To Build a World Page 4

  “What do you have against me?” Sevigny flung at him.

  The gun lifted a few centimeters. “You defile God’s work!”

  “As you may readily learn by watching a few newscasts, the Fatimite Brotherhood takes a fundamentalist view of terra-forming,” Gupta said. “A change in the appearance of the Moon is especially distressing. Little can be done to reverse the process, but it should not be allowed to go any further.”

  “And you?” Sevigny asked, turning to the doctor.

  Gupta uttered a small laugh.

  “Now, now. Pray do not look for vast, complicated motivations. Such things occur only on the TriV. The Conservationist Party of India, like its counterparts in numerous other countries, maintains quite openly that the Luna Corporation is wasting enormous, badly needed resources on a utopian scheme that, if realized at all, will make no difference to Earth for decades.”

  “Isn’t your own government a major stockholder?”

  “True. The Vishnuists unfortunately command a parliamentary majority.” Lightness left the voice and the big dark eyes turned incandescent. “City dwellers! They have not been out in the hinterlands, have not watched children starve because soil is exhausted and water tables are emptied and raw materials too costly for chemosynthesis. There is the place to begin reclamation!” He finished his cup in one draught. His hand shook.

  “And . . . hm.” Sevigny rested his gaze on Baccioco. “Eureclam S. A. Chartered and equipped, no doubt, for work on Earth only. There’ll be plenty of fat contracts to make the deserts fertile and so forth, if the Moon job is abandoned. Hey?”

  Baccioco reddened. “The question is not of money but of sound policy.”

  “So you say. But look, you must realize that in the long run the Moon’ll pay off ten times what Earth can.”

  “Too long a run,” Gupta said. “It will dehumanize us to plan in such terms.”

  “I told you, Don, there is a political fight going on.” Maura could barely be heard.

  “Which your side is losing,” Sevigny pounced.

  “What makes you think so?” Baccioco retorted angrily.

  “Otherwise you wouldn’t have to resort to sabotage.”

  “That is a most serious accusation,” Gupta said.

  “Why else did you steal that force unit?” Sevigny challenged. “You couldn’t afford to let me bring evidence of your work to the Safety Corps. An investigation would blow your gang open.”

  Gupta spread his hands. “I cannot tell you everything,” he said, “and hence cannot at this moment refute your statement, however false it be. I will swear by anything you wish that you would not have missed our engine, had all gone well. But come now, I offered information for information. Your turn, clansman.”

  “What the devil have I got to tell you? I was only an errand boy.”

  “You had numerous confidential talks with Mr. Bruno Norris. How much hard data does he possess? How much does he surmise?”

  Sevigny leaned back and grinned at them. Inside, hatred made a cold lump in his stomach. Erich Decker, a man under command of a woodman, had been murdered by agents of these.

  Rashid took a step forward. “You will talk,” he said. “There are ways.”

  “Please.” Gupta lifted a palm. “Nothing violent. Means have a sorry habit of affecting ends.”

  “There has been too much kitten play,” Baccioco declared. “He will most certainly talk.”

  Okay, we might as well bring it out in the open. “I’m bound to talk when you let me go, am I not?” Sevigny said. The hatred left scant room for fear, but the blood thrummed in his veins. “That fairly well proves you won’t let me go—alive at any rate. So what have I to gain by helping you?”

  In the return of the stillness, where Baccioco’s breath rattled with rheum, he thought: Maybe they always intended to kidnap me. The theft of my evidence would itself be evidence—No, wait. If I’d not burst in on them, they could have substituted another force unit, also damaged but in a way that’d look like ordinary failure, that’d give no clues to the Safety Corps labs . . . That must be it. So Gupta wasn’t lying when he said I’d never have missed my engine.

  But now I can tell what’s happened, under truth drug, and an investigation will start regardless.

  If I can get away whole, that is.

  Maura lit another cigarette. Her free hand clenched.

  Gupta leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers bridged, and peered amiably at Sevigny. “Clansman,” he said, “we serve a humane cause. But we are determined that it shall prevail. No one will wonder at your disappearance for days. The message to Corps headquarters in Paris that you were coming never left the Moon. Mr. Norris will not expect to hear from you until there is something definite to report. Meanwhile, as you doubtless know, there are certain potent psychopharmaceutical which will elicit information even from unwilling subjects. There is also a treatment to remove memories. And . . . I am a medical man.”

