Harrison  -  Chapter Six

Copyright 1990 by Jim Vassilakos.  All rights reserved.  Permission is
hereby granted by the copyright holder to copy and freely redistribute
copies of this work, so long as no commercial or barter consideration is
obtained in exchange for such copies.



                           Six



Mike leaned against the wall and squinted into the cool, scented
spray as it stung his face and shoulders and dissolved into a
fine, white mist, pools gathering in clusters and slipping down
his aching body to the hexagonal tiles below. He vaguely wondered
what he would tell Linden, trying to rehearse the words in his
mind. "Oh, remember that guy with the android who kidnapped Niki
and bugged your offices and home? Yeah, he's really an okay guy.
I was just talking to him this morning. He decided not to
jettison me out his torpedo tubes. Isn't that the nicest thing?"
   Robin was in the next room prying about, trying to glean
information about him from every facet of his life. Boss's
orders, she explained, but she approached the assignment with a
curiosity beyond mere orders. He hardly knew her and she was
already getting on his nerves.
   "Okay. Dry now." The spray shut off and short blasts of warm
air jetted from the sides of the stall. A clear bowl-shaped
device lowered itself from the ceiling until it surrounded his
head. He shut his eyes as hot air jets whipped around his ears.
In a few moments Mike stepped out of the stall and looked for the
threads. Robin had laid a black three piece suit out for him. He
hated formal wear, but he knew the occasion warranted it. Quickly
dressing, he grabbed a comb and then set it back down as it
scratched bare flesh. He found a formal hat beside the imager.
   Robin, dressed in a long white evening dress, sat on the couch
bent over the Niko camera system with its various parts sprawled
across the living room floor. She had been sifting through
pictures in storage and apparently one had caught her fancy.    
   "What're you up to?" Mike approached cautiously remembering
the last night's incident and the pain she could inflict.
   "I didn't know you had another Siri. Who's this one?"
   Mike glanced at the picture on the screen. A young Siri woman,
perhaps five years older than Niki, stood facing a large
triangular lake finished in polished black stone centered around
three fountains outlined by the dim amber light of Calanna's
dying red sun. Her eyes, dark and bitter, seemed to cast a shadow
across the black stone tiles upon which naked symbols were etched
like tortured spirits, bonded to the stone for all eternity. Mike
remembered the sacrificial alter for all its beauty and pain; and
as if by reflex, he reached to the monitor and the screen went
black.
   Robin looked up startled, "I was just looking."
   "She was an old friend. You wanna go?" 
   "There's still another hour. What's your hurry?" She stood up
and walked into the bedroom.                      
   "Nothin'. What's your's?" Mike packed the camera into its case
and continued to ponder what he would tell Chuck. He walked to
the bedroom, pausing before the door, reflecting what Robin might
be doing. He tried to take into account the fact that she was an
android, but with everything that happened, it still seemed
impossible.
   "I always did like a girl who was straight-forward." He smiled
at the poor taste of his comment.
   "Excuse me?"
   Mike entered the room to see Robin hooked up to the computer
system via a thin clear cord leading into the comm-socket from
her ear. Suddenly he found it not so hard to think of her as an
android.
   "What are you doing to Cindy?"
   "Talking," she smiled. "You have everything locked up real
tight. No access to private files."
   Mike felt relieved. For a moment he debated inwardly between
snapping her cord or just yanking it out of her ear. The thought
made him grin.
   "Cindy, give Robin all the information you have on the
Nissithiu."
   "It is done, Michael."
   Robin unplugged and the thin cord automatically retracted into
her head. Mike felt generous, as if he had a choice in the
matter. 
   Robin stared at him for a moment before speaking. "What makes
you so sure?"                                        
   Mike shrugged, "The facts fit. C'mon, let's go see Linden."   

