Proteus in the Underworld p-4 Page 4

  Trudy Melford.

  Bey knew her rather better than he had suggested to Dommer. From his days at the Office of Form Control Bey was aware that she kept a complete file on his own activities. But that had been more than three years ago, when it made good sense for the owner of BEC to monitor closely the activities of the head of the Office of Form Control. Bey’s office was one of the few organizations whose official decisions could have an effect on BEC operations. But why would Trudy Melford care what he did now, when he was long retired? And what possible reason could she have for wanting to meet with him personally?

  Bey sighed, went back to his communications unit, and turned it on again. He placed a call to BEC. Not to Trudy Melford, or even to Jarvis Dommer. He needed to talk to Maria Sun. She was his oldest friend there, one of the few people whose opinions and talents Bey respected when it came to form change.

  She was in. That was predictable. Maria was a workaholic, someone who was more likely to be in her office than anywhere else in the world. What was surprising was the unaccustomed neatness. The clutter was gone. In its place sat neat boxes and cleared surfaces.

  She raised a casual hand when the call went through and two-way visual contact was established. “Hi, Bey. It’s been a while.”

  She seemed not at all surprised to see him. That was itself odd, after such a long time.

  “Hi, Maria. Has Dommer been over to see you?”

  Maria was wearing one of her favorite forms, of an exquisite Oriental woman. When she was hard at work she swore horribly and continuously, but today she was obviously taking things easy. Her desk was completely clear. At Bey’s question she merely twisted her mouth downwards and grimaced. “Jarvis Dommer? Not if I see him first. He’s a prick. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem to have been expecting my call.”

  “Not exactly. But all day long I’ve had one call after another from people wishing me well. So it’s no real surprise to hear from you.” She saw his frown. “Are you telling me you didn’t know?”

  “I guess I didn’t. I still don’t. What’s happening?”

  “I’m leaving BEC. Tomorrow’s my last day.” She smiled. “I’ll be joining you in the idle ranks of the unemployed.”

  “You were fired?”

  “Don’t be an ass, Bey.” Maria glared at the implied insult. “Of course I wasn’t fired. I was just offered a retirement package that I couldn’t refuse.”

  “But you’re the best they have. You can’t retire.”

  “I was the best. But you were the best the Office of Form Control had, and you retired. Or you said you did.”

  “I’ve always been lazy. And you’ve always worked your head off. Don’t try to fool me, Maria, I’ve known you too long. There has to be more to it than that.”

  Maria sighed. She had been standing up, but now she flopped down into the chair behind her desk.

  “I won’t say you’re totally wrong, but I really have been given more incentives to retire than you’d believe. And anything else that I say would be pure bitching.”

  “So bitch. You know me well enough.”

  “It’s going to sound like the same old complaint of people who have been around too long. You know: BEC’s going downhill, it isn’t the way that it used to be. The top of the company is filling up with yes-men and yes-women. There’s less and less real research going on. Nobody wants to hear my opinions any more. I’ll be glad to go.”

  “If it’s really that bad, you’ll be better off outside. I know a hundred groups who’ll fight for your services.”

  “We’ll see.” Maria was staring at Bey shrewdly, her head to one side. “Did they fight for yours?”

  “I ran away and hid. But they tried. In fact, I think they’re still trying. That’s why I called you.”

  Bey summarized the recent conversations with Jams Dommer, including his own perplexity as to why Trudy Melford was personally interested. “And he made such a big deal about paying for my trip,” he finished. “I wonder what’s going on. I’m not as rich as Trudy Melford, nobody is, but I can certainly afford the price of a Link transition to Melford Castle.”

  “Are you sure?” Maria had a little smile on her face. “Bey, how would you propose to get there?”

  “Take a flight from here to the Indian Ocean Link entry point.” Bey knew he was being set up for something, but he couldn’t imagine what. “A couple of Link transitions, then another flight the rest of the way.”

  “And where would that get you?”

  “To Chetumal, of course.”

  “Of course. And where do you think Melford Castle is?”

  “Don’t play games, Maria. It’s at Chetumal, in the Yucatan. Exactly where it’s been for the past two hundred years.”

  “Not any more. Bey, I’m impressed. When you drop out of things you really drop out. Don’t you watch newscasts? Didn’t anybody tell you that the Empress moved?”

  “Who?”

  “Sorry. Now I am being bitchy. The Empress is Trudy Melford. If you’d ever worked for BEC you’d know why she’s called that by the insiders. She moved the headquarters, Bey, over two years ago.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not in the habit of consulting me regarding her actions. But the better question is where. She took the castle to Mars.”

  “For God’s sake, Maria!”

  “For God’s sake, Bey. I know. To Mars, and Old Mars at that. Wall by wall, stone by stone, brick by brick. I haven’t been to see it, but people who have say there isn’t a stick or a slate different from the way it was on Earth. Its still Castle Melford”

  “It must have cost an absolute fortune.”

  “More than you imagine. She didn’t ship by any of the usual ways, because apparently she was afraid there might be damage in transit. She opened a Mattin Link and held it long enough for everything to be passed through.”

