returning to Earth, passengers were permitted to move on board. On the evening before Mando did so, he invited Fred for a good-bye drink, and they met again in the Boomer Rumor.
For a man about to make the homerun run, Mando didn’t seem particularly celebratory. On the contrary, he was lower than Fred had ever seen him.
“She says not to waste my time. She says she will not wait for me. I tried to reason with her. I said that she should do the biostasis until I get there, but she says that would only, you know, ‘postpone the problem of existence.’ I say this is good; it takes time to solve the problem of existence. Let me help, but she says no.”
Mando suddenly remembered himself and said, “I am sorry, Fred. How are you? How is Mary?”
Fred shook his head, and Mando blanched with fright. “She is in a coma?”
“No, not yet,” Fred said reassuringly, but she might be dead for all he knew. He told Mando about the inactive FUS and about his conversation with the Starke mentar.
Mando said, “What does Lyra say?”
“Who’s Lyra?”
“You don’t know? She’s the Sisterhood’s mentar.” Hesitantly, he added, “Starke gave it to them, to all ’leens.” Again the Starkes. “You must go down there and take care of Mary,” Mando went on. “It’s the only way. Did you buy the ticket yet?”
“No,” Fred said. “No one will sell me one. Not even when I hinted” — he lowered his voice — “that I was willing to pay a premium for one.”
Mando took a generous squeeze of whatever was in his bulb. “I am so sorry to hear that, Fred.”
They were interrupted by three men from another cage, three fellow russes in town togs who had been shooting Fred murderous glances since he arrived. Now they hid their identities with shades and gloves, and they were brave with drink.
“You, Stain, you foul my air,” said one of them leaning into the cage. “You shit on the good name of our Brotherhood. You don’t belong among decent people.”
“Easy, brother,” Mando said. “We don’t want no trouble.”
The intruder turned to Mando with a look of revulsion. “Whose side are you on, Mendez? You can stand with him, or you can stand with us, but you can’t have it both ways.”
“I am on the side of tolerance and understanding,” Mando said. “You know my name. Tell me yours.”
“Never mind who we are. We are true brothers, and unless you want what he’s getting, you better heave yourself out of here.”
Fred said, “I know who he is.” He hadn’t brought his spex or visor, but he did have his Spectre. He opened a frame on the cage wall and the man’s mug appeared, bigger than life, along with his personal data. “Listen, Mike,” Fred said, reading the name off the frame, “there’s no need to report this to TECA or Marcus. If you just back off, I can forget all about it. But I won’t forget threats against my friends. Got that, Mike?” The other two russes were likewise unmasked. None of them seemed to have any infractions in their files; they were good men acting out in the heat of the moment. “It’s the booze talking, brothers. I’m not worth ruining your careers over.”
“You’re not my brother,” the first man said, but it was clear the fight had gone out of him, and he and his friends left the establishment.
“I’m sorry,” Mando said when they were alone.
“You didn’t do anything.”
“And neither did you.”
Mando’s simple faith in him was a stab in the heart. Fred wondered what Mando would say if he knew what kind of monster he really was. What kind of monsters they all had lurking in their genes.
Mando brightened up a little. “I have an idea. No one will sell Mr. Clone Fatigue a ticket, but they’ll sell to me. I will buy another ticket and sell it to you.”
“You don’t think people will figure out it’s for me?”
“Doesn’t matter. Our brothers want you off the station; they just don’t want to be the one to sell you a ticket. I will find you a homerun run, my friend. I promise.”
BACK AT HIS own rez, Fred placed a call to Lyra, and seventeen minutes later, her mini-mirror appeared in his stateroom. “You are Mary’s spouse,” she said. “Mary was the first human I befriended, and I’m glad to finally meet you.”
Friend or not, the mentar was no more forthcoming as to Mary’s whereabouts than Cabinet had been. Fred wasn’t surprised. She was a Starke creature after all.
THE FOLLOWING DAY there was a message telling Fred that Charlie D. wanted to see him, and as soon as he got off-duty, he returned to the Elbow Room. The retrokids weren’t there, and the waitress took him directly to the stockroom where Veronica’s proxy was waiting. “Planning a vacation, are we?” she said by way of greeting. If her information was that good, he didn’t feel any need to answer. “I know all about the ’Leen Disease,” she went on, “and I feel terrible about your wife and her germline, but your mission here is not complete, and you cannot leave until it is.”
“Mary needs me, and there’s nothing you can say or do to keep me here.”
The proxy shook her head. “Don’t bet the farm on that, Commander. Seems to me that’s how you got yourself up here in the first place — rushing off in a panic to rescue your wife. Why don’t you let the authorities help her out this time? The way I hear it, every lab in the UD is working on the problem. It’s as much their worry as yours: if the ’leens implode, there goes the whole clone-based economy. It’s just as bad as your clone fatigue. There’s nothing you could do to help anyway and by the time you reach Earth, the whole thing will be settled one way or the other.”
“I can’t just sit on my hands and do nothing!”
“That’s exactly what you will do, soldier. You can’t leave the battlefield in the middle of a firefight because they need you at home. You have to suck it up and complete your mission.”
“I don’t even know what my mission is. Bribe the donalds with drugs? Anybody can do that.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Commander. Since the last time we met in this room, the entire operation is running as smooth as we could hope for, and no other person alive could replace you. So I’m afraid, though it’s hard on you with all this going on, you’ll just have to stick it out. Abandoning your post now will only
Centennial
Tia Jaspersen carried a tray of refreshments into the Volcano Room. Saul was half reclining on the overstuffed couch with — of all things — a squid cap on his head. Their guest, Andrea Tiekel, was setting up some equipment on the little tea table. Saul saw his wife’s expression and said, “It’s all right, dear. It’s for the Smithsonian.”
Tia looked around for somewhere else to set the tray. “But you’ve always said —”
“It’s all right, dear. It’s my centennial.”
Centennial or not, Saul had always been adamantly opposed to letting anyone fool around with his brain. This Tiekel woman had made no mention of wanting to do so when she contacted them; otherwise, Saul would have never let her come. She had said she wanted to discuss urgent GEP business and that was the only reason he had agreed.
“That’s right,” Andrea said. “Saul is the only former vice president that the Smithsonian doesn’t have in its collection. They asked me, in light of the hundredth anniversary of his term of office, to see if I couldn’t persuade him to cast a sim.”
Tia offered their guest a cup of coffee. “You must be very persuasive, Myr Tiekel.”
“I suppose I am,” Andrea said, accepting the cup. “But please, call me Andrea.” She squeezed Tia’s hand and added, “Why don’t you sit for a sim as well.”
“Me? No, I . . .”
“Why not? The Smithsonian collects spouses too.”