                         *     *     *

The subway to Greenflower was slower than most since it travelled
above the surface for much of the ride. Mike imagined that its
architect preferred monorails with their visual entertainment of
clearings, cropland, and rolling hills speeding quickly by the
windows to the functional subways which moved a person tens of
kilometers in a matter of a few minutes without anything to look
at except bare earth along the way. True, the subway to
Greenflower was more pleasant than most, but it wasn't really a
subway.                                
   Robin didn't seem particularly impressed, however. She kept
studying Mike and the other passengers, and when she caught Mike
watching she even faked a yawn. It didn't bother Mike, but he
didn't like it either. If she was going to fake a human
characteristic, better that she should fake being delighted to
see the trees dashing by or the rushing sound the wind made
whenever the tracks would turn. That was what he liked so much
about Niki. She was always so happy just to experience and be
alive. That was what he envied most about her ever since the day
he met her at the Psi Institute on Tizar after his last return
from Calanna. He liked her so much he didn't even bother checking
out the full range of her talents, and when he had found out how
limited they were, Mike still decided to keep her on.
   Niki was not nearly as talented as her predecessor in the
picture, but she was happier all the same, though even that could
become irritating sometimes. Robin on the other hand was either
dead or cruel. Mike smiled at the thought, because he knew he was
being too judgmental, but it seemed true all the same. Robin had
her excuse, however; she was an android. Her makers wouldn't
program her so she could have a good time. Anything as state of
the art as herself would have some purpose. Mike, on the
otherhand, was human. He wondered what his excuse might be.
   The train pulled into the Greenflower station. The Lion's Den
was only on the neighboring hillside looking down over a bluff
onto the inland town. It was perhaps a twenty minute walk,
fifteen if they hurried, two or three if they took a taxi. Mike
felt like walking but realized he wouldn't have a choice as two
men in green uniforms entered the compartment.
   "Galactican security," one drily announced, "Please come with
us."

                        *     *     *

Every MegaCorporation was like a nation state; they all had their
own private police, whether the company specialized in cargo
transport, starship construction, agricultural production, or
news gathering and dissemination. The Galactican was no
exception, and on every world under its scope it recruited from
the ranks of the planetary ground command. The people they
invariably got were low quality mercenaries who couldn't cut it
in an interstellar outfit. That knowledge kept the ground cop
humble in comparison with his starlaw counterpart. It was a
quality Mike appreciated.
   The two security officers led Mike and Robin to a grav-car
outside the subway. The cool evening air enveloped them as the
taller of the men fiddled with the electronic keypad-lock. The
other rested his hand on his holster, his rough fingers lightly
touching the handle of his automatic, while his eyes stared at
the back of Robin's neck. The gun looked like army ordinance.
Mike guessed that the short clip contained armor piercing
bullets.
   Once inside the car, they sped up the hillside toward the
Lion's Den. With variable altitude control, the ride was non-
stop; and cars on cross-aisles sped above or below at
intersections. Within two minutes they had settled outside the
banquet hall, the tall statue pillars of the building suggested a
certain elegance of manner which Mike knew would be lacking
within. The tall officer motioned for Mike to follow as he
withdrew from the car toward the white stone building.
   Mike looked over his shoulder as the shorter guard stood
blocking the door, "What about her?"
   "She stays here," the tall one answered.
   Mike followed the security officer into the building, noticing
familiar faces smiling and nodding in every direction. Linden sat
at the front table flanked by the departmental heads. Mike
approached cautiously, catching Linden's eye as he walked toward
the table.
   "Mike!" It was Niki. Bill stood behind her, his long dark hair
combed back and knotted. Several heads turned suddenly from the
crowd.
   "We thought you might not..."
   "I know," He cut her short. "What did you tell Chuck?"
   "Everything," Bill responded first. "When you didn't come
back... what happened?"
   Mike scowled, "Things are screwed up. I've gotta see Chuck."  
   "Hold on a sec..."
   Mike cut through the crowd toward the editor. Linden wore a
blue suit and a confident smile. He stood up as Mike reached the
table, and several of the department heads followed the editor's
example, offering their hands to Mike as the guard took an
unobtrusive position in the background.
   "Gentlemen, you know Mr. Harrison."             
   "Good to see you again young man, you're doing a great job for
the paper."
   "I hear you will be speaking tonight, Mr. Harrison."
   "That was a brilliant piece on Telmar."
   Mike shook their hands and exchanged pleasantries before
pulling Linden aside.
   "Chuck, we have to talk"
   Linden kept smiling, "You bet."  
   "Now."
   Once they were outside, Linden dropped his show smile, "Okay,
what happened."
   Mike let out a long breath, taking his hat off as an opener.
Linden blinked with astonishment at the shaven head and short
metal barbs.
   "...what the... you okay?"
   "For starters, I've got to wear these until I get away from
our psychotic, android friend. Clay wants me to take Robin to
Calanna to find Fork, and I don't think he's an Imp."
   "He's not," Linden stopped staring when the hat went back on.
"We checked over that disk you stole from the Solomon estate. The
one you planted on Niki for us to find."
   Mike nodded, "Anything juicy?"
   "It seems a lot of people were visiting Mr. Solomon that day.
Many are listed as tourists. Other's as diplomats. We think they
may be spies."
   "Azazi?"
   "Draconian Corporation. You stumbled onto something very big."
   Mike tried to puzzle everything together in his head, but none
of the pieces matched.
   "Have you informed the government."
   Linden shook his head, "And blow the story? No way."
   Mike gulped down wondering how long he could go to prison for
concealing information about Draconian spies. He finally looked
up, "What do I do?"
   "Take her to Calanna. Get into her programming over there."
   "We can do that better over here."
   "No," Linden stared into the reporter's eyes. "Mike, we've
already agreed that somebody had to get into my office and home
to plant those bugs, and that somebody was probably in security.
If they have and agent in security, they could just as easily
have ten in technical. Get the job done on Calanna. It'll be more
quiet that way."
   Mike looked down to the grassy turf below his feet, "Okay. Get
me a ship and I'm off."    

