Read Mindworlds Online

Authors: Phyllis Gotlieb

Mindworlds (9 page)

“Yeh,” Ned said, and waited. He could feel a hot trickle of sweat running down from his left armpit and wished he had taken his jacket off.
“Your robot friend collects them, doesn'e?”
“Lyhhrt made both of them. Birds of a feather.”
Lek snorted. “They fight for Lyhhrt?”
“The O'e I know will do anything Spartakos wants. I guarantee it. And he'll fight.”
For the ones I know he will, anyway
. “Who's hiring, and where offworld?”
“There's a hot spot on Praximf's moon, Calidor, always some bunch wanting to build a base there—”
“And none of them ever comes back from anywhere near Praximf, do they?”
“If you say so … you've been to Khagodis, no? Some work for the Lyhhrt there?”
“Lot of good it did,” Ned said bitterly. “They never came back either.”
“But you know the place.”
“I would if I was paid to know it. Is recruiting your business, Lek?”
Lek gave a closed-teeth grin. “No—but it's my business to find out if the recruits know the place they're going to … eh, what about that cat you're up close with?”
“Rrengha knows the world.”
“She bite?”
“Never bit me.”
“Heh, I dunno if that's saying much. That's it, then.” Lek pinched the coal off his dopestick and dropped the butt in his vest pocket. “I can't guarantee I've got work for you, but I can tell you if you want a cheap doss drop my name at the Sol3City on Main at Fourth, and you'll hear from me. They may not want the Big Red that place, but I guess she has her own quarters.” He got up, thin and loose-limbed, tipped his hat and left.
:That was very dangerous. Especially if I had been forced to strike him down.:
Rrengha would have taken care of that a lot faster.
“You want me to be the mug that deals with the other mugs and that's what I'm doing.” Ned had half-expected those lazy eyes to look up, the thin lips sneering:
Don't I remember you from somewhere, somebody saying you did odd jobs for GalFed?
He found himself longing for the backup of somebody he knew and cared about. Zella had been that in arena days past, she had always been a fiercer, sharper fighter than he; while he liked a taste of violence, she was often afraid of her own anger. He felt lucky it was not usually directed at him. He said to Rrengha, “Lady, you want to come with us or make your own arrangements?”
Rrengha grinned, “Not to sleep with you, Ned Gattes—and I owe a night's work here, but when you want to leave this city I am with you.”
They left her curled up neatly beside the doorway, heavy head resting on her crossed forefeet.
Outside Ned found a cool night where few trees whispered when the wind blew; down the lane toward the street coldlights were fading and neons blinking out. “Good to be out of that smoke,” he muttered. It hadn't mixed well with the beer. “At least we got out of there without a fight, and that's more than I can say for some places.”
The Lyhhrt said in a very low voice: “We have a follower.”
Ned turned to look, saw a dim figure, saw it stumble and then heard a crack, very much like a head hitting the pavement. It lay very still; Ned crept up to it and the Lyhhrt did not prevent him. “Dead?” It was one of the bar's customers, a thick dark-bearded man trussed with the usual weapons. Ned only vaguely recalled him, and was momentarily disappointed. He'd been wishing it was Bluejaw because that chukker had a whack coming.
:A concussion.:
He looked up at the Lyhhrt, who had nothing else to say. “Did you do this?”
A shrill voice cried out, “I did that, I! I!” The O'e woman came out from the doorway she'd been hiding in, shivering, hugging herself in the sharp wind while her robe blew about her in mad patterns. “He was running for me, me,” her angry eyes picked out the blue and red glints of coldlight and neon. “And he thinks he has the right, always him and those others, he splits us like axe on wood and lets us burn for his heat!” She grabbed at a fold of her robe to wipe her eyes, a slit opened in it and Ned saw the knife harness strapped to her thigh. She pulled the cloth together, crying out through her tears, “I put out my foot to him,” repeating the gesture, “and if he has split something so much the good for him, that piece of shit!”
