Galactic Milieu - Diamond Mask Part 28

"Probabilities aren't proof. I have no intention of making trouble for your family at the present time. That would be counterproductive to my own plan to track down the persons who killed my mother."

I felt a sudden infusion of ice water in my veins. "Your plan to what?"

"I intend to keep all this data secret for the time being. Meanwhile, with your help, I hope to collect additional information that will refine my focus. Not on Fury, but on Hydra."

"Hydra?" I reiterated hollowly. "My help? Don't tell me reaming my brains out wasn't sufficient-"

"I've told you more of my secrets than I've told any other human being. Not even Ken knows what you know. I was afraid ... that Fury might also have approached my brother in an effort to get at me."

"It's possible."

"Now that you know the truth, you've got to help me! There's important information about Hydra that I've been forced to keep on hold because I couldn't act on it. A solid clue to the new ident.i.ty of one of the fugitive units-and its whereabouts. If you help me, I can finally follow through on my investigation. Please, Uncle Rogi!"

The intent hazel eyes brimmed with appeal and she took hold of my hand in a pleading gesture. But I wasn't fooled. Maybe she didn't want to coerce me, but she would if I balked. Tonnerre de chien! I was cornered again.

"What's this clue?" I asked gruffly.

"My grandmother, Professor Mary MacGregor-Gawrys, came upon some very curious information that she's kept to herself because she doesn't realize its implications. I've been probing her just as I've probed the Remillards, but I only found this clue in her memories last week."

I opened my mouth to make another snide comment, but she silenced me with a brief coercive jab.

"Just listen to me! ... Are you familiar with the political situation on Okanagon?"

I shrugged. "Supposed to have lots of Rebel sympathizers in high places, isn't it?"

"Yes. Do you remember how the former Dirigent of that world, Rebecca Perlmutter, died under suspicious circ.u.mstances? She was on her way to tour one of the orbiting Twelfth Fleet installations when a miniature fusion generator in the new courier ship carrying her inexplicably malfunctioned. The ship and everyone in it were vaporized."

"I remember. There was talk of sabotage. Leaders of the Rebel faction on Okanagon were interrogated with the Cambridge machine."

"There was no proof Dirigent Perlmutter was murdered, but she had been one of the most implacable foes of the anti-Unity movement. Along with Anne Remillard and Paul and a few others, she was a cosponsor of the Concilium bill to silence the Rebels."

"Stupid move," I observed. "Humans were fed up with thought-control after the Simbiari Proctorship. As I recall, Okanagon's new Dirigent makes no secret of her own Rebel sympathies."

"That's correct. And Patricia Castellane has surrounded herself with like-minded officials, although the fact isn't trumpeted about. Now here's where Gran Masha comes in: At a meeting on Caledonia back in 2068, she met a man from Okanagon, one of Castellane's top aides. My grandmother is a highly skilled clinical metapsychologist and she can pick up clues from a person's aura that most operants would never notice. She noticed that this man was an extraordinarily powerful meta. Perhaps even a High Five! And yet he wasn't a magnate, only an administrative a.s.sistant. She was curious about him and did some quiet investigation of his background. She discovered that some of the data were inconsistent. His metapsychic a.s.say, for instance, was pegged much lower than it should have been. That made her worry that he might be a Magistratum spy, infiltrating the Rebel movement on one of its strongest planets."

I had been listening doggedly to her recitation, but now I did an incredulous double take. "Are you saying that Masha is a closet Rebel?"

"Of course," Dorothee snapped. "She told the Rebel leaders here on Earth her suspicions about this chap, and they checked him out. They have their own spies in the Human Magistratum, you know. But apparently Castellane's aide vetted clean. A fair number of operants have been inaccurately calibrated; and while the possibly bungled mental a.s.say of a High Five is outrageous, it poses no threat at all to the Rebel movement. Castellane had her aide get his marbles recounted, and it supposedly turned out that he wasn't a High Five at all, only a mastercla.s.s fiver with a quirky aura. That was the end of it as far as the Rebel investigation went. The matter rested for over three years-until I probed Gran Masha's mind and found the story and learned that she still has doubts about the man. She met him again a year or so after his second calibration, and his aura was entirely different from what Gran had perceived at their first meeting. Now Gran's afraid he might be a Lylmik spy!"

"Et alors?" This spy stuff didn't seem very relevant, and I wished Dorothee would get to the point.

"Suppose," she said softly, "that this overly modest High Five who can tune his aura at will is an infiltrator, all right-but not for the Lylmik. Suppose he's one of Fury's Hydra-units, manipulating the Okanagon Dirigent and the Rebels on her planet for Fury's purposes. Up to a point, the Rebels are Fury's allies, you know. Both want humanity out of the Milieu."

