Juggler of Worlds (18 page)

He kissed the top of her head. “Unofficially, we’re back hunting Puppeteers. It turns out they’re still around. At least it looks that way, because someone is spending General Products money.
That’s
why I’ve been secretive. If Melenkamp hadn’t believed me—or if she were in on it—I didn’t want to take you down with me.”

A sour look came over her, an expression that said she didn’t want or need anyone’s protection. “Spending their money on what, Sigmund?”

“For starters, the Deputy Undersecretary General for Security Affairs.”

“Addeo,” Feather hissed. “That’s why the bastard disbanded the task force.”

“Addeo,” Sigmund agreed. “Working at headquarters, we’ll be able to watch him. We’ll know who Max talks to. Behind the scenes, working through the Secretary-General, I hope to control everything Addeo is assigned and everything he’s told.”

Suddenly, it was the old Feather who stood beside him. A happy, predatory glow lit her face. “And Addeo leads us to Nessus.”

“Nessus may be gone.” Addeo’s dirty money, all the payoffs, flowed through the underworld. None of Sigmund’s informants had heard from or about Nessus in the past two years. Some had encountered a new name, though, a name the mere thought of which made Sigmund’s gut cramp with remembered agony.

Sigmund said, “The criminal mastermind my sources keep reporting is called Achilles.”

From deep in the throat the growl emerged, rolling on and on. A hairless tail lashed from side to side. Ears lay flattened against the head.

Better to fixate on tail and ears and harmless noise than the baring of needle-like fangs. Than the razor-sharp claws that extended from hands like four-fingered black leather gloves.

Achilles stood, alone and unarmed, before the enraged Kzin. “I thank you for coming,” he snarled. The snarl carried no aggressive intent; Hero’s Tongue could be spoken no other way. “I am Achilles. How should you be called?”

The Kzin retracted his lips still further. Sunset glinted like blood on his teeth. He towered over Achilles. “Address me as Maintainer-of-Equipment.”

A title rather than a name, Achilles noted, and a lowly title at that. The Kzin had come to this remote and barren plain for one purpose: to
earn
a name in hand-to-hand combat.

Achilles had, with extreme indirection, posed as a human adventurer. His simple boast to the underclass of this impoverished Kzinti colony world of Spearpoint: to defeat, one by one, all challengers. How wondrous and depressing it was that merely one Kzin had come. Was this warrior race
so
intimidated by the humans? After six disastrous wars, Achilles supposed he was saddened more than surprised. “Maintainer, you are surely disappointed to discover your challenger.”

The Kzin’s only immediate response was a deeper growl.

“I will explain,” Achilles continued. “I seek those prepared to confront our mutual adversary.”

Maintainer-of-Equipment’s tail scythed the air. “Leaf-eater, I am soiled merely talking with you. Do not presume to speak of anything mutual.”

Achilles’ legs trembled from the effort not to flee—not that he could possibly outrun this monster. He had come secure in the knowledge that no Kzin would demean himself by attacking an herbivore. “Nonetheless, Maintainer, we share an interest in teaching humility to the humans.” And, for our separate reasons, we both desire to pursue our aims discreetly.

Maintainer-of-Equipment turned away, striding for his small airship. “I tasted human in the last great war. I would do so again. And no
leaf-eater
will tell
me
how to hunt.”

Maintainer-of-Equipment poured all his rage into his takeoff. The exhaust incinerated a cluster of low-lying leathery shrubs and blasted dust and pebbles across the plain. His airship roared contemptuously low over
Remembrance
, and disappeared.

Achilles stood alone on the undulating plain, with only a few smoldering plants for company. So it had gone on every backwater Kzinti world he had visited. The humans had won: There were no more Heroes. His legs quivered as he made his way back to his ship.

If not even Kzinti still in search of proper names would serve, how could he deflect the unwelcome attentions of the humans?

Nessus was too excited to sleep. The sidelong glances he got at a communal dining hall made plain he was too nervous to show himself in public. As the least worst alternative for coping with his anxiety, he tramped in place within his tiny living unit until his legs ached and sweat dripped from his flanks.

His only company was an unending holographic herd. Companionable warbles and whistles sounded all around him. Only an occasional snippet, never more than a chord or trill, rose to the level of intelligibility. The synthesized voices were quite random. None of it calmed him. The stakes were too high, for him personally—

And for whole worlds.

Finally the time neared for the appointment he had requested. Demanded. Nessus refreshed and dried himself with a quick ultrasonic cleansing. He gathered his mane into a token few braids, whether for credibility with Nike, or for Nike himself, Nessus did not know himself.

He teleported directly from his arcology into the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, emerging into a transparent isolation booth. Still struggling for the notes to articulate his vision, Nessus was startled by the sudden blue light he should have remembered to expect. He swiveled his heads toward the darting beam that sought out his retinal prints. At the same time, hidden sensors searched him for any inappropriate implements.

The booth was a sealed bubble of hull material, of course. At a higher intensity, the light would vaporize him where he stood, right through the unbreakable material. Nessus had a twinge of sympathy for his erstwhile visitors on Earth.

He was teleported without notice into a cozy antechamber. Nessus moved from the stepping disc inlaid on the floor to settle onto a pile of soft cushions. How those earthly visitors would have gaped at a proper stepping disc! Even their primitive closed transfer booths would have been beyond them, but for General Products.