She stopped to catch her breath and Ned felt he needed some too. “We won't say anything to anybody, but you better get back there before they miss you—and let us get away from here too.” The unconscious man began to snort and twitch. “Let's go—”
“No! I want to come with you, with Spartakos and this other one you have along and give shelter to—”
“No, dems'l,” the Lyhhrt said, civilly enough but with a shade of panic, “we must get away from here before—”
“Please, no!” she cried desperately, “Spartakos! Let me come with you wherever you are going! Please, please take
me with you and share your freedom with me!”
Ned and the Lyhhrt were already on their way, but Spartakos was standing still. His head turned, from the O'e woman to Ned and back again. He moved deliberately to pick up the groaning man and set him on his feet, where he fell immediately to all fours and stayed there for a moment, moaning and snarling, and gradually began to crawl away—probably, Ned thought, with a boost from the Lyhhrt. Spartakos came to the O'e woman, laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “Dems'l, the ones we are going with will not treat you any better.”
Ned thought of the way Lek had been watching her.
“Please! If I can stay alive in that place I can do it anywhere!”
Ned said desperately, “Miss, it's worse than you could think!” His own words gave him a shiver.
She bowed her head into her hands and wept.
Spartakos looked at the Lyhhrt, and at Ned. “This one will not lie rotting on the steps down to the sea.” And to his charge, “Come along then, we will find a safe place for you.”
Nothing for Ned but to follow, and the Lyhhrt, like the O'e he was pretending to be.
Ned, frightened, exhausted, stewing in his own sweat, wondered about the crawling man, of whom the Lyhhrt had said nothing, but was not so curious that he wanted to find out.
Khagodis, New Interworld Court in the Southern Diluvian Continent:
Hospitality
 
Hasso thrashed in fearful nightmares, drowning in heaping seas, twisting in swaddling bands on flaming pyres, battling the squirming monsters that leaped out of his mind, and—
“No need to throw yourself about, Hasso my friend. You are quite safe now!”
Who …
Hasso forced his sticking eyelids open.
“Yes, it is Tharma, your old friend from Burning Mountain!” The lively crinkled face and the voice with its sharp West Ocean accent certainly belonged to Tharma. “You never expected to see me by your bedside.” That was true enough, though Hasso had known that Tharma had left her Police position in Burning Mountain to become Head of Security in the Court. Beyond her there was a white wall and arched ceiling, even a round window with morning sunlight coming through its quarter panes.
When he tried to move he found himself bound on a linen-covered mattress by wide bands of elastic cloth that limited his movement without stopping it; his head was encased by an impervious helmet in the form of a padded bonnet to keep him from harming himself as he flung it to and fro. His mouth was so fearsomely dry he could not speak, and a medic in a red sash came forward with a bowl of water while Tharma loosened his bonds.
After taking a few sips he gasped and croaked, “What are you doing here, Tharma?”
Tharma took his trembling hand. “Your friend Lyhhrt saw what was happening and sent me a message right away. If I had not been forced to leave the Court for only two days this would never have happened and—”
“But what—”
“You were found unconscious in a faint because of a disturbance of your heart rhythm and of course you are being given drugs to counteract it—”
Hasso swallowed air mightily. “My heart! Dear Saints, I am not enough of a wreck but that I must be tormented further!”
“I spoke one or two words to the Director General about that—”
Hasso slipped the knot under his jaw and flung the helmet away. “Shut into a cell and tied up here too! Really!”
“Because you were fighting so hard, Hasso. You were put to sleep to calm you down. With the drugs you are taking you will be quite well in a few days—and this is the finest hospital in the world.”
“And then I will be shut back up in a cell, I suppose!”
“Absolutely no—”
The door opened then and Hasso shut his mouth at the sight of the Director General himself, the employer of his employers.