I had to agree. "But how the devil could you prove your spy is a Hydra?"

"By going to Okanagon and checking out this character's mind myself," she replied, cool as you please.

"A Hydra on Okanagon-and you want to check him out? Ne dis pas de conneries!"

"Don't worry, it won't be dangerous. This person will never know I've touched his mind. No more than you or the other Remillards did. I can even do an MP a.s.say without a trace. I'm a top-gun redactor, Uncle Rogi."

I lifted my eyes to heaven at this piece of offhanded conceit, but the cherubim with the fiery swords were out to lunch.

"There are a few little problems connected with the Okanagon trip," the little idiot admitted. "I can easily get away for a couple of weeks without my grandparents or the Inst.i.tute preceptors knowing it, but I'm still a minor and I have no legitimate excuse to leave Earth. I need an adult traveling companion to stave off suspicion during the starship voyage and the port formalities at takeoff and landing-to say nothing of help getting into Dirigent House once we're on the planet. My father, the only other person I trust absolutely, can't go with me. It's harvesttime on Caledonia, and after that's over he'll have to attend a.s.sembly sessions. He's an IA now."

I gave a horrified squawk, finally seeing where all of this was leading. "Absolutely not! I refuse categorically-"

She sailed on. "Dad will be happy to pay for the starship tickets, though. He's as determined as I am to apprehend my mother's murderers. You and I can travel to Okanagon on a Poltroyan ship with a very high df and be there and back inside of six days. I can redact any pain you might suffer during the tight-leash hops."

"Why don't you just go to the G.o.ddam planet invisible? Or fuzz your ident.i.ty psychocreatively!"

"Neither would work. Sensors on the ship would detect my ma.s.s. And I wouldn't be able to conduct the probe and mentally conceal myself at the same time. I'll have to get reasonably close to the guy wearing an ordinary wig-and-makeup disguise. You could stay at a safe distance, of course."

"When were you intending to make this trip?" I cleverly conveyed seesaw vibes, hinting that I might be starting to cave in.

"Just as soon as I finish my dissertation on hierarchical lattices in tau-field coupling. Say, two weeks from now. The first week in November."

I uttered a sigh of spurious near-capitulation. "Did it slip your mind that there are three more Hydras hiding somewhere in the woodpile? They're probably all High Fives! In metaconcert, the quartet would certainly be able to zap you to sc.r.a.pple-even if you are a bush-league paramount. And Hydra would cook my poor old goose for d.a.m.n sure if you roused its suspicions-no matter how I tried to hide."

My cowardice provoked a pitying smile. "If I can probe members of the Remillard Dynasty without their knowing it, I can do the same to a Hydra."

"You've got to promise," I muttered, "that you won't try anything with this suspect unless we can get close to him in some public place."

Quick as lightning, she flung her arms around me and planted a kiss on my cheek. "I promise! You won't be sorry you helped me, Uncle Rogi."

"I hope to h.e.l.l not ..." The woodp.e.c.k.e.r was at work again, and I got out my image recorder and started fiddling with it, careful to keep my mental screen at max.

"There's no a.s.surance this man is a Hydra-unit, of course," Dorothee said in an odd tone of voice. "He could be perfectly innocent or even an agent of the Lylmik like Gran thought. But if he does turn out to be one of Fury's henchmen, I'll be well on the way to nabbing the rest of them as well."

"How? The others could be on any human world in the Milieu."

"I have something Fury wants very much. Me! And if it can't have me, if I break off the games I've been playing with it and tell it to go to h.e.l.l ..." She turned away, but not before I had seen a new look on her face, as grim as that of a mountaineer who must conquer a lengthy, mortally dangerous pitch if the climb is not to end in failure.

Suddenly I knew what Dorothee's long-range scheme was. My appalled expression gave away what my screened mind concealed.

"That's right, Uncle Rogi. If I deliberately reject Fury, it will send Hydra to kill me. But if I know the true mental signature of even one of the units, I'll be ready for them."

"Jesus! You're hardly more than a child, Dorothee! The Hydras are-"

"I know what they are," she said bleakly. "I met two of them face to face and I ... perceived ... all four of them just after they'd committed the murders in Scotland. Fury can change the superficial mental signatures of the Hydras, which is why they've been able to remain at large. But it can't change their true metapsychic complexus-the total a.s.say of higher faculties in each mind. The MPC is unique in every mature operant. Even more individual than a DNA scan. Ordinarily, only an expert in coercive-redactive probing can fully a.n.a.lyze an adult mind, and Milieu law requires the consent of the probee before the procedure can be carried out. But of course, I don't face those limitations."

"ca n'a pas de nom!" I wagged my head at the gall of her.