                         *     *     *

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman, for that more than generous
introduction. It is certainly a pleasure to be here, and to speak
to such a distinguished assemblage of colleagues, employers, and
guests."
   There was a titter from the audience as Michael Harrison
surveyed the banquet hall. There were easily over a hundred
people present and none who knew what he was about to say,
himself included. Mike tried to concentrate on what they wanted
to hear, but his head was still dizzy from the events of the day,
and he felt a cold sweat beneath the hat as the metal implants
began to itch.
   "As Mr. Jaden pointed out, I've been working for the
Galactican for a very short time, and my work experience often
borders on the fantastic, so whatever advice I have to share with
my colleagues, whatever incriminations I have to send to my
employers, and whatever insights I have to give to our guests
tonight, should all be taken with a granule of sodium-chloride.
   "Investigative gathering is a very individualistic effort;
everybody in the business has their own style and way of tackling
a case, so be forewarned that what works fine for me will
probably fail miserably for you."
   This time there was laughter from the audience. Mike began to
relax and let the words flow. His trick was just to keep speaking
and never really think about what he was saying. As long as his
mouth kept moving, shoveling out the meaningless phrases stuck
together with the pointless glue that was public speaking, he'd
be though his obligation in no time.                           
   But underneath the cool exterior his mind began to wander away
from the speech. Being an engaged speaker was what they taught in
oral communications. He remembered the class well enough. He
remembered two of his instructor's pet phrases: "Reach out to
your audience;" "speak with them, not at them." Mike inwardly
smiled remembering how he had passed the class: by being
disengaged. Speaking was frightening enough, let alone engaged
speaking. Mike always had an alternate method, for almost
everything. He liked to experiment until he found out for himself
what worked best.
   The same was true with investigative reporting. Some guys
would read the morning updates until they found something
interesting, and then they'd go and research a spin-off. Others
would carry a team of news-hounds, usually young people just
entering the workforce who were looking for a few extra credits.
Mike decided to rent-a-psyche.
   He could have found John Doe #17 any of the other ways, but
the fact was that Niki found him the day she visited the
med-center for a psi-rating test. She had contacted the institute
on Tizar and they referred her to Dr. Albertus. After the test
she was still keyed-up and open to psi-emissions as they were
called. That was the day they brought Fork into D-ward.
   "D" was for Disaster. He had been apprehended in a cafeteria
at the starport with a bloody fork in his hand. It was the real
kind, not like the grav-utensils which couldn't hurt a flee. He
must have been from off-world. There was no record of him
anywhere in the planetary directory. And to top it off, he had no
identification what-so-ever. Niki just happened to sense his
total confusion while walking by the two nurses who were
transporting a whacko to solitary, bound in a straight-jacket and
tied to a stretcher. It had been in the updates, any nurse news-
hound could have called somebody on the floor, but as it
happened, Niki spotted the opportunity and took it. That's the
way the dice fell, and Mike couldn't say he was any happier for
it.
   Fork was messed up, that anyone could tell, but what nobody
had known was that the damage had been the result of a mind-
scanner. It took a trained "psyche" to know that. Even
sophisticated medical equipment could miss it. It was that little
bit of knowledge which everyone else had carelessly avoided that
gave Mike a story. To each, his own.
   The mind-scanner was an expensive piece of technology far more
advanced than the sensatizer Mike had so recently experienced. It
attempted to do what any well-trained Siri could do, read the
mind of its victim. Victim was the word to use, because mental
damage was often associated with over-zealous use of the
equipment. If someone was well trained at hiding a secret inside
their mind, all that there was to do was kill a few brain cells
until such training departed. And then, sometimes, the scanner
wasn't used to get secrets. On rare occasions, it was used to
maim. Mike believed that Fork's was such a case; and he believed
that the Imps were the responsible party.
   But how did the Draconians enter into it? That was the piece
of the puzzle Mike couldn't place. It hinted at something much
larger in scope, something which dwarfed both Mike and Fork and
all of Tizar. It was the real itch that he couldn't yet scratch,
until he got to Calanna.
   "Being a reporter for an interstellar news syndicate also has