That official, whose name was Vannar, was a large and
dignified man wearing a white flax-seed sash with gold buttons of office. Hasso had seen him on TriV many times but they had never met. He put out his tongue courteously at Tharma, turned to Hasso and said, “Archivist, I speak for myself as well as my Customs Officers when I say that we owe you the deepest apology.”
In this moment Hasso was putting his mind in order and it seeped in that he was not to be put back into a cell. “Your Honor, those officers had evidence that it might have been dangerous to ignore.”
But even safer to run an identity check on the accusers instead of being so frightened of Gorodek
. The DG, massively helmeted in brass and silver, was safe from the criticism.
He squatted beside the bed, looked down at Hasso and said gravely, “It will not be of much importance now.” Hasso became frightened again, but Vannar swallowed air and said, “That fellow, Sketh was his name, I believe? who accused you is—how can I put it otherwise?—dead. In fact, he was killed. Murdered.”
“Dead? He was in a ce—holding area like mine. How—”
“We have no idea how—and even less, why! One of those small window panes was melted away—”
Hasso's mind became concentrated very quickly. He had an idea, and was glad of the Director's helmet.
“—and the officers found him dead from an arterial wound in the neck. He had no weapon with him, and none was found. What is, what is more,” Vannar stammered a bit, “the autopsigram and psychopitron readings showed definite signs of karynon deformation syndrome in his brain and blood cells as well as traces of other illegal drugs … eh, whereas there was no sign of such in your own tests.”
The Director held up his hand for patience and took time to draw air, “And as well, there was a scale fragment of his found in your travel-case, clear enough evidence that your baggage had been tampered with.”
“And I am exonerated,” Hasso said quietly.
“Of course! Completely!” Vannar began to rise out of his squat.
“If my exoneration and your apologies are well publicized I will not consider taking legal action.”
“Understood,” Vannar said stiffly. Then he crouched down again and said more warmly, “My dear Archivist, I can hardly tell you how grateful we are that you are alive and in good care. You would not believe the horror our officials felt when they found both of you collapsed in that manner.”
“I am sure I can well imagine it.” Hasso said civilly. “Thank you very much for your kindness in being so frank, Director.” With a twitch of eyelids Vannar made a sober exit.
Tharma waited until the door had slid closed. “Not a bad fellow, but a bit slow on his feet,” she said. “You may change your mind about legal action. That experience must have had an effect on your heart.”
“It brought out something I may well have been born with.” Hasso began to stir himself and felt his heart's flutterings. “And I don't need such an ugly weapon.”
“I have informed your stepmother, she was eager to come here, but I hope you will excuse me. I told her not to make the long hard journey.”
“Quite right, thank you. And what of my Lyhhrt? Is he safe?”
“He has a small room to himself in a servants' lodging house. There are better outworld lodgings, but …”
He is too fearful.
“All of your friends here have asked after you, but I'm afraid your troubles have been rather eclipsed by the excitement of the murder.”
“The less gossip the better,” Hasso said. “Has no one else tried to contact me? I have an appointment with the Director of Interworld Relations—”
“You must rest for a few days, Hasso.”
“I suppose so …” But the matter lay heavy on him.
Before Tharma left, Hasso weighed the padded helmet in his hands and confided, “Such thoughts as I was then—or now—thinking I would not want to be the property of others … .”
Tharma gave him her deep smile again. “No one here would dare go near your mind for fear of drowning in facts, Hasso, so you have nothing to worry about there! If I see you again I hope it is in greeting.”
Once alone Hasso took a quiet moment to consider that miscreant Sketh. A flash of thought, perhaps accidentally sent him by one of the medics, gave him a vision of the crumpled figure in its gaudy sash collapsed on a dusty floor with its stream of clotting blood flowing from him. Whatever else he had become, Sketh was once a healthy and vigorous man; now he had been scoured and peeled into a piece of evidence. But a darker thought followed him.
A Lyhhrt is the only kind of being here that could have forced its way through that tiny window and done it .