She flashed me a sudden smile, supremely self-confident. But an instant later her mask was back in place and when she spoke, her voice was low and intense. "I'll never forget what my ultrasenses showed me that day in the Islay death-cave. At the time, I couldn't understand what was happening. I was like a baby hearing some horrible off-key chord of music played by a symphony orchestra. I had no idea what kind of instruments were making the sound, much less the harmonic pattern of the metaconcert-which is a.n.a.logous to the intricate vibrations of the air molecules that actually produce musical sounds."

"But you did remember the whole? The-the song of the Hydra?"

"I remember."

"Could you transfer the data to another operant mind?"

She shook her head. "I won't."

"I see." But something still puzzled me. "Why do you need to go to Okanagon, then? Why risk probing this guy when you could flush the Hydra out at any time simply by telling Fury to take a flying fibrillation?"

"It would be a safety precaution. If I probe this individual and discover that he's a Hydra-unit, my knowing his true mental signature will enable me to track him with my farsight. In time, I'd learn the ident.i.ty of the other units through him-"

I brightened. "Then you could blow the whistle on them without baiting a trap with yourself!"

She shook her head. "I'd still have to let Hydra come after me. My evidence would have been obtained illegally. My private convictions are insufficient grounds for making a citizen's arrest-or even reporting the suspects to the Magistratum as possible perps of the Islay murders."

The pileated woodp.e.c.k.e.r hammered again, drilling after some hapless grub that thought itself safe deep within a ma.s.s of solid wood.

"For the final confrontation," I said, with forlorn hope, "I presume you'd find some way to bring in the authorities."

Dorothee brushed lunch debris from her jeans. She opened her daypack, took out her own camera, and peered through it, adjusting the settings using me as the subject. Her face was concealed behind the device as she said, "I haven't decided yet. I won't let Hydra escape, if that's what's worrying you."

That was hardly my princ.i.p.al concern, but I had no intention of letting her know that. Secure within my mental ramparts, I tried frantically to think of the best way to stop the child from committing this piece of suicidal folly. And of course there was my own precious a.s.s to consider, too. All very well for her to say I could keep out of the way while she did her mental a.s.sault; but Hydra knew me. If Mister High Five caught Dorothee in the act, it would be child's play for him to discover who'd brought her to Okanagon. Then good night, nurse!

Two weeks.

I had a little over two weeks to come up with some way to forestall the trip to Okanagon. I couldn't stop her all by myself. I needed help-and from a magnum cranium that couldn't possibly be Fury.

Only one person filled the bill. If I called him today, he'd either come to the rescue in his private express starship or think of some other way to checkrein Dorothee. Meanwhile, I'd have to hide out so the crazy kid couldn't catch me with my screen down and uncover my ploy.

I'd go to Kauai! To Malama Johnson, pretending it was just an innocent visit to an old friend. Dorothee might be able to track me there with her ultrasenses, but the powerful Hawaiian kahuna woman would keep me safe from kidnapping or premature bean-spilling.

Until Ti-Jean came to the rescue ...

"Would you rather go home now, Uncle Rogi?" Dorothee had the grace to look slightly ashamed of herself for having bullied me.

"Not on your life!" I said cheerfully. "Let's go snap that d.a.m.ned woodp.e.c.k.e.r. You get a farsight fix and I'll work out the best way to sneak up on it without scaring it away. I'm pretty good at that sort of thing."

Ti-Jean figured out a way to save both of us, but it was a close squeak.

He was on Satsuma with Marc, winding up an important CE geophysical project. When I called him via subs.p.a.ce from Kauai, got him to focus his ultrasense on me, and farspoke him the lunatic scheme of Dorothee, it took him a full half-minute to figure out how to salvage the situation.

His mind said to me: Our work here on the j.a.panese world has been a great success. We managed to avert a seismic catastrophe and we're heroes. I don't think there's a piece of fireworks left unburnt on the entire planet. Now here's my plan: Marc wants to celebrate the triumph with his research a.s.sociates and friends as soon as we get back to Earth. He's going to throw a big Halloween party at his place on Orcas Island. See that you and the girl come, and I'll take care of the rest.

When I televiewed Dorothee and invited her to the party, she very nearly refused to attend. But I wheedled her insidiously, pointing out that she'd asked for my help-and here I was, offering her an unprecedented chance to catch the entire Remillard Dynasty off guard and further refine her Fury probability researches.

"Nothing lowers inhibitions like a masquerade," I a.s.serted with a telling wink, "even when the partic.i.p.ants are hotshot operants. They'll all be drinking and dancing and carrying on and trying to fool their friends with mental disguises. You can slither around in the thick of the wingding, slipping in the mental shiv. I'll introduce you as my girlfriend Surya. All you have to do is fake the aura of a barely operant person when you're first introduced and then keep your own walls up."

