wasn't certain if you cheated them. Never quite understood why the angels didn't shut him down. They could have. Hadn't, though. Not yet.
Ran a few more inquiries on the Oligari as I hustled outbound. Put in an inquiry for Clarkburg. Nothing on regular transit, but thirty bulk cubes on lowlight—take two years. Kept looking. Didn't find much, even with the Oligari, except some cubes available on a semilevel return run to D'Ahoud and hot-space to Alpha Felini. Hot-space—didn't touch that. No one I knew could spring a hundred em-creds a cube. Not even the diablos.
Diablos—they wanted a way around Highport to Heaven. Always had. No one knew where Heaven was. Anyone, anything, going to Heaven went on an angel-ship with an angel crew. Only angels came back from Heaven— except once a decade—when they'd bring back a hundred pilgrims, turn them over to the lower worlds' techs for mem-testing. Supposed to prove that the stories about Heaven were all true. Hel! What did that prove. Angels could doctor anything, even minds.
Only thing it all proved was that they got better ships, better weapons, and better ways of twisting the truth. If you believe such a thing as truth.
Got a bad feeling as I neared the portals for Xianth, but kept going. Shouldn't have.
Three angels. Beyond the Xianth portals. Waiting. For me.
You can avoid angels, go around 'em. Don't buck 'em or try to run. Did what I had to. Walked straight to them.
Angel in the center stepped forward. "Mario."
Could tell she was an angel, even without looking. No one calls me Mario.
"Yes." I bowed. No sense in being stupid.
One of their gold-green screens dropped around us. Left me alone with the angel.
"We have a favor to ask. An angel's missing. Somewhere here in High-port. We'd like to find her. Quickly. She's beyond scanners and screens." "What kind of angel?" "Does it matter?"
Did to me, but the tall angel wasn't going to tell.
"I haven't heard anything." That was true. Nothing except Moyra's fears I was being set up. "Haven't seen anything."
"If you do . . ." The angel beamed an access code into the Oligari. The hidden Oligari. Didn't ask. Just beamed. "You'll know what to do, Mario."
The gold-screen curtain went down, and I kept moving toward Galusi's office. Could feel her eyes on my back. Creepy.
Anyone trying anything on the angels, might be Galusi. Stopped for a moment and took out the Oligari. Snapped up a search-and-trace routine that would go off when I got inside Galusi's place.
Galusi surprised me. He was there. "You'd better have something good, Snark."
"Heard you were looking for bulk cubes to Clarkburg. How many?"
"I could use twenty. I'll take fifteen."
"You're lucky. Twenty at a tenth of an em-cred."
"I'll take it. Hundred creds for you, and you pass the access codes over now."
Before I had the codes, he'd made the transfer to my links. "Codes coming."
"Hotware for a snark," Galusi said.
"Loaner. Favor. Got to get what I can now."
Galusi snorted. Understood loaners. Better 'n I did. "Later, Snark." He was nervous. Would have bargained for a lower cubage rate. Didn't. Decided to push. "Saw three angels. Questioning people on the concourse." "They're not supposed to do that." "You going to tell an angel no?"
Galusi ignored the question. "Come back when you got cubes to Xi-anth."
Another way of telling me to get lost. No one ever got cubes to Xianth. Could feel the Oligari taking in the feeds. Decided to get gone. "Later. Could always get lucky."
Galusi laughed.
I was gone. Didn't stop till I was three portals away. Gimmicked the maintenance lock and slipped down to the nearest dead spot. Unloaded and ran an analyzer on what the track and trace had come up with.
Three feeds from somewhere in Highport. Let the Oligari go to work.
Two were routine availability notices. Third was a double-blind, encrypted. Checked the route bounces and the nanosecond delays. Had to have come from the Sandurco concourse. Only place in Highport with those patterns.
Wondered if the angels would pay. Then . . . might be nothing.
But... the Oligari had put me back in business when I'd needed it. Owed the angel something for that. Besides, didn't hurt to have an angel owing me. Better than the other way around. Lots better.
Headed for the Sandurco concourse.
No one stopped me. High-speed guideway cost me ten creds and still took a stan. Flipped off at portal four. Patrollers check and know the dead spots on the first three. Beyond that. . . secure spaces under Lesser Worlds' Agreement. Whoever . . . had to be operating secured. Three possibilities.
Tried another maintenance lock. Opened it, but blew the alarm. Got beyond the monitors, but got no traces—just a long, empty, secure corridor. Space open and emissions zilch.