. . I
had believed before all this happened that there was another Lyhhrt aboard … and I am so relieved that it was my friend Lyhhrt who kept faith with me and brought Tharma to help me, but … he was also the messenger who brought the bad news about Lyhhr and its claims on Khagodis.
… Sooner or later they will think of our friend and say, Eki! a Lyhhrt has done this and here is the only Lyhhrt we know, so it must be—
I must make sure that does not happen.
 
 
Later a police constable questioned Hasso briefly, but he had nothing to tell: he knew who Sketh was, but the two had never exchanged so much as a direct look before the accusation; his imprisonment was a blessing in that he had been under close surveillance while Sketh was being murdered.
After two more lonely days of being prodded, injected and manipulated by ticking, grinding and stuttering robots, he was shown into a private guest-house room where he found a beautiful marble sleeping basin with bronze and silver faucets, and flasks of fine unguents on the rim. His baggage was waiting for him, sea-salt and all.
As was his friend the Lyhhrt, in his thick mournful clothes.
“I am so happy to see you, Lyhhrt!”
“And I so sorry that I could not free you earlier.”
“I'm not much the worse.” Hoping that bitterness had not tinctured his voice.
“There is a banquet tonight, and everyone expects the only Lyhhrt in the world to attend. But I will not go unless you do. Will you be there?”
“Of course. Otherwise everyone will think I am either dead or in prison!”
“I will see you there.”
Alone, Hasso stood looking out of the pillared bay window at the sandstone plain far away to the east where New World Mesa upthrust itself into the last flame of the sunset, bearing the great alien ship on its table-top like an offering to the Cosmos. It had been carried far and long since its discovery in the Northern Spines near the Pearlstone Hills, Skerow's homeland.
The ship was the source of the greatest mystery in the world. Because there were no aboriginal peoples on Khagodis; its citizens had no line of descent from or genetic relationship with any other life forms.
If the Khagodi had some other home world or people, they did not know them; they knew only that thousands of years of exploration and digging had never linked them to any other species in the world. There were branches of Khagodi religions that considered these conclusions heretical: the Diggers and Inheritors contended that no one had yet dug
in the right place; the Watchers and Hatchlings who believed that their ancestors had been delivered by burning gods in enormous eggs. Perhaps this ship was one. The scores of life-forms preserved in it had come from many worlds, some still unknown, and no one knew where it had originated.
Hasso regarded it from a gleaming room in a magnificent palace and wondered whether this generous lodging and beautiful prospect would have been assigned to him if he had not suffered that heartcracking experience. Then pushed aside his fears of frailty and dressed himself in a deep green sash with gold threads, the one in which he had delivered the dissertation that made him Master of Archives; finished by picking up his staff to set out for the WorldGuests Welcoming Banquet. He did not wear a helmet; the non-act was his form of dare.
The banquet was the culmination of a long schedule of official welcoming events with a lot of fuss for an hour or two and not much food. This fête was a genuine evening meal, held in a grand hall roofed with many-colored genuine glass panes in extravagant shapes, and floored in mauve and blue marble with inset circles of coral for guests to settle in while they ate or talked. Hasso found one for himself, as usual halfway between the center and the circumference of the crowd.
Though the men had brightened their scales with unguents and the women wore colorful robes, their attitudes were stiff and reserved: murder cast a shadow on them. Only the few outworlders, Dabiri with tails brilliantly dyed and braided, and Kylkladi with gilded feathers, seemed lighthearted.
Hasso could not see the Lyhhrt, and did not look for Ekket; she was beyond even his timid dreams now. There was no sign of the consul who was to be his contact, an old friend from the Northern Spines, now working here; but he
was relieved to find friends coming quickly to surround him, several minds chiming in at once:
:We couldn't find you anywhere, Hasso, there was a fuss and a stir, and you were taken away! Vannar told the whole story … but did not want to let us visit and tire you out.:

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