  He paused. “The experience of being interrogated under drugs is admittedly unpleasant,” he said. “Memory removal involves a grave risk of removing too much. Moreover, at best you would be found in the gutter, apparently at the end of a monumental debauch, in the course of which you had lost the object entrusted to you. It would do credit to neither yourself nor your clan.

  “You are a foreigner, owing no duty to any organization on Earth. If you consider the matter objectively, you will surely, as a reasonable man, see that justice lies with us. Not to mention the prospect of substantial material reward. Think well.”

  He stood up. “The hour is late,” he said. “We are all tired. Please accept our hospitality for the night. I will discuss the subject with you again tomorrow. Through that door, if you will be so kind.”

  Now!

  Sevigny slid a hand under Oscar. He poked with a hard thumb. The dirrel hopped to his hind legs and chattered out a protest.

  “What ails him this time?” asked Baccioco surly.

  “Too much excitement. Let me cool him off,” Sevigny said. He began murmuring.

  “You remember, your pet is a hostage too,” Baccioco said. “Nasty things could happen to him.”

  “Tk-tk quee ch-rik, k-k-k ti-oo—” Oscar crouched like a cat. Sevigny picked him up in one arm and rose. Rashid glided near, gun aimed at the Cytherean’s breast.

  “You will rest sounder if you take a sleeping tablet,” Gupta smiled. “I shall come along to your room and give you one.”

  “Better than chains, huh?” Sevigny looked around at Maura. Damn, but she was a dish! “Good night, my lady.”

  “Good night,” she whispered. Rashid passed Sevigny, two meters away, to get behind him. “Ki-ik!”

  Oscar leaped. Sevigny went to one knee. But the bullet did not fly where he had been. It cracked into the floor. Oscar had already landed on Rashid’s wrist.

  The Arab cursed and struck. Oscar sank teeth into his hand. Rashid yelled. Sevigny charged across the distance between. Gupta clawed at him. Sevigny’s left fist met the Indian’s face. Gupta lurched aside. Sevigny kicked Rashid in the larynx. The Arab fell in a heap. The gun clattered free. Sevigny scooped it up and jumped back out of reach.

  “Okay,” he panted, “stay where you are!”

  Maura screamed. “Be still!” Sevigny told her. He didn’t know if there was anyone else in this apartment. Slowly, he moved to the wall until he covered every approach.

  “Tu porco—” Baccioco was aiding Gupta to rise. Blood dripped heavily from the doctor’s mouth. Oscar joined Sevigny and gibbered at the whole world. His fur stood on end.

  Rashid got to hands and knees. He stayed there a second or two, fighting for breath. Then he climbed to unsteady feet.

  Gupta shook his head. The daze cleared from his eyes. “What do you plan to do?” he mumbled through puffed lips.

  “Call the police,” Sevigny told him. “Where’s your phone?” Rashid pulled a knife from inside his blouse and moved toward the Cytherean. He made mewing sounds and his eye
s were crazy. Maura’s mouth opened again where she huddled in her relaxer.

  “Stop or IH shoot,” Sevigny said to the Arab.

  “He won’t stop,” Gupta said. “You will have to kill him.” Rashid edged closer. He held the knife in an expert underhand grip. His tread wobbled, but—“For that matter,” Gupta said, “I intend to make a break for help. I recommend that Miss Soemantri and Signor Baccioco do the same. Since you do not know where the alarm buttons are that will summon others, you will have to shoot the three of us. The American police do not look kindly upon homicide. You may have some difficulty in proving self-defense.”

  Sevigny moved crabwise along the wall until he was near a footstool. He snatched it with his free hand and threw it at Rashid. The Arab fell as the object hit him in the abdomen, staggered erect again and resumed his weak, relentless advance.

  “All right!” Sevigny yelped. He passed his hand above the plate of what seemed to be the main door. It opened for him and he saw a corridor beyond, an elevator waiting not far down.