  “That’s even worse. Maria, are you sure about all this? It’s not just money. Opening a Link between Earth and Mars would need USF approval and the blessing of the Planetary Coordinators. What about quarantine? And holding a Link open with that geometry would cost more energy than you can imagine.”

  “I’m sure it did. But if you’re the richest person in the solar system, little details like those don’t matter. Anyway, now you can see why jackass Jarvis Dommer expected you to be impressed by Trudy Melford’s largesse. The Empress is willing to link you out to Mars just for the pleasure of your conversation.” Maria eyed Bey shrewdly. “When will you be going?”

  “I won’t.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “No way.” Bey was silent for a moment. “But I still don’t see any reason why she would want me there.”

  “Watch that bump of curiosity, I can see it swelling from here. If Trudy knows you at all she could be relying on it. But I’ll make a guess as to why she’s interested in you. People who have been out to see Melford Castle in its new location say there are some exotic forms on Mars now, shapes that BEC had nothing to do with developing. Maybe illegal forms, too. Trudy must have seen them, deep in the Underworld. If she thinks they have commercial potential, there’s your answer. She wants you to evaluate the forms; see what makes them tick, see if they have fatal flaws, make them legal. She scents money and she’d like to chase it.”

  “Good luck to her. But it has nothing to do with me. I’m busy.”

  “Are you now.” Maria pursed her lips. “You’re making me curious. First you say you are retired, now you say you’re busy. And you live alone on that island in the middle of nowhere. You always used to work like a dog—harder than me. What are you busy doing, Bey? I’ll bet its funny business.”

  “It’s nothing.” Wolf reached out as though to cut off yet another conversation. Then he shook his head “Maria, you’re too smart for your own damn good. When I’m ready to talk—if I ever am—you’ll be the first to know.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “And thanks for the informati
on.”

  “Anytime. Say hi to the Empress.”

  “I won’t be talking to her.”

  “We’ll see about that. If you’d worked for Gertrude Zenobia Melford as long as I have, you’d know how pushy she is. Whatever Trudy wants … you’re the one who’ll need the good luck.”

  Maria nodded knowingly and cut the connection. She left Bey with a lot to ponder. After three quiet years on Wolf Island, he had suddenly found himself interrupted daily—almost hourly.

  Coincidence?

  Bey sat down at the circular table. Time to think.

  He did not move for more than three hours. The failed experiment in the form-change tank in front of him, with its steadily dispersing swarm of bees, was ignored.

  Sondra Dearborn had been correct in her assessment of Bey’s personality. He was interested in ideas, things, and people—in that order. But people were not immune from natural laws. Such laws included the laws of probability. Bey understood very well that coincidences had to happen, that odd events involving people must sometimes occur in runs.

  He had known that fact for many years. He would accept it now; but only when all other possible explanations for the sudden change in his own circumstances had been eliminated.

  For the next two days it seemed as though Bey had been worrying over nothing. No one called. No one tried to visit. He had sixty quiet hours to think about and work on a different form-change experiment, one that he had been planning for a long time. Peace ended on the third day, when a major southerly gale brought biting cold air from the Antarctic ice-cap all the way to Wolf Island. A mixture of snow and sleet was falling by mid-morning. Bey had heard the rising gale from deep within the basement of the house. He went directly outside from the form-change lab where he had been working all night and set off along the shore. He walked three full circuits of his domain, bowing his head against the biting south wind. The hounds needed the break as much as he did. Janus and Siegfried, running on ahead, splashed into the water far enough to wet their paws. Then they retreated to the sand. Apparently even the sea was freezing.

  Bey hurried back to the house at midday. He was driven not by fatigue or hunger, but by the thunderstorm that swept in without warning from the open ocean. It brought with it a barrage of rattling hailstones as big as marbles. The sky was dark where it was not lit by lightning, and thunder rolled all around the horizon as Bey ran for home.

  He heard the buzz of the message center as soon as he was inside the upper level of the house. He muttered to himself when he inspected the log. Five messages, in less than eighteen hours. Might as well be living in Chat City. He was more annoyed than interested when he called for playback.

  The first three were sound-only. They were all from Sondra Dearborn.

  “It arrived in Earth orbit,” she said without introduction. “I have the initial reports, but Denzel Morrone won’t let me send them to you! He says they’re office confidential.”

  Until that moment Bey had felt little interest in seeing records of anything to do with the feral forms. Now he did.

  The second message had been sent five hours later, in the middle of Bey’s night. Sondra’s breathless voice on the machine was saying, “I’m on my way to see it. I wish you could come with me.”

  And finally, six hours ago, “It’s terrible, absolutely terrible.” Her voice was nervous and quavering. “I have a lot more information about the Fugate Colony form, but I don’t know what to do with it. Can I come and show you? If only you’d answer! Mr. Wolf? Bey? Are you there?”

  There was a long silence, until he thought she must have disconnected. Then, in a more resolute tone: “You told me to warn you in advance if I wanted to come and see you again. So I’m warning you. I’m coming! I’ll be at Wolf Island as soon as I can get there. Expect me around midday.”