Went through the same routine after portal eight.
Down twenty creds, and probably another fifty for the alarm if the patrollers pushed it.
Portal twenty—best bet, and didn't have to gimmick the lock. Oligari's routine found a Trojhors and had me through. No one on the other side. Not
even a monitor, just a long corridor, same as around portal four. Felt different. Kept going. Empty space and more empty space. Nothing.
Didn't have much time before the patrollers or Sandurco privsec showed. Took my toolset, measured the field, reset the ID. Then dug out the spare mem from the pouch under my right arm. Boosted the field, set it with the phony of the Oligari, and then crammed the Oligari's search routine into the spare. Overrode the safeties and watched.
That much power on the spare mem—burn it out in less than a stan. Oligari ran that hot forever, but didn't want to do that kind of hackjob on the Oligari.
Took two minutes.
Hotspot a hundred meters ahead and down fifty. Meant that someone had built a hideaway underground. Not many places near Highport where the fields allow that. Wondered how I'd get down there.
Access hatch and drop shaft behind a phony barrier. Used the backup mem to fry the lock. Mem was half-gone anyway. Then took the drop at double speed and burst through the screen.
Big fellow, like Ferica, except he had white teeth and was reaching for a burner. Behind him was a pair of gene-overclone cradles. Looked like a med sculptech, renegade. Could find out later.
I didn't wait. Kept moving. May be small, but I'm not slow. Or stupid. Was inside his burner and had my ceramic blade up through his gut to the base of his heart before he could squeeze the trigger.
Burner still blazed across my shoulder. Hurt. Lots. Could barely see. Still managed to knock the burner to the floor. Kicked it out of the way. Sculptech sagged down, dying. He could take his time now.
Two women in the cradles. Restrained. Both naked. Beautiful. Identical. Silver-blond hair, tall, luminous green eyes, fine noses, but strong. Gene-tags'd show them the same.
Both looking at me. Neither spoke.
I couldn't either. Shoulder was hurting more, not less.
Forced another look around the lab. On the shelf to the left of the console was a wide belt, green, trimmed in gold. On the temphook stuck to the wall was a pilot's uniform—AngeLines.
I knew why the angel hadn't told me who the missing woman was. And Saalmo hadn't set me up. The angels had. Someone had wanted me to know what the missing woman looked like and to have the right equipment.
Slipped the Oligari close enough to the consoles to run a diagnostic. Not one the angels or the Highport admin would have approved. Got a whole web of choices. Could have played games with the angels. No percentage in it.
Accessed the code the angels had given me.
"I've got your missing pilot—and the setup." Fed the coordinates from the Oligari into the web.
"We've got it. Don't move." That was the head angel.
Wasn't about to move. First, doubted I'd get far. Second, had other ideas. Could have waited for the angels, but. . . infosnarks have their pride.
Both women looked at me. Finally, the one on the right moistened her lips.
Asked her, "How did they catch you?"
"It was a sophisticated sonic trap. There was a dead zone on one side of the corridor. I stepped around the maintenance floater, and they had me."
Probably the way it was, too. I turned to the other one, on the left. "What do you have to say?"
"It doesn't matter. They'll sort it out."
There was a quiet sadness in her voice. I knew why. So I stepped up to the console and triggered the releases on her cradle. "Better get your uniform on before they arrive."
The woman still in the cradle swallowed.
"I'd have thought you'd let her escape," offered the real angel. "We couldn't do that much to her."
"Not that cruel," I pointed out. "Couldn't do that to anyone. She'd be taken for a fallen angel. They don't last long. Whoever set this up . . . they knew that."
I didn't say any more because the side doors irised open. Angels and pa-trollers swarmed inside. The overdone was still in restraints. She didn't even swear.
Lead angel ignored the corpse. She had some kind of scanner. Ran the beam over both women. Then she turned to me. "How did you know, Mario?"
"Wouldn't be much of a snark, if I didn't, would I?" Turned to the head angel and offered her the Oligari, with my left hand. Right wouldn't move. "This belongs to one of yours."
She frowned, then reached out. Touched my shoulder. Lifted away the pain. Then she looked at the burner. "Hold still. This is going to hurt."
Thought what the burner did had hurt, but what she did was sheer agony. Except when she finished, the pain was gone. Just a dull ache.
"It will still take a few days to heal completely. Don't lift anything heavy."
I offered the Oligari again.