The problem was: He liked humans. Not all of them certainly, but enough. Now he feared that humanity’s fate rested in his jaws. Quivering with tension, Nessus worked himself into a manic state. Nike would not be easy to convince.

Nike. A rush of recent memories almost overwhelmed Nessus. An intimate stroll, just the two of them, along a secluded shore. The ballet, enjoyed from Nike’s private box. The exclusive party after the dance, introduced there to the cream of Experimentalist party politicians as Nike’s personal guest.

Citizens courted with rituals as formal as the ballet. By proper standards, Nike had made no commitment. But did not actions sing as loudly as words?

In his hearts Nessus knew that one such as Nike was schooled to choose every word—those uttered and those withheld—with exquisite care.

And yet.

After striving for
so
many years to be noticed, Nessus had finally been summoned to the ministry to meet Nike—although not for the reason Nessus had expected. His idol had listened politely enough to a report on the experimental scouting program, and the first mission of many that would roam ahead of the Fleet in its journey. But Nike’s interests lay not in probing the path ahead, but on the danger close behind: Sigmund Ausfaller’s renewed quest for Puppeteers. Only after systematically wringing from Nessus countless details about Earth had Nike asked Nessus to accompany him to the ballet.

I have earned Nike’s respect, Nessus concluded. It was a start. And if, in this time of crisis for the Concordance, I must return to Sol system, then at least I will do it with the full confidence of the Director himself.

And if Nike’s personal attentions were meant to soften him for a truly horrifying course of action? Nessus nervously straightened his token braids, eager for and dreading the pending session.

“Come.” A tall, green-eyed Citizen had materialized across the room. The green brooch on his utility belt bespoke allegiance to the ruling Conservative faction. “The Deputy Minister will see you now.” Then he was gone as abruptly as he had arrived.

Nessus cantered to the temporarily activated stepping disc. He had been to the ministry before; he understood the routine. He stepped after the one he recognized as an aide of Nike’s. They made their way through the buzzing office complex that was Clandestine Directorate. Personal ornamentation here was mostly Experimentalist orange. Conservatives ruled, but they lacked the flexibility of thought even to imagine leaving Hearth.

The taciturn aide led Nessus to the entrance of Nike’s spacious office. Holo artwork filled the room, and lush meadowplant carpeted the floor. Nike emerged from behind his work surface, his mane breathtakingly
coiffed. A string of orange garnets glittered amid his braids. “Please come in,” Nike said.

Nessus quivered with nervous energy. The latching of the door behind him by the departing aide scarcely registered. The manic state never lasted long; he must make his proposal quickly. Now. “I have an answer!” he blurted.

“How I envy you. What was the question?”

Nike looked
relieved!
Had he feared Nessus would raise more personal matters? Later, Nessus thought, I must examine that impression. Larger issues now required his attention.

Nessus shifted his weight between front feet. “An answer for the problem with the wild humans. I can save them. That is, I know how to preoccupy them.”

“Can you keep the ARM from finding us?” Doubt was plain in Nike’s eyes. In flight, the Concordance was more vulnerable than ever. Of all species, the wild humans must not find them.

“Yes, yes!” Nessus bobbed his heads in vigorous alternation. He
must
be compelling. No matter that the chaos he proposed to unleash weighed on his conscience. Failure would bring far more dire consequences. A stealthed General Products hull, accelerated to a high speed, smashing undetected into a populated world.…

Shivering, Nessus returned to his proposal. A simple analogy would make things clear. “I was at Harem House and—”

Nike flinched. Choosing of a Bride was obviously not in
his
mind.

Nessus dare not stop. Later he would collapse into a blind lump of embarrassment. For now, the words tumbled out, unstoppable. “The point, Nike, is those on Earth also control their numbers. Unlike us, the humans have chemical means of contraception. Their use is mandatory. Would-be parents require government permission to forego their annual booster doses. Those who have children without permission are executed, and their offspring sterilized.”

His left foreleg, with a mind of its own, dug into the meadowplant. “They’re not like us, Nike. Earth remains a wilderness, home to a scant few billions. Our arcologies rival in number of residents the largest cities on Earth.” Because humans need room. They swarm the nearby solar systems. Nessus kept
those
thoughts to himself. They did not advance his argument. “They reconcile themselves to a repressive government because to them Earth already seems too crowded. That is why discrediting Earth’s Fertility Board is the key.”

“You propose a scandal to divert the hunt for the Concordance.” Nike’s necks wobbled skeptically.

Nessus fixed Nike with a two-headed stare, astonished by his own boldness. He
must
demonstrate his absolute conviction. “Imagine if it were suspected Citizens were secretly buying Brides and the right to reproduce. How would our kind react?” To Nike’s expression of horror Nessus added, simply, “Exactly.”

Nike brought his heads together in thought, doubtless imagining the strife such rumors would cause even among the communal and sociable Citizens. “Is it doable?”

“I believe so, given access to sufficient resources,” Nessus answered. “I envision our agents bribing some members of the Fertility Board, and compromising others by creating bank accounts in their names. The economies of the human worlds have yet to recover from the shock of General Products’ disappearance. The more wealth people have lost, the quicker they will be to suspect conspiracy. Many will believe the rich are buying birthrights. A bit of innuendo here, some surreptitious funding to political opportunists there…”