  Before Bey had time to become furious the machine clicked again and the next message began reading out. It was just four hours old. This time it was audio-visual: Jarvis Dommer, grinning like a demented ape. “Hi, Mr. Wolf. I’m sure you’ll agree that BEC—”

  Bey slapped the Cancel-and-Delete button.

  The final message had been left three hours ago, and it was again both sound and vision. Or it was supposed to be. Bey found himself viewing the image of a dark-haired woman. She stared serenely into the recording unit without speaking. Bey knew what she must be seeing. His answering system responded to incoming calls with his own voice message and picture, and they would be showing on her screen.

  Bey stared also, analytically. Although Maria Sun had been right when she mocked his ignorance of general news, that did not include form-change fashions. From long habit he always studied those closely. This year’s top female fashion represented quite a change. Low, broad foreheads and slanting devil’s eyebrows were in. So were high cheekbones and slightly retroussй noses, along with a sullen, full-lipped mouth and firm chin. Eyes were brown and thick-lashed. Hair was black or honey-colored, long, thickly-growing and almost straight, tumbling down in profusion to cover large ears. Fuller breasts were recommended. Waists were not so slender, hips fuller, legs strong, long, and well-muscled. There was more sway and swing to the walk. The overall effect that the BEC designers had been aiming for was the sexy peasant look, a primitive woman deliberately far in image from last year’s languid sophisticate.

  Bey had been impressed when he first saw the form. Not by the problem of its design—he was beyond such trivia—but by the commercial cunning of EEC. The new shape was different enough from the old one for the change to be expensive. How much would it cost? He could guess: exactly as much as BEC believed that people could afford to pay to be in fashion.

  At first glance, the woman who showed head and shoulders on the screen was following the new look. But a closer look revealed differences. Her nose was not quite straight and a fraction too big, her mouth too wide and generous. Eyebrows were thicker and darker than convention permitted. Most noticeable of all, her eyes were not brown but a clear, startling blue-green.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wolf.” The icon in the display at last came alive. “Before you disconnect me or delete me, let me say my piece. It must be obvious to both of us that Jarvis Dommer has been getting nowhere. So if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed … ” The broad mouth smiled. “That’s right, Mr. Wolf. In ten minutes I will Link in from Mars to Earth. I will reach Wolf Island at midday. I hope that you can find the time to meet with me.”

  Bey was more surprised than he was willing to admit. Not so much by the quirky form—he had seen every human shape that could live, and many that could not—but by the fact that Trudy Melford was on her way to Wolf Island. When she had arrived three years ago for the signing of the multiform licenses he had been told that it was a unique event. The value of her time was incalculable.

  And so, in Bey’s view, was the value of his time.

  She said she would arrive at midday. He glanced at the clock. Already it was well past noon, with no sign of Trudy. But suddenly a clatter of hard shoes came from outside, running like the devil through the storm.

  A sodden Trudy Melford appeared, bursting in through the front door without knocking. Long hair hung down in black rats’ tails, snowflakes whitened her thick eyebrows, water ran down her prominent nose. She stood dripping on the threshold.

  “What a welcome!” She laughed, full-throated and infectious. “Head winds, thunderstorms, hailstones, snow, high waves, low cloud. If I had a suspicious mind I’d think you were hoping to keep me out with weather control.”

  She walked forward, wiping melted sleet from her forehead with the back of her hand. Her pale green dress was soaked and clinging. Bey could see that she was following current fashion when it came to body style, warm and sturdy and complaisant.

  A peasant-empress? Incongruous, given the Melford reputation. Bey remembered their previous meeting. It was hard to imagine then that anyone would ever dare to touch the imperial Gertrude Zenobia Melford.

  “Where can I chang
e my clothes and dry my shoes?” She held up the grey bag she was holding. “I didn’t expect anything like this, but I did bring a spare outfit.”

  No apology for arriving uninvited. Nothing about being late. No embarrassment at barging in without knocking. And no doubt in her mind that she would be offered hospitality.

  Total self-confidence. That’s what life must be like when you grew up with the solar system at your feet Bey nodded to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. “In there. Where’s your pilot?”

  “In the carrier, down on the beach. I told him to stay there. How about a drink for me? Plenty of ice. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She vanished. Bey was left to ponder the next move. This was his house, his property, his kingdom. He had a perfect right to throw Trudy Melford out, to tell her to get the hell away from Wolf Island. Already he knew he would not do it. But he did need to assert himself and throw her off balance. Trudy Melford rolled over people so easily, she must assume that it was her God-given right.

  Bey hurried to the door at the rear of the house. In the closed porch, sheltered from the storm, the two mastiff hounds lay nose to paws. He spoke softly to them and they stood up and stretched. As he opened the outer porch door they went bounding off into the pelting rain.

  By the time that Trudy Melford reappeared Bey was sitting comfortably gazing out at the driving sleet. A half-empty glass was in his hand and a full one sat waiting on the low table.

  She was dry-haired and rosy-cheeked, dressed now in a full-length pleated robe of pale mauve with loose sleeves. Bare toes peeped below the robe’s hem. Trudy Melford padded across to Bey, picked up her drink, and sat down across from him without waiting to be asked. “I’m glad you decided to be sociable. I wasn’t sure, you know, even though I acted as though I was.”