She smiled. Didn't take it. "Keep it, Mario. You earned it."
Wasn't sure I wanted it. Make me top snark in Highport, for sure, but there's more 'n being top snark that way. Besides, Ferica or someone would make me a mark, so long as I had it.
I handed it to her. "Wouldn't be right." Wouldn't have been.
She understood ... in a way. "What would you like?"
"A few creds . . . and I'd like to see the pilot's ship lift off."
"We'll have to hurry."
So they let me come, up three levels, and on the superguide to the middle of Heaven concourse. I'd never been there. No one sees it except angels, and pilgrims, the saved souls only once. They escorted me all the way through the portal and to the transfer deck.
Everyone stopped there.
The pilot I'd found looked at me with those luminous green eyes.
Knew she'd never be back. Not to Highport. She'd seen too much, and the angels would find some way to keep her on Heaven. She knew it, too. Didn't say anything, but I could tell.
The angels behind us reinforced that.
Pilot looked toward the transdeck. "I have to preflight."
"Have a good trip." Didn't know what else to say.
Stood with the lead angel and watched the screen for a good stan before the golden needle flared, vanished into overspace. Then I turned.
Head angel looked at me. "There are five hundred creds in your account, Mario, and an open passage to Heaven. Open your whole life. No matter what."
Could tell she meant it. "Thank you. Not ready for that." "We know."
Neither of us spoke as she escorted me back to the main concourse, left me there not a hundred meters from Moyra. Wondered if that was an accident. Didn't think so.
Waited out of sight of the kiosk for another half stan, till just before Moyra's shift ended. Then sauntered up.
"Said I'd be here. Your choice. Anyplace in town—upper level."
Her mouth opened. Then she closed it and smiled.
Moyra and I—we slipped through the rain so quick that the star-rain didn't touch either of us, water or light.
Kept running, but not from Highport. Come morning, we'd be back, same as always. I was a snark. Couldn't be one anywhere else.
Still . . . couldn't, wouldn't get the image out of my mind. The proud and tall lady, beautiful, as all angels are, with the darkness of hell behind those green, green eyes. Standing on the transdeck, call it the dock to Heaven, a place she'd never see again, screen behind her showing stars falling around her . . . and not knowing that she'd already missed life.
Moyra and I had that.
This was a side trip to the world of Johan Eschbach, showing an even darker side to an Earth where ghosts and zombies are scientifically based tangible entities; but it's also a mystery and a very human story of love, betrayal, and forgiveness.
GHOSTMISSION
After sunset on Wednesday, I found myself standing outside the Sherratt Inn, one hand on the small pack attached to my belt and concealed by the dark gray windbreaker. I took a deep breath, lifting my hand carefully away from the pack. I didn't want to touch it again any sooner than I had to.The air was cold and still, the acridness of burning coal confined by a winter inversion, but even that smelled wonderful. I'd enjoy it while I could, for all would change, change utterly. I gathered myself together, pushing away the burning that ran along all my nerves and the thought of how little time I had, and stretched my legs, turning toward the Relief Society House. Four blocks later, I could see it, an imposing structure on the south side of the park, almost directly across from the Tabernacle. Covering the rededica-tion was the assignment for Thursday, not that it mattered to me, except for the conditioning. Tonight was what counted.
The sky to the west glowed faint orange from the last rays of the sun striking the particulates emitted from the ironworks. The massive power plant in the flats to the north of the ironworks didn't emit anything. In a convoluted but direct sense, that special high-tech power plant, surrounded by more security than the Saint air base farther to the northwest, was why I was in Iron Mission.
When I reached the rear of the Relief Society House, I waited in the shadows on the far side of the back gate, my breath steaming in the chill and still winter air. The dark gray windbreaker and gray slacks let me blend into the indistinctness of late twilight. By moving my head just slightly, I could see the door to the Relief Society kitchen. Before long, the scullery maids would be bringing out the refuse from the evening meal served to the disfavored wives-—that was the semiofficial term for unpropertied wives who had
either lost their beauty or been unable to provide sons and had been discarded.
The first scullery girl was short and squat. Her eyes darted from side to side. She wasn't the one. I eased farther back into the shadows. After she dumped her load from her basket into the squarish brown Dumpster, she walked hurriedly back along the stone walk to the rear door of the Relief Society kitchen. There was silence for a long time then, and in the stillness I was far more aware of the nerve-burning sensation, psychosomatic as it was, that nagged at me.
