corner like a couple of ill-matched business partners discussing a contract that they expected soon to receive. Perhaps that was what they were.
Then Farkas went to Jolanda. They stood close to each other with Enron looking on sourly from a distance, Farkas plainly fascinated by Jolanda, every aspect of his stance telegraphing his intense interest in her. His shoulders were tipped forward and his great strange domed head was inclined toward her; he seemed to be using some extrasensory X-ray vision to see right through Jolanda’s flamboyant scarlet gown to the fleshy nakedness beneath.
And she was enjoying it, flushing like a schoolgirl, wriggling about, brimming with pleasure, practically thrusting herself at him. It definitely looked as if they were setting up some kind of encounter right under Enron’s nose. Certainly Enron seemed to think so. His scowl was extremely expressive. There was Isabelle intervening, now, drawing Enron off, distracting him. Loyalty to her friend, Carpenter figured. Getting the Israeli out of the way so Jolanda could cast her net, not that Farkas appeared to require a lot of catching.
And now Enron was talking to Nick Rhodes: interviewing him again, maybe? Jolanda going over to them. An interchange of grins between Jolanda and Rhodes, oddly intimate, though only for an instant. Carpenter was reminded of things that Rhodes had said about Jolanda to him on the night of the Sausalito dinner, and realized now that Jolanda must have slept with every man in this room, and was proud of it, too.
The patterns kept shifting. At last Carpenter found himself talking with Farkas. It was Jolanda who brought him over, saying as she did, “This is our friend Paul Carpenter. You remember: I told you about him.” She flashed them both warm smiles and torrid looks and went dancing away toward Enron.
“You are a Samurai man?” the eyeless man asked Carpenter right away. “Captain of an iceberg trawler, I understand.”
“Was,” Carpenter said bluntly, amazed at Farkas’s reckless conversational style. He looked up at Farkas, several inches taller, staring at the smooth, faintly shadowy place where eyes should have been. “There was a little scandal over an incident at sea. I was terminated.”
“Yes. So I was informed. It was my impression that Samurai very rarely terminates its salarymen.”
“Kyocera people were involved, on the short end of things. There was an inquiry. It looked very bad for the Company’s public image. So I was found to be expendable and sincere apologies were made to all concerned.”
“I see,” Farkas said. The phrase sounded very weird, coming from him. “And now? You have plans?”
“I thought I might rob a bank. Or kidnap the daughter of some Level One and hold her for ransom.”
Farkas smiled gravely, as if those might be plausible alternatives.
“What about making a new start for yourself on one of the space habitats?” he asked.
“A definite possibility, yes,” Carpenter said. The idea hadn’t occurred to him. But yes, yes, space was where everybody went who had reached a dead end on Earth. The habitats! Why not? But of course he would have to find some way of getting there. He revolved the new notion dizzily in his mind.
Then he became aware that Farkas was still speaking.
“We have all just come back from Valparaiso Nuevo. The sanctuary world, you know. You might find it of some interest. Are you familiar with it?”
“I’ve heard about it. The last of the glorious banana republics, isn’t it? Some loopy old South American generalissimo runs it as his private empire, and makes a fortune by selling protection to fugitives, from the law.” Carpenter shook his head. “But I’m not a fugitive. I wasn’t found guilty of anything except bad management. I wasn’t sentenced to anything except losing my job. And I’ve got no money anyway for buying my way in with.”
“Oh, no,” Farkas said. “You misunderstand. I don’t mean that you should go there to take sanctuary. I mean you might find opportunity for yourself there.”
“Opportunity? Of what sort?”
“Of many sorts.” Farkas lowered the tone of his voice, making it insinuating, almost seductive. “You see, the Generalissimo Don Eduardo Callaghan is soon to be deposed by an insurrection.”
Carpenter recoiled in surprise.
“He is?” This was starting to sound like lunacy.
“Indeed so,” said Farkas pleasantly. “What I am telling you is all quite true. Some very capable plotters are planning to end his long reign. I am part of the group. Jolanda also, and our friend Mr. Enron. And there are others. You might wish to join us.”
“What are you saying?” Carpenter asked, growing more mystified by the moment.
“It sounds quite straightforward to me. We have a few details to clarify with some people in Los Angeles, and then we will go to Valparaiso Nuevo and take possession of the place. There will be great profit in selling off the fugitives to the agencies that seek their return. You would share in the benefits, which would provide you with the funds to begin a new life for yourself in space. Since obviously there is no future for you now on Earth.”
Lunacy, yes. Or perhaps some sort of sadism. This wasn’t the way real conspirators talked, was it, taking complete strangers into their confidence on the spur of the moment?
No, no, Farkas was spinning out these fantasies for the sake of having a little cruel fun. Or else he was crazy. Carpenter, struggling to make sense of this unexpected stream of seeming madness that was flowing so calmly from the eyeless man, began to feel anger.
“You’re playing with me, aren’t you? This is some sick way you have of amusing yourself.”
“Not at all. I’m being entirely serious. There is a plot. You are invited to join.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why ask me in? Of all people.”
Farkas said calmly, “Call it a gratuitous act. A moment of spontaneous inspiration. Jolanda has told me that you are an intelligent man down on your luck. Desperate, even. Willing to take extreme chances, I would guess. And you have many skills and capabilities. All in all it seems to me as though you could be very useful to us.” His voice had become a sort of a purr. “And it would give me great pleasure to be of assistance to a friend of Jolanda’s.”
“This is incredible,” Carpenter said. “You don’t know me at all. And I don’t understand why you’re trusting me with any of this, if there’s anything to it. I could sell you all out. I could go straight to the police.”
“But why would you do that?”
“For money. Why else?”
“Ah,” Farkas said, “but much greater sums would be involved in the takeover of Valparaiso Nuevo than the police would ever give you. No, no, my friend, the only reason for you to betray us would be out of the abstract love of justice. Perhaps that is an emotion that you actually feel, even now, after your recent experiences. But I am highly skeptical of that. —Tell me: does what I have said interest you in any way?”
“I still think it’s just a bad joke.”
“Ask Mr. Enron, then. Ask Jolanda Bermudez. She says that you and she are friends. Is this not so? Then you trust her, presumably. Ask her whether I am being serious. Go, please, Mr. Carpenter: ask her. Now.”
It was all unreal. A grotesque offer out of the blue, coming from someone who scarcely seemed human. But terribly tempting, if there was anything to it.
Carpenter looked across the room at Jolanda. She had said last night that Farkas might be able to turn up something for him with Kyocera, a suggestion that Carpenter had not placed the least credence in. Was this what she had meant?
No, it all had to be some joke, he told himself. A stupid little joke at his expense. Jolanda must be in on it; he would go to her and ask her to confirm what Farkas had just said, and she would, and it would go on and on, new and ever more grandiose nonsense being trotted forth all evening, until suddenly someone could no longer hide a grin, and then the laughter would begin, and—
No.
“Sorry,” Carpenter said. “I’m not in the mood to be made fun of right now.”
“As you wish. Forget the offer, please. I regret making it. Perhaps it was a mistake to have disclosed so much to you.”
There was a sudden note of suppressed menace in Farkas’s voice that Carpenter found disagreeable. But it told him also that this might not be any joke. Carpenter had already started to turn away, but then he paused and
