So he was a drinker now. Too bad. Basically, though, nothing had changed for Rhodes, Carpenter saw, in all the time that had gone on since their school days. Back then, Rhodes had often come to Carpenter for advice and a sort of protection from his tendency to fuck up his own head. Though Carpenter was younger than Rhodes, he had always felt like the older of the two, the more capable at meeting the problems of daily living. Rhodes had a way of entangling himself in intricate moral complexities of his own making— involving girls, his developing political consciousness, his teachers, his hopes and plans for the future, a million and one things—and Carpenter, pragmatic and direct, had known how to lead the older boy through the mazes he could not stop weaving about himself. Now Rhodes was a famous scientist, high in the esteem of the Company bigwigs, rising in grade on the steepest of slopes, probably earning ten times what Carpenter made; but Carpenter sensed that inwardly everything was pretty much the same for Rhodes as it had been when they were in their teens. Just a big helpless kid blundering through a world that was always a little too complicated for him to handle.
It seemed like a good idea to change the subject to something lighter. Carpenter said, “How’s your social life? You haven’t gotten married again, have you?”
Mistake, he realized instantly. Dumb.
“No,” Rhodes said, and it was obvious how much the question troubled him. Carpenter saw too late that the collapse of Rhodes’ marriage, which had injured him so deeply eight years back, still must be a bleeding wound for him. Rhodes had been terribly in love with his wife, and he had taken a terrible beating when she left him. “I’m in a relationship. A somewhat difficult one. Beautiful, intelligent, sexy woman, very articulate. We don’t agree on everything.”
“Does anyone?”
“She’s a radical humanist. Old San Francisco tradition, you know. Hates my work, fears its potential, would like to see the laboratory shut down, etc., etc. Not that she sees any alternative, mind you, but she’s against it all the same. The pure reactionary trip, the complete know-nothing antiscientism, absolutely medieval. And yet we managed to fall in love. Aside from the politics, we do just fine. I wish you could get a chance to meet her while you’re in town.”
“I’m sure we could work that out,” Carpenter said. “I’d like that very much.”
“I would too.” Rhodes thought for a moment. “Hey, how about tonight? Isabelle and I are having dinner with some pest of an Israeli newsman who wants to ask me nosy things about my work. I could pick you up over in the city somewhere around quarter to eight, at your hotel. Or wherever. How does your schedule look?”
“I’ve got to get back across to Frisco and over to the Samurai office at half past three to receive some of my indoctrination material,” Carpenter said. “That should take me until around five. After that, nothing.”
“You want to join us, then?”
“Why not? I’m at the Marriott Hilton in China Basin: you know where that is?”
“Sure.”
“One thing, though. If this is an interview, are you certain that I won’t be in the way?”
“It might be helpful if you were, actually. The truth is, I’m scared stiff of telling the Israeli things I shouldn’t say. He’s probably damn good at worming them out. Having friends around will dilute the conversation. The more the merrier, I figure, to keep things from getting down to real stuff. That’s why I’m bringing Isabelle along. And now you.” Rhodes put his glass down and shot Carpenter a curious look. “For that matter I could get you a date, if you like. Friend of Isabelle’s, very attractive, somewhat screwed-up woman named Jolanda Bermudez. A dancer, I think, or a sculptor, or both.”
Carpenter chuckled. “Last time I had a blind date was when I was thirteen.”
“I remember. What was her name? With the freckles?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Shall I see if Jolanda wants to come along also?” Rhodes asked.
“Sure,” said Carpenter. “Why not? The more the merrier, as you say.”
7
the shell of the El Mirador segment of Valparaiso Nuevo was actually a double one, a huge hollow crawl space entirely surrounding the globe that was El Mirador. Around the periphery of the shell’s spaceward face was a deep layer of lunar slag held in place by centrifugal forces, the tailings that had been left over after the extraction of the gases and minerals that had been needed in the construction of the satellite world. On top of that was a low open area for the use of maintenance workers, lit by a trickle of light from a faint line of incandescent bulbs; and overhead was the inner skin of El Mirador itself, shielded by the slagpile from any surprises that might come ricocheting in from the void. Juanito, who was compactly built, was able to move almost upright within the shell, but long-legged Farkas, following along behind, had to bend double, scuttling like a crab.
“Can you see him yet?” Farkas asked.
“Somewhere up ahead, I think. It’s pretty dark in here.”
“Is it?”
Juanito caught a glimpse of Wu off to the right, edging sideways, moving slowly around behind Farkas now. In the dimness the doctor was barely visible, just the shadow of a shadow. Wu had scooped up two handfuls of tailings. Evidently he was going to fling them at Farkas to attract his attention, and then when Farkas turned toward Wu it would be Juanito’s moment to nail him with the spike.
Juanito stepped back to a position near Farkas’s left elbow. He slipped his hand into his pocket and rested his fingertips on the butt of the cool sleek little weapon. The intensity stud was down at the lower end, shock level, and without taking the spike from his pocket he moved the setting up to lethal. Across the way, Wu nodded.
Time to do it.
Juanito began to draw the spike.
At that moment, before Juanito could manage to pull the weapon out, before Wu even could hurl his tailings, Farkas let out a roar like a wild creature going berserk. Juanito grunted in shock, stupefied by that terrible sound. This is all going to go wrong, he realized. In that same instant Farkas whirled and seized him around the waist in a powerful grip, lifting him off his feet with no apparent effort at all. In one smooth and almost casual motion Farkas swung him as if he was a throwing-hammer and released him, sending him hurtling on a rising arc through the air to crash with tremendous impact into Wu’s midsection.
Wu crumpled, gagging and puking, with Juanito sprawled stunned on top of him.
Then the lights went out—Farkas must have reached up and yanked the conduit loose—and then Juanito found himself lying with his cheek jammed into the rough floor of tailings, unable to move. Farkas was holding him face-down with a hand clamped around the back of his neck and a knee pressing hard against his spine. Wu lay alongside him, pinned the same way.
“Did you think I couldn’t see him sneaking up on me?” Farkas asked. “Or you, going for your spike? It’s 360 degrees, the blindsight. Something that Dr. Wu must have forgotten. All these years on the run, I guess you start to forget things.”
Holy Mother of Jesus, Juanito thought.
Couldn’t even get the drop on a blind man from behind him. And now he’s going to kill me. What a goddamned stupid way to die this is.
He imagined what Kluge might say about this, if he knew. Or Delilah. Nattathaniel. Decked by a blind man. Jesus! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But he isn’t blind, Juanito thought. Not really. He isn’t blind at all.
Farkas said, in a low harsh voice thick with anger, “How much did you sell me to him for, Juanito?”
The only sound Juanito could make was a muffled moan. His mouth was choked with sharp bits of slag.
Farkas gave him a poke with his knee. “How much? Five thousand? Six?”
“It was eight,” said Wu quietly, from below.
“At least I didn’t go cheaply,” Farkas murmured. He reached into Juanito’s pocket and withdrew the spike. “Get up,” he said. “Both of you. Stay close together. If either of you makes a funny move I’ll kill you both. Remember that I can see you very clearly. I can also see the door through which we entered the shell. That starfish-looking thing over there, with streamers of purple light pulsing from it. We’re going back into El Mirador now, and there won’t be any surprises, will there? Will there? You try to bolt, either one of you, and I’ll spike you