Dorothee finally agreed to go ... if only because it presented her with a perfect opportunity to examine the otherwise inaccessible psyches of Marc and Jack. She also told me that on the day following the party-which was Halloween proper-she and I would be off like a couple of bats out of h.e.l.l, en route to Okanagon.

"I'll meet you at the masquerade on Orcas Island," she said, crackling with authority. "Wear a decent costume. I guarantee I'll have one that'll knock your socks off."

18.

ORCAS ISLAND, WASHINGTON, EARTH.

30 OCTOBER 2072.

May I/WE ask why we should go dearestFury?

[Jealousy.] She's not to be trusted. She should have been killed as soon as her paramount potential was identified. I/WE have told you this again and again. Why must you even consider recruiting another unit? We've become invincible! Any two of us can control the most powerful Grand Master in the Human Polity. Celine and Quint are progressing splendidly on Okanagon and Parni and I have the EuroRebel contingent eating out of our hands. It was laughably easy to eliminate the Sanchez woman before she reported the Cambridge mental laser experiment to the university authorities.

Thank you. It would be more ... gratifying if I/WE had more of your personal attention.

I/WE can give you all the help you need! You never should have approached her. She's dangerous and her full metapotential is still uncla.s.sified. She may even exceed the Great Enemy in certain faculties. If you let her live long enough for the Lylmik to initiate her and affirm her paramount status she may discover exactly what you've been doing. She may discover YOU.

Let me/US kill her! I/WE are afraid of her! She's as dangerous as the Great Enemy. More dangerous!

"Just one minute more," Masako Kawai said to her husband. She stood before a dressing table scattered with cosmetics, studying herself in the mirror. "This awful rice powder isn't covering properly. My face should be whiter for an authentic Samurai-lady look." She took up the powder puff again.

"You're a dream of beauty, Masa," Hiroshi Kodama rea.s.sured her. "That peach-colored kimono is quite the loveliest one I have ever seen. How fortuitous it is that the Seattle area has so many citizens of j.a.panese ancestry. These costumes Shigeru Morita borrowed for us are marvels of authenticity." The voice of the Satsuma Dirigent was m.u.f.fled by his mempo, a demonic iron mask that was part of the magnificent reproduction bushi armor he wore. The fierce Samurai walked his gloved fingers up the exquisite lady's silken back and tickled her neck beneath the elaborate black wig.

"Stop it, Hiro! It took me half an hour to anchor that thing properly." She applied more powder to her nose.

The warrior chuckled wickedly, abandoning the Standard English of the Human Polity to speak in j.a.panese. "You forget, Masako-chan, that I am now your lord and master! Your very life belongs to me to dispose of as I wish." The hands crept beneath her arms, onto her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"If you attempt an a.s.sault on my ivory citadel wearing that armor," she said, speaking the ancient language with considerably more precision, "you will destroy my borrowed costume and possibly do your own precious jade stem an irreparable injury." Wriggling out of his grasp, she tucked a small dagger called a kaiken into her obi along with her fan, turned to him, and reverted to English. "I'm ready. Let's have a look at you."

Docile now, the Dirigent of Satsuma let his wife retie the cords of his kabuto helmet in a more symmetrical bow, after which she kissed his iron nose. "You'll be roasting inside that mask before long," she said, "but I must say that you look madly s.e.xy. Let's buy some costumes like these and take them back to Satsuma with us for our private amus.e.m.e.nt. We've endured frontier hardships long enough. Now that the quake danger is defused, I'd like some attention paid to my own seismic stresses."

He bowed formally to her. "As you command, Lady."

Hiroshi Kodama and Masako Kawai had come to Earth for business reasons, together with several other Satsuma officials, on the same starship as Marc and Jack Remillard. Later in the week there would be meetings in Seattle at CEREM, the new corporate affiliate of Marc's research establishment that was headed by Pete Dalembert and Shigeru Morita. The j.a.panese planet was prepared to open negotiations for an important sale of cerebroenergetic equipment. Meanwhile, Hiroshi and Masako were houseguests in Marc's huge, many-leveled home.

They left the bedroom and made their way down the long, windowed upper hall. The house was constructed in Pacific Northwestern style from cedar, stone, and gla.s.s and seemed to grow out of the western flank of Orcas Island's Turtleback Mountain. Almost every room commanded a view of the moonlit President Channel, other islands of the San Juan group, and even Vancouver Island far to the west. Flurries of moving lights in the air and among the tall Douglas firs down along the seash.o.r.e signaled the arrival of guests by rhocraft or by groundcar from the submarine tunnel interchange at West Beach a few kilometers away.