  “If that lunatic chases me I will shoot,” he said. “I’ll try only to disable him.” He backed through the door with Oscar and let it close. The other entrances he could see along the short length of the hall were on the same side, probably every one leading back into the suite. He retreated fast.

  V

  Fifty floors down, the elevator let him out into a lobby, small and empty despite its polished marble. “Blastula,” he muttered, “I’d hoped this was a hotel.” But no. You couldn’t get away with as much in a hotel as you could in a soundproofed apartment. Baccioco probably maintained a number of those, around the planet Sevigny debated whether to borrow someone’s phone here. If he left this exit unwatched, his enemies could get away before the police arrived.

  On the other hand, if he hung around they might well find some way to recapture him. And as for their escape, come to think of it, men as prominent as Baccioco and—he supposed—Gupta couldn’t disappear. Rashid didn’t matter, was little more than a tool. And he found himself hoping a bit that Maura would go free.

  Oscar made comforting noises on his shoulder.

  He walked out onto the street. It was wide and softly lit, lined with tall residential buildings. An occasional car went by, the whisper of its air cushion blending with the warm breeze that rustled in palm fronds. He was high above the ocean, which he glimpsed at the edge of the city glitter beneath. The Moon was no longer in sight, but he made out a few stars.

  Where was the nearest public phone? He chose an eastward course arbitrarily and began striding. His buskins thudded; the slight jar and the sense of kinesthesia helped shake a little tightness out of him. But his skin was still wet, his stink sharp against a background of jasmine, his nerves still taut.

  At the end of the block a pedestrian belt lifted him over the street. From the top of its arc he spied some glowsigns to the north, and headed that way. Before long he reached a cluster of shops. They were closed for the night, but even in his hurry he lost a few seconds gaping at their display windows. Was that much luxury possible on an Earth that everyone called impoverished? Wait. Remember your history classes. Inordinate wealth for a few has always gone along with inordinate want for the many. Because the many no longer have the economic strength to resist—

  That recalled him to his purpose. There was a booth at the corner. He went in, fumbled for a half dollar and dropped the coin in the slot. The screen lit. He needed a minute to figure out how the system worked. On Venus and Luna they used radio for distance calls, intercoms when indoors. Finally he punched the button marked Directory and spelled out POLICE on the alphabet keys. A set of station numbers appeared. He dialed.

  A face and a pair of uniformed shoulders came to view. “Honolulu Central. Can I help you?”

  “I want to report a theft and a kidnapping,” Sevigny said. It felt odd not to be telling his troubles to a clan elder.

  The voice and eyes sharpened. “Where are you?”

  Sevigny peered out at the signs and read them off. “I don’t know where the nearest station would be. I’m a stranger here.”

  “Name, please?” The man droned through a maddening series of questions. “Very well,” he ended, “stay where you are and we’ll dispatch a patrol.”

  Sevigny fretted for a time which seemed a deal longer than it was. When two dark teardrop shapes halted by the curb his heart slugged.

  A large sergeant with an unexpectedly amiable brown face got out of one. “You the party sent for us?” he asked. Sevigny nodded. The officer took a mini-taper from the pouch at his belt and thumbed the switch. “Tell me about it.”

  Sevigny went through the account in as few words as possible. When he spoke Baccioco’s name, the policeman pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. At the conclusion he turned to the car he had come from and said, “What you make of this, Bradford?”

  “Damfino,” said the indistinct shape within, “but sounds creaky to me.”

  “You’re serious, Mr. Sevigny?”

  “I sure as hell am,” the Cytherean rasped. “And I suggest, instead of a lot of silly questions, you arrest them before they take off.”

  “Well, we can’t do that on your bare word unless you make a formal complaint. Want to come down to the station with us? I ought to warn you, you being outplanet, if this isn’t the truth you’re in bad trouble.”

  “I’ll confirm what I said under drugs, damn you!”

  “Hey, hey, take it easy. I’m not calling you a liar. The boys in the other car will go talk to these people and follow them if they leave. So let’s us be on our way.” The officer opened the rear door and gestured at Sevigny to enter first. The plain-clothesman in front fed instructions to the pilot and the car got moving.