certain fringe benefits, not entirely immaterial. For starters,
nobody wants to piss you off."
   Mike looked around. Everywhere he saw people laughing. He
hoped they were laughing with him and not at his obvious lies.
   "Another, and this one is just as critical as it sounds, is
that often if there is an important public figure you need to
interview, that person will generally take time out of their busy
schedule to get some good press, whereas if you were working for
some two-bit firm out of Arcadia..." he stopped for a wide if
sheepish grin, "I hope there's nobody here from Arcadia
tonight...." The audience was loving it.
   Except for one person. She sat in a corner near the back. Her
dark features were not so stern as they were indifferent, but her
eyes were as sharp and cold as steel. She seemed vaguely
unimpressed, and Mike felt his heart skip a beat as she stared
directly through him.
   "The last fringe benefit I can bring to mind, tonight, is that
after the story is written and published and read by the masses,
the reporter gets to speak to a distinguished assemblage of his
colleagues, employers, and guests. That's always a lot of fun."
   The entire audience tilted on the edges of their seats, hands
poised in clapping-position.
   "And with that I'd like to return control of this honors
banquet to one of my most esteemed employers, your friend and
mine, Mr. Ray Jaden. Mr. Chairman."
   Mike hurried away from the lectern amidst raucous applause
from a mostly standing audience, and took his seat next to Niki
and Bill. They both congratulated him with pats on the back, and
Mike guessed that the speech went okay, though he still hadn't
the faintest inkling to know what is was that he said.
   "Nice speech buddy."
   "Thanks Bill."
   "...cept, next time I'd leave out that part about taking a
dump outside the Cubbyhole."
   Mike turned around, "What?"
   "You 'member. When we came back from Telmar and got..."
   "I didn't." Mike felt his mouth drop open.
   Bill's face broke into a grin, "Just kidding, Mike."
   Mike sighed with relief as Walker laughed, "You have to admit,
I had you goin'."
   Bill Walker was one of the few people who really knew how Mike
worked. Mike tried to teach him everything, and in the end he'd
taught Bill too much. Now he'd do his best just to hide things
from the younger gatherer.
   Mike looked over his shoulder and saw the woman in the corner.
She was still focused on him. He turned around but could feel her
stare boring into the back of his skull. Her face was familiar,
but he couldn't place it. Some foreign official, he decided.     
   "Bill, who's the woman in that corner in the white dress,
nothing over the shoulders. She keeps looking over here."
   Bill took a half turn using the full extent of his peripheral
vision, which was far better than most people's. Mike figured
that he had lots of practice.
   "She's turned around."
   "Well, she was..."
   "Wait. It's Draconian Ambassador Kato. Don't you read the
paper? Oh, of course. Look who I'm talking to. Forget I asked."
   "Don't let it happen again," Mike used his best Draconian
accent. It sounded absurdly frustrated, and Bill laughed.
   "I think she likes you."
   "Shut-up."                      
   Natasia Uhambra Kato was the permanent Draconian envoy to
Tizar. It was uncommon for her to attend social gatherings unless
she was required to do so by her office. Mike figured that
drastic circumstances had called for drastic measures. But what
did she hope to accomplish?
   "Here comes the booty, mate." Bill looked pleased with himself
as Jaden placed a tray of wall plaques on the table beside the
lectern. He had a list of "winners" in his left hand and a glass
of water in his right.
   "This could take awhile."
   Bill smiled back, "Should we pick up the yawn patrol."
   "But that would be rude," Mike countered as he began his first
glorious yawn of the evening. Bill attended with volumous
seconds.
   "Our first award goes to one of our speakers tonight, a
gatherer who has done a splendid job for the Galactican, and a
close personal friend of mine."
   "I wish he hadn't said that," Bill slowly began to struggle up
from his seat.
   Mike placed a hand on his shoulder, "Sit down."
   "This gentleman has preserved the sacred trust our paper holds
with the public, that of reporting the truth as it is, without
reservation and without dramatization."
   "At least we know it can't be you."
   "Shusshhh..."
   "He headed the best-selling issue of the Galactican this year
with his front page article headlined, `Telmar Prepares For Civil
War' which I might add, was quite accurate if we are to have any
faith in the current news.
   "His articles and essays are insightful and are a fine example
of the very best in journalism. With that, it gives me great
pleasure and pride to award this plaque to Michael J. Harrison,
for his contributions to the Galactican."
   As Mike accepted the award there were resounding cries for
