Changer of Worlds

That his assignation with Virginia was in the Old Quarter, some time in the evening, he already knew. The note would tell him exactly when and where.

And so it did, in feminine handwriting, and then some:

Gary’s Place. 8. Wear something pink. I love pink. It reminds me—

What it reminded Ginny of turned Victor’s own face pink as well. But, this time, he made no effort to restrain his laugh. Why should he? In the crowded transportation capsules carrying the city’s menials back into the Old Quarter after a day’s work, there was a lot of laughter.

He found the time, before entering the tavern, to hunt down a clothing store and buy a scarf. A pink scarf. Bright pink, in fact. Victor felt silly wearing the thing. And it was probably a lapse into decadent habits on his part. Putting on a useless piece of garment just to please a lady!

But—

She wasn’t his lady, true. A lady she was, nonetheless, and some part of Victor took pleasure in the fact itself. In a way he couldn’t explain, it seemed like another victory, of which there had been precious few in his life. A small one, perhaps, but a victory sure and certain.

Anton

“And there it is,” said Anton softly. He leaned back from the console and arched his back against the chair. He was stiff from the long hours he had spent there. All day, in fact, since early in the morning. And it was now almost ten o’clock at night.

Robert Tye, who had been standing at the window staring at the brightly lit city, turned his head and cocked an eyebrow. Catching a glimpse of the little movement, Anton chuckled.

“Bingo, as you Terrans would put it. And where does that silly expression come from, anyway?”

Tye shrugged. “What did you find?”

Anton pointed a finger at the screen. “I had plenty already, just from the embassy’s general files and the ambassador’s. But the real gold mine is here in Admiral Young’s personal records.” He shook his head, half with anger and half with bemusement. “What a jackass.”

Tye came over and stared at the figures. As always with the material which Anton had brought up on the screen over the past two days, none of it meant anything to him.

“Surely he wasn’t stupid enough…”

Anton barked a little laugh. “Oh, no—he was quite clever. Which was his undoing, in the end. When amateurs try to cover up stuff like this, they almost always make it too complicated. Keep your laundry simple, that’s the trick.”

The martial artist’s face was creased with a frown. “Why would Young launder money? From what you’ve told me, the man’s so rich he doesn’t need to supplement his wealth.”

“Money,” hissed Anton. “Money’s not this bastard’s vice, Robert. He wasn’t trying to cover up his income. He was covering his expenses.”

“Oh.” Tye’s nostrils grew a little pinched, as if he were in the presence of a bad smell.

“So were most of the people on this list,” continued Anton. “And, I’m pretty sure, most of the people on that list of Hendricks’ I turned up earlier. Although that’ll take some time to determine, since the ambassador was quite a bit less careless than Young was.”

Anton pushed back the chair and rose to his feet. He needed to stretch a little. As he paced around, swinging his arms in a little arc to ease the tension in his back, he kept staring at the screen. His expression was intense, as he considered a new possibility.

After a moment, Tye’s eyes grew almost round. Apparently, the same possibility had just occurred to the martial artist. “You don’t think they were involved… ?”

Hearing the question put so directly, Anton’s answer crystallized.

“No,” he said, shaking his head firmly. “I was wondering myself, once I saw how closely they’ve been connected to the Mesans. But there’s no earthly reason for them to do it. Helen means nothing to them, and if they wanted to strike at me—and for what purpose?—they both have far quicker and simpler ways to do it. I am their subordinate, after all.”

He left off his arm-swinging and began a little set of isometric exercises, one palm against another. “But if you look at it another way, everything begins to make sense. Those same ties to Manpower would make Young and Hendricks the perfect patsies.”

Now he slapped the palms together. “And that—that, Robert—is what explains Helen. She’s the daughter of a Manticoran intelligence agent. Another prybar, that’s all. Another angle. Whoever’s behind this isn’t trying to get information of any kind, much less start a disinformation campaign.” He barked another laugh. “Or, at least, not a subtle one. There’s all hell brewing here, Robert, and when the explosion comes Manticore is being set up to take the blame.”

“The blame for what?”

Anton smiled thinly. “Give me a break. I can’t figure out everything in a few days.” He studied the screen a little longer. “And, in truth, I’m beginning to suspect that the culprit—or culprits, if there’s more than one—is being too clever himself.”

“Peeps, you think? They’re the obvious ones who’d want to damage the Star Kingdom’s standing on Terra. Especially now. Parnell should be arriving in three days, according to the newscasts.”

“Maybe.” Anton shrugged. “But it still doesn’t feel right.”

He pointed a thick finger at the screen. “Too clever, Robert. Too clever by half. Whatever this scheme is, it’s got way too many threads waiting to come loose.”

“A Rube Goldberg machine, you’re saying.”

The Manticoran officer scowled. “And there’s another stupid Sollie expression. I’ve asked six of you people since I got here, and nobody can tell me who this ‘Rube Goldberg’ fellow was supposed to have been.”

Tye chuckled. But Anton noted, a bit sourly, that he gave no answer himself.

“Too many threads…” he mused. “I’d almost laugh, except the minute the thing starts coming apart the first casualty will be Helen.”

Anton turned his head and stared at the data packet lying next to the console. Lieutenant Hobbs had brought it over just before noon. It hadn’t taken the police lab long at all to analyze the material which Anton had given them the night before.

Muhammad’s visit had been brief. He hadn’t even come into Anton’s apartment. He had just handed him the packet, scowling, and said nothing more than: “I am not going to ask where you got five pairs of shoes, Anton. Not unless I find the feet that used to fit them.” Then he left.

Anton had read the data immediately, of course. That had taken no time at all, practically. The data was crystal clear: the owner of the shoes had—recently, and probably frequently—been in the lower depths of the Loop. Below the densely populated warrens, in the labyrinth of tunnels and passageways which marked the most ancient ruins of the city.

The intensity with which Anton now studied that packet was no less than that which he had earlier bestowed on the screen. Again, he was considering a possibility.

And, again, came to a decision. Quickly enough, if not as quickly as before. The decision, this time, was affirmative. And it was one which he came to only with reluctance.

“No way around it,” he muttered. Then, snorting: “God, to think it would come to this! Talk about supping with Satan with a long spoon.”

Tye was startled. “You’re planning to talk to Manpower?”

Anton laughed. No curt bark, either, but a genuine laugh. “Sorry,” he choked. “I misspoke. Calling that woman ‘Satan’ is quite unfair, actually. Hecate would be more accurate. Or Circe, or maybe Morgana.”