  Turning around, the detective gave Sevigny a hard look. “Maybe your side is fighting back, huh?” he said.

  “What do you mean?” With an effort, the engineer kept his hand away from the gun at his hip.

  “Making up stories to discredit the people who’re campaigning against the Luna Corporation. Everybody knows President Edwards has been trying to get the Commonwealth Council to revoke its charter; and this is an election year, here in the States. A nice ripe scandal could toss Edwards out and shoo Hernandez in—and he wants to sink more American money into Corporation stock.

  Oscar sensed hostility, fluffed out his tail and clicked his teeth together.

  “Whoa, there, Bradford,” said the officer in back. “You’re letting your prejudices run away with you.” He turned to Sevigny. “Me, I think this work on the Moon is the greatest thing that’s happened since Maui’s time. My grandchildren’ll have elbow room like my grandfather used to talk about. Uh, my name’s Kealoha, John Kealoha.”

  Sevigny shook the big hand. “Glad to meet you,” he said. “I’d begun to wonder if anybody on Earth wanted us to succeed.”

  “Sure. Anybody who can see past the end of his own snout. Why else would the opposition have to turn criminal?”

  “That story’s plain fantastic,” Bradford said. “I’d like to interrogate you, Sevigny. Alone.” The Cytherean’s jaws closed. He’d taken more than he would have imagined possible without drawing a weapon. “Any time!”

  “Slack off, you two,” Kealoha urged. “Bradford, he said he’d take babble juice. Let the doc quiz him.”

  A waiting silence fell. Eventually the car stopped before precinct headquarters. The building was dwarfed by the apartment houses around, but thickly formed in concrete, doubtless a relic of the Unrest years. Mass abberration could come back again, Sevigny thought. And it would—if Earth’s population didn’t find some outlet. Not that the Moon would relieve crowding here, to any noticeable degree. But a place for temporary escape—As they debarked, Bradford grasped the engineer’s arm “Come along, you,” he ordered: and let go with a yell. Sevigny had cracked the blade of a hand across his wrist.

  “You—”

  Kealoha shoved his bulk between them. “None o’ that,” he ru
mbled. “You had no call to hustle him, Bradford. And you, Sevigny, don’t ever resist an officer. Not ever.”

  “Even when I’m in the right?” The Cytherean was so astonished that half the anger drained from him. It flowed back and his mouth twisted. “Judas! I can’t get off Earth too fast.”

  Under Bradford’s glower, he entered the building. A lieutenant of police, evidently in charge at night, waited by the sergeant at the desk. “Sevigny?”

  The curious, pale-checked tension of him registered only faintly through the engineer’s emotions. “Yes. I want to file some charges.”

  “Well, that takes time. We have to get hold of a judge, you know, before you can swear out a warrant.”

  Bradford’s expression froze. Kealoha’s mouth fell open. The lieutenant frowned at him and made a slight negative gesture. Behind his desk, the other sergeant sat as if cast in metal.

  “I’ll make the call right away,” the lieutenant said. “Meanwhile, turn your gun over to us.”

  Sevigny shook his head. “No. I have the right, by interplanetary agreement.”

  “And we have regulations. Do you want our help or don’t you?”

  A sense of being caught in some purposeless machine overwhelmed Sevigny. Without a word, he laid Rashid’s pistol on the desk. It hadn’t fitted his holster very well anyway. He sagged into a chair and stared across the bleak, harshly lit room, at nothing. Bradford grinned. Kealoha seemed puzzled and distressed.

  The lieutenant went behind the desk and dialed. “MacEwen speaking, twelfth precinct station,” he said. “Sevigny’s here.” He cut the circuit before there was a reply, came back and extended his hand with a smile. “The judge is on his way,” he said. “Glad to meet you, clansman.”

  Something strange . . . But all Earth was an abyss of otherness. Sevigny shook hands unenthusiastically. “Did you alert him in advance, then?” he asked.

  “Yes.” MacEwen sat down, offered a pack of cigarettes, and took one for himself. “The, um, the situation was peculiar. We didn’t know whether it’d be best to take you here or to main headquarters. So we asked Judge Hughes to stand by.”