another speech, all of which died down as he resumed his seat. It
took an act of will to not sneak a glance toward the corner of
the hall. There was something different about her.
   "I hope you're not reading me."
   Niki turned, startled, "Somethin' the matter?"
   "I'll tell you about it later."
   The plaque wasn't especially impressive. Mike wondered if they
imported the silver ore from Telmar. Jaden continued to hand out
various other plaques to various other people for various other
accomplishments while company photographers stood around snapping
images.
   "I wish I had one," Bill interrupted Mike's thoughts with his
most sullen voice. He looked like a four-year-old who lost his
lollipop.
   Mike stuffed the plaque in Bill's jacket pocket.
   "Hey..."
   "You can change the name."
   Bill laughed, "Hey, thanks dude."
   "Anytime."
   As the tray grew empty, Mike noticed that he and Bill weren't
the only one's yawning. However, nobody had the guts to make for
the door. Mike knew that the first person to break open the doors
and leave would cause a tidal-wave of people to follow, but
nobody dared start the congestion.
   Finally, Jaden congratulated the readership, everyone who
came, and everyone who didn't get an award but thought they
deserved one all the same. With the final laugh, he declared the
ceremony complete and adjourned the congregation. The rabble,
anticipating the clap of the gavel, were already on their feet
with more raucous applause, but this time with constipated steps
as they tried to squirm outside and preform their relative duties
to nature. Mike laughed remembering the Cubbyhole.
   "Are we having fun yet?"
   Mike gave Niki a hug, "We're about to."
   "Michael..."
   Linden approached from behind Niki, "I got that ship."
   Mike looked over her shoulder, "How soon?"
   "It's at the starport in pre-flight. Hanger 183."
   "Accommodations?"
   "Four."
   "Okay, thanks Chuck."
   Niki tugged Mike's arm, "What's goin' on?"
   "Get your stuff packed, you too Bill, we're going to Calanna."
   "Now?"
   "Yeah."
   Bill headed toward the doors muttering something about his
mother. Niki followed, and then suddenly turned.
   "What about you?"
   "I've got everything I need."
   She turned and ran out after Bill.
   "Mike," Linden turned back to face the reporter. The
multitudes were still bumping their way outside amidst the
congestion at the Hall's entrance.
   "What is it, Chuck?"
   The editor's hands were wrung into a knot as he tried to lean
casually against the lectern. He smiled his real smile for the
first time in the night.
   "Nothing.... Good luck."
   Mike nodded, "Thanks."
   Outside the air was cold, not at all like the balmy summer
nights on most of Calanna. Mike saw the dark figures recede into
the distance, climbing into their chauffeured limousines, a sign
of their decadent elegance. The security officer stood beside the
company gravcar. He was looking for Mike amidst the approaching
crowd. Mike guessed that Robin was still tucked away inside. It
would have been a long wait for a human.         
   "Mr. Harrison."
   "Mike swung around abruptly, barely catching his head in time
to keep the hat from falling off."
   The Ambassador smiled and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a
giggle, "I'm sorry if I surprised you. My name is Natasia."
   "I know." He reached out his hand to shake hers. He wondered
if there was some other sort of protocol.
   "But my friends call me Nuke. Don't worry," she withdrew her
hand abruptly, "you don't have to kiss it or anything. I'm not
Imperial royalty."
   Her long dark hair shined in the moonlight. She was a tall as
him, but very slim. She suppressed another giggle rather poorly
and her face glittered with amusement, but her eyes told a
different story.
   "Can I help you Ambassador?"
   "No." She waited for her reply to sink as she smiled
seductively, "I wanted to commend you on a brilliant speech."
   Mike wondered if she was being sarcastic or giddy.
   "Thank you."
   "You are welcome."
   Her eyes glimmered with icy bemusement as the reply sank
deeper into his mind. Something within them toyed about an idea,
as if she were sifting though his memories for an occasional...
stolen disk.
   "What do you want? You want to know something."        
   She studied him for a moment, "I already have what I want.
You've told me everything."
   Mike clenched his fist, knowing he'd given away his thoughts.
   She put her hands on his shoulders and rubbed her thumbs into
the fabric of his collar while staring into his eyes with a
message of sympathy.
   "Yes, you have. Now I want you to have a safe and happy trip.
And be sure to find Mr. Fork. He's very, very important."

_______________________________________________________________
I  Jim Vassilakos                       I  A rust monster...  I
I  University of California, Riverside  I    Run Awwaaay!!    I
I  jimv@ucrmath.ucr.edu                 I         :-)         I
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