The Return of Nathan Brazil

whatever he needed to simulate his man properly and then became him, while the old rabbi went off in the Stehekin posing as Brazil, who’d just passed his own examination a year before and had three years before another.”

“Wouldn’t somebody notice that Brazil had turned into an old man?” she asked.

“Oh, sure. If they saw him. But if he served ports where he wasn’t known, and if he stayed on his ship for that time, there’d be no mystery. The Stehekin took no passengers during the period but did haul some freight. Then, two months after the switch, an ‘attack’ is arranged. Brazil is killed and that’s that.”

“But what happened to the man he replaced? Did he die or what?”

“Perhaps. It depends. Consider what Brazil could offer him. An old man who’d been everywhere and seen it all and was having his livelihood and love—you have to love space to work at it for two centuries—taken from him, with death shortly to follow. What Brazil could offer him was a new life in a new body, a renewal, new experience and adventure.”

Mavra cursed herself for a fool. “Of course! There are Markovian gates all around! Brazil could have told him how to use one, even brought him to one. He went to the Well World!”

Obie chuckled. “I wonder what sort of creature he is now? I should dearly love to see how he manages to keep kosher!”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. It’s not important. I’m sure that Nathan Brazil is now Rabbi David Korf, captain of the freighter Jerusalem.”

Mavra was genuinely excited at the news. “Then all we have to do is find out where the Jerusalem will make planetfall next and be there to meet it!”

“So it would seem,” Obie agreed. “Except for one thing. After the switch Korf totally changed his operational area—I suppose to minimize chances of running into people who knew the real Korf well. The trouble is, he’s an independent. It might be years before the relevant documentation for an independent gets filed. I’ve checked everything I could, but after about six years ago I have no sign that the Jerusalem ever made a contract or hauled cargo anywhere in our little corner of space. Brazil has not only pulled his disappearing act, he seems to have taken his ship with him this time.”

According to the licensing board, Rabbi Korf had in fact returned and renewed his license only a year before. This was more puzzling than a total disappearance. The last renewal indicated that both Korf and the Jerusalem were still very much in service and, in fact, required recertification. But where? And for whom? There were no records to show.

“Strictly private, maybe? Perhaps illegal?” Mavra suggested.

Marquoz, who had arrived just a step ahead of the rest of the crowd, Temple and otherwise, was skeptical. “If that illegal, then why bother to recertify and reestablish his identity at all? If not, then he needs the cover—and that would also mean legitimate business. No, I think he’s still hauling cargo in the open and quite legally between Com worlds.”

“Impossible,” Obie responded. “As the Fellowship people will tell you, we have all worlds covered.”

Marquoz cocked a large reptilian head and his smile widened slightly in mock surprise. “No, you don’t. Not by a long shot. What your Fellowship covers is human worlds. The Acolytes are not very popular in the nonhuman sectors—which, it would seem to me, would be the very place to best avoid the cult.”

Obie was silent for a moment. Then he said, “My cost was astronomical, my builder perhaps mankind’s greatest genius. I can do any calculation in an amount of time so small that it is incomprehensible to the organic mind. So, tell me—why didn’t I think of that?”

“Too simple,” Mavra told him dryly. “Obie, your problem is that you think like a human being, only faster.”

“All right,” the computer retorted, trying to channel the argument away from his own failings. “So now what? There are a lot of nonhuman worlds out there in the Com and allied with it, and we don’t have the proper records for them or the proper personnel to get them.”

“I wouldn’t be concerned with the allied and associated worlds,” Marquoz said. “If he was dealing there exclusively, he wouldn’t need to recharter. No, he’s within the Com proper, which means one of a very few races. We can eliminate some right off—mine, for example, which is serviced entirely by a nationalized shipping company; the nonorganic boys, since their trade’s of a far different type; the non-carbon based, too, I think, are out—he’s avoided the human sector because he didn’t want to be stuck in his ship all the time. He wants to socialize, and that means a place where we can breathe the air and drink the booze without artificial aid. That narrows it down pretty well, doesn’t it?”

“I agree,” Obie replied. “The pattern’s consistent. In my files I find that he’s always had rather an affinity for Rhone centaurs—the ones called Dillians on the Well World. They meet all the other specifications, too—although this, in itself, is a problem since the Rhone is a spacefaring and expanding race itself, almost as large as humanity, possibly older and certainly more spread out. Without the Fellowship to do the legwork, it’s going to be hell to track him down. He’s chosen well.”

It was Mavra’s turn now. “I don’t think it ought to be that hard. I don’t know a damned thing about them or their culture—the closest I’ve come is being briefly in Dillia, which hardly counts—but if the Rhone are highly advanced then they have their own bureaucracy and central controls. They keep files and records someplace and they’re probably as efficient at that as humans are.”

“They could hardly be any worse,” Obie snorted.

She smiled and nodded. “So, let’s find those records.”

All eyes turned to Marquoz. He sighed and said, “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

It took ten days and a minor burglary. The Rhone, far better organized than the Com proper, required ship listings at five central naval district offices so that ships could be traced if overdue. The human areas of the Com only required that the ship file a plan at two locations before embarking; in many cases even that wasn’t done, and the human area didn’t really care since the procedure was for the protection of the freighter anyway.

Disguised as Rhone, with nicely counterfeited orders, seven of the Nautilus crew were dispatched to each naval headquarters. They had to locate a middle-ranking naval officer, one with broad access to traffic files. The newer he was the better, although the operation’s headquarters for such large areas were so big that few people would know everybody and a complete stranger could probably walk through without being seriously questioned on his rights—as long as he knew the codes and passwords and had the right ID tags.

It was on the latter that the Rhone depended most for security; among the things preserved on the tags was an actual tissue sample from the wearer. A Rhone’s sample was unique, and an electronic comparison of it with living tissue—say, of the palm—would be an infallible method of making sure the wearer was who he or she claimed to be.

On the off-chance that there might be an energy-binding system not thoroughly detectable even by Obie’s absolute analysis, it was decided that only original-issue tags would be used. The system was simple: Lure the target officers someplace, drag them, transport them to Obie, then run them through the dish. Just as Yua and her supervisor had been reprogrammed by this process, so were the young officers. At some point during the next three days or so they would look at the shipping information and their minds would be able to retain all the information no matter how many ships were involved or how complex the routing. Later they would call a number and repeat that information. At no time would they be aware of what they were doing; they would have no memory of their kidnapping, of Obie, or of anything else. Once the compulsion had been carried out, they would go on about their business never knowing they had been used.

As the information came in, Marquoz had Obie make a printout for the rest of them to use. The third district showed what they wanted clearly, as Obie could have told them instantly if they’d asked. But, he understood people well enough to allow them some minor victories.