little satellite world, and stay that way for thirty-seven years, without a heavy component of paranoia in your makeup.
Juanito leaned up against the great curving glass wall of the customs tank and peered through the mists of sterilizer fog. The rest of the couriers were starting to come in now. Juanito watched them going to work, singling out potential clients, cutting them out of the herd. Most of the dinkos were signing up as soon as the deal was explained, but as always there were a few who would shake off all help and insist on setting out by themselves. Cheapskates, Juanito thought. Assholes and wimps, Juanito thought. But they’d find out. It wasn’t possible to get started on Valparaiso Nuevo without a courier, no matter how sharp you thought you were. Valparaiso was a free enterprise zone, after all. If you knew the rules, you were pretty much safe from all harm here forever. If not, not.
Time to make the approach, Juanito figured.
It was easy enough finding the blind man. He was very much taller than the other dinkos, practically a giant: a long-limbed massive man some thirty-odd years old, heavy bones, powerful muscles. In the bright glaring light his blank forehead gleamed like a reflecting beacon. The low gravity didn’t seem to trouble him much, or his blindness. His movements along the customs track were easy, confident, almost graceful. Like all the rest of the newly arrived passengers, he had the rough, blotchy skin that Earth people tended to have, flaky and reddened from frying all the time in that murderous torrid sunshine of theirs.
Juanito sauntered over and said, “I’ll be your courier, sir. Juanito Holt” He barely came up to the blind man’s elbow.
“Courier?”
“New arrival assistance service. Facilitate your entry arrangements. Customs clearance, currency exchange, hotel accommodations, permanent settlement papers if that’s what you intend. Also special sendees by arrangement.”
Juanito stared up expectantly at the blank face. The eyeless man looked back at him in a blunt straight-on way, what would have been strong eye contact if the dinko had had eyes. That was eerie. What was even eerier was the sense Juanito had that the eyeless man was seeing him clearly. For just a moment Juanito wondered who was going to be controlling whom in this deal.
“What kind of special services?”
“Anything else you need,” Juanito said.
“Anything?”
“Anything. This is Valparaiso Nuevo, sir.”
“Mmm. What’s your fee?”
“Two thousand callaghanos a week for the basic. Specials are extra, according.”
“How much is that in Capbloc dollars, your basic?”
Juanito told him.
“That’s not so bad,” the blind man said.
“Two weeks minimum, payable in advance.”
“Mmm,” said the blind man again. Again that intense eyeless gaze, seeing right through him. He was silent for a time. Juanito listened to the sound of his breathing, quick and shallow, the way all Earthsiders breathed. As if they were trying to hold their nostrils pinched together to keep the poisons that were in the air from getting into their lungs. But it was safe to breathe the air on Valparaiso Nuevo.
“How old are you?” the blind man asked suddenly.
“Seventeen,” Juanito blurted, caught off guard.
“And you’re good, are you?”
“I’m the best. I was born here. I know everybody.”
“I’m going to be needing the best. You take electronic handshake?”
“Sure,” Juanito said. This was too easy. He wondered if he should have asked three kilocallies a week, not two, but it was too late for that now. He pulled his flex terminal from his tunic pocket and slipped his fingers into it. “Unity Callaghan Bank of Valparaiso Nuevo. That’s access code 22-44-66, and you might as well give it its own default key, because it’s the only bank here. Account 1133, that’s mine.”
The blind man donned his own terminal and deftly tapped the number pad on his wrist. Then he grasped Juanito’s hand firmly in his until the sensors overlapped, and made the transfer of funds. Juanito touched for confirm and a bright green
“Liechtenstein,” Juanito said, frowning. “That’s an Earth country?”
“Very small one. Between Austria and Switzerland.”
“I’ve heard of Switzerland. You live on Liechtenstein?”
“No,” Farkas said. “I bank there.
“One more transfer,” Juanito said. “Pump your entry software across to me. Baggage claim, passport, visa. Make things much easier for us both, getting out of here.”
“Make it easier for you to disappear with my suitcase, yes. And I’d never find you again, would I?”
“Do you think I’d do that?”
“I’m more profitable to you if you don’t.”
“You’ve got to trust your courier, Mr. Farkas. If you can’t trust your courier, you can’t trust anybody at all on Valparaiso Nuevo.”
“I know that,” Farkas said.
Collecting Farkas’s baggage and getting him clear of the customs tank took another half an hour and cost about two hundred callies in miscellaneous bribes, which was about standard. Everyone from the baggage- handling androids to the cute snotty teller at the currency-exchange booth had to be bought. Juanito understood that things didn’t work that way on most habitat worlds; but Valparaiso Nuevo, Juanito knew, was different from most habitat worlds. In a place where the chief industry was the protection of fugitives, it made sense that the basis of the economy would be the recycling of bribes.
Farkas didn’t appear to be any sort of fugitive, though. While he was waiting for the baggage Juanito pulled a readout on the software that the blind man had pumped over to him and saw that Farkas was here on a visitor’s visa, six-week limit. He listed his employer as Kyocera-Merck, Ltd. So he was a seeker, not a hider, here to track somebody down who was wanted by one of the biggest of the Earth megacorporations. Well, that was okay. Hider, seeker: it was possible for a courier to turn a profit working either side of the deal. Running traces wasn’t Juanito’s usual number, but he figured he could adapt.
The other thing that Farkas didn’t appear to be was blind. Maybe he had no eyes, but that didn’t seem to interfere with his perceptions of his surroundings. As they emerged from the customs tank he turned and pointed back at the huge portrait of El Supremo and said, “Who’s that? Your president?”
“The Defender, that’s his title. The Generalissimo. El Supremo, Don Eduardo Callaghan.” Then it sank in and Juanito said, blinking, “Pardon me. You can
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I don’t follow. Can you see or can’t you?”
“Yes and no.”
“Thanks a lot, Mr. Farkas.”
“We can talk more about it later,” Farkas said.
Juanito always put new dinkos in the same hotel, the San Bernardito, four kilometers out from the hub in the rim community of Cajamarca. “This way,” he told Farkas. “We have to take the elevator at C Spoke.”
Farkas didn’t seem to have any trouble following him. Every now and then Juanito glanced back, and there was the big man three or four paces behind him, marching along steadily down the corridor. No eyes, Juanito thought, but somehow he can see. He definitely can see.
The four-kilometer elevator ride down C Spoke to the rim was spectacular all the way. The elevator was a glass-walled chamber inside a glass-walled tube that ran along the outside of the spoke, and it gave you the full dazzling vista: the whole great complex of wheels within wheels that was the Earth-orbit artificial world of Valparaiso Nuevo, the seven great structural spokes radiating from the hub to the distant wheel of the rim, each
