Hot Sky at Midnight

16

for farkas, the hotel that the unfortunate Juanito had found for him proved to be a satisfactory home base for him during the period of slow, idle days that he allowed himself after his return to Valparaiso Nuevo. The town of Cajamarca, nicely situated out along the rim on C Spoke, was quiet and attractive and agreeably distant from the hectic commercial activity of the hub communities. Farkas went out early every day, strolling the same path, stopping at the same cafe at the upside end of the town for breakfast, and at a different cafe down the other way for lunch. For dinner he would go to one of the towns on some other spoke of the satellite, never the same one twice.

Everyone in the immediate neighborhood of the hotel quickly got used to the way he looked. The cafe owners, even the android waiters. His strangeness didn’t bother them any more. It took only a couple of days. After that he was one of the regulars, just didn’t happen to have any eyes, smooth blank space above his nose right up to the top of his forehead. Leaves good tips. Place like this, you get to see all kinds. Everyone very tolerant, very cognizant of everybody’s privacy. That was the most important commodity for sale here, privacy. Privacy and courtesy. The social contract, Valparaiso Nuevo style. “Good morning, Mr. Farkas. Nice to see you again, Mr. Farkas. I hope you slept well, Mr. Farkas. A cup of coffee, Mr. Farkas?”

He enjoyed the scenery, the big sky, the dazzling stellar display, the spectacular views of the Earth and the moon. To Farkas, the Earth was a massive involuted purple box with heavy dangling green tassels, and the moon was a dainty, airy hollow ball filled with jagged orange coils, packed tight within it like little springs. Sometimes the sun would strike a neighboring L-5 world in just the right way and set off a brilliant shower of light, both reflected and refracted, spilling across the darkness like a cascade of million-faceted diamonds, a waterfall of glittering jewels. That was very pleasant to watch. This was the most enjoyable holiday Farkas had had in a long time.

Of course, he was supposed to be working as well as resting, here. But he could hardly post a sign on the town bulletin board requesting information concerning plans for coups d’etat. All he could do was tiptoe around, listen, watch, try to pick things out of the air. Gradually he would make connections and find out what the Company had asked him to learn. Or, on the other hand, perhaps he wouldn’t. It wasn’t something that could be forced.

On the fourth day, as he was having lunch at the usual place—a garden restaurant dominated by no less than three portrait busts of El Supremo looming down out of vine-covered walls—Farkas became aware that he was the object of a conversation off at the periphery of the place. Someone who looked like an arrangement of scarlet zigzags and spirals with a big shining oval patch right in the middle—bright blue and very glossy, the way Farkas imagined an eye might look—was discussing him with the headwaiter.

They were both looking his way. There were gestures, not hard to decode: the zigzags-and-oval was requesting something; the headwaiter was refusing. And now a gratuity was changing hands. Farkas suspected that the pleasures of his solitary lunch were soon to be intruded upon.

He remembered, after a moment, who the zigzags-and-oval was: a certain courier named Kluge, one of the kids who hung out at the shuttle hub and offered to provide services for newcomers to Valparaiso Nuevo. Juanito had pointed him out to Farkas, somewhere in the early days of his visit, as one of his competitors. Juanito had spoken of Kluge with some admiration, Farkas remembered.

The headwaiter—three gleaming white rods bound with thick red twine—came over. Struck a posture of deferential attention. Cleared his throat.

“Begging your pardon for disturbing you, Mr. Farkas—a person wishes to speak to you, and he says it’s extremely important—”

“I’m eating lunch,” Farkas said.

“Of course, Mr. Farkas. Terribly sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Farkas.”

Sure he was. He got to keep the tip, whether or not he could deliver Farkas to Kluge.

But maybe there was something useful here—an opening, a lead. Farkas said, as the three white rods began to retreat, “Wait. What’s his name?”

“Kluge, sir. He’s a courier. I told him that you didn’t need any couriers, but he said it wasn’t that, he wasn’t interested in selling you anything, but—”

“All right,” Farkas said. “Tell him I’ll talk to him.”

Kluge approached and hovered nearby. The central eye-like structure of him turned a deeper blue, almost black, and the glossiness gave way to a matte finish. Farkas interpreted that as profound uneasiness being held under tight control. He warned himself to be careful not to underestimate this Kluge. That was one of his few weaknesses, Farkas knew: the tendency to be condescending to people who were put off by his appearance. Everyone was put off by his appearance at first, and had to fight to control a reaction of repugnance. But some of them were dangerous even so.

“My name is Kluge, sir,” Kluge began. When Farkas offered no immediate response he added quickly, “I’m right over here, to your left.”

“Yes, I know that. Sit down, Kluge. Is Kluge your first name or your second?”

“Sort of both, sir.”

“Ah. Very unusual.” Farkas went on eating. “And what is it you want with me, exactly? I understand you’re a courier. I’m not in need of hiring one.”

“I realize that, sir. Juanito is your courier.”

“Was.”

A little beat of silence went by before Kluge said, “Yes, sir. That’s actually one of the things I would like to ask you about, if you don’t mind.” The big blue central eye was really black now, the look of space without stars. The scarlet zigzags and spirals were coiling and uncoiling like thrashing whips. There was real tension here, Farkas saw. Kluge said, “Juanito’s a good friend of mine. We do a lot of work together. But nobody’s seen him around for a while, now, and I wondered—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Farkas gave him some time to do it, but he didn’t.

“Wondered what, Kluge?” he said finally. “If I know where he is? I’m afraid I don’t. As I indicated, Juanito doesn’t work for me any more.”

“And you don’t have any idea—”

“None,” Farkas said. “I employed your friend Juanito only for a few days. Once I had my bearings here, I had no further need of him, and so I discharged him. It became necessary for me to make a short business trip to a nearby satellite world, and when that was finished I came back here for a brief holiday, but there was no reason for me to hire a courier this time and I didn’t do so. I think I saw you at the terminal when I arrived the second time, and perhaps you noticed then that I chose to go through the entry procedures unaided.”

“Yes, actually, I did,” said Kluge.

“Well, then. I assume Juanito has taken himself off on a vacation somewhere. I paid him very well for his services. When you do see him again, please give him my thanks for the fine work he did on my behalf.”

Farkas smiled, the kind of smile that offers an amiable termination to a conversation. He looked toward his plate and with great precision he cut a neatly triangular slice of meat and conveyed it to his mouth. He poured a little wine from his carafe into his glass, and put the glass to his lips. He took a slice of bread from the breadbasket and covered it with a thin, meticulously applied coating of butter. Kluge watched the entire performance in silence. Farkas smiled at him again, a different sort of smile, this time as though to say, I see quite well for a blind man, don’t you think? and Kluge’s coloration registered perplexity and dismay.

Kluge said, “He isn’t much of a traveler, Juanito. He just likes to stay right here on Valparaiso Nuevo.”

“Then I’m sure that that’s where he is,” said Farkas. He cut another triangular slice of meat. Smiled another smile of dismissal. “I appreciate your concern for your friend and I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful than this. And now, unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss—”

“Yes, actually, there is. The real reason why I came up here to Cajamarca today to see you. You had dinner in Valdivia last night, didn’t you, sir?”

Farkas nodded.

“This is a little unusual. The woman I’m working for right now happened to have dinner at the same