Proteus in the Underworld Page 5

  Trudy had been quietly sipping her drink, but at the final question Bey saw a new expression flicker in her eyes. Surprise? Or anger? How often did people question the motives of the Empress?

  And then she was once again in full control. "The move to Mars, that's an old story and a long one. BEC's form-control patents, as you know, are employed through the whole solar system. You may also know that patent violations are common, with pirate hardware and software in use from Pluto on out."

  "I worked with some of those out in Cloudland. Pretty good equipment, I thought."

  "But stolen ideas, you must admit. Five years ago I went to Earth's Planetary Coordinators and pointed out that BEC contributes as much to this planet through taxes and fees as a major government department. Revenue generated anywhere in the solar system floats through to BEC Headquarters. When BEC loses money because of patent violations in the Outer System, Earth loses, too. I asked for help in persuading the United Space Federation to cut down on the pirating. I know the USF. I felt sure that they would at least make an effort if they were asked.

  "Well, I was right about the USF. It was the Planetary Coordinators, here on Earth, who wouldn't do one damned thing. A whole year went by. Nothing. And another year. I went to them again and this time we had a major fight. If you want to, you can check that for yourself. It's in the public record."

  "I don't need to check. It was talked about within the Office of Form Control. For what it matters, I was on your side."

  "All right. But that's when I got mad and went shopping. BEC Headquarters had been on Earth since the company started. It didn't have to be. I talked to Mars and the Belt and I even asked for bids from Europa and Ganymede. Mars gave me the best offer, and I signed a deal with them. They get a fraction of BEC royalties, with a much bigger piece of anything earned where the pirating has been going on.

  "As soon as the contract was signed I was ready to relocate. But I was damned if I'd be driven from my home as well as my planet. So I included Melford Castle in the move. End of story. Does that answer your question?"

  Trudy arched dark eyebrows at Bey while she calmly sipped her drink. He nodded thoughtfully. Just like that. Get mad, make a deal, move Melford Castle. A hundred-and-fifty-room mansion, built on bedrock, lifted and carried across fifty million miles of open space to be set down carefully on Mars. All it needed was gobs and gobs of money. And a formidable will. The Empress of BEC had both.

  Bey heard a faint and excited barking from outside. The hounds were on the way back. "What about the other two questions?" he asked. "Why me? And what were you hoping I could do for you?"

  "Easy. You, because you're the best there is, and since you retired you have time to spare and can focus on anything that takes your fancy. As for the other question, what you would do, I can't answer it—until you have a chance to see something for yourself."

  Flatter me, then rouse my curiosity. But it could work. Bey knew he was responding. He needed his confusion factor to throw Trudy Melford off balance.

  And at last it was here—the first part of it. Janus and Siegfried, soaking wet, pushed open the door and ran into the house. Their arrival told Bey that he had less than thirty seconds. He stood up and walked over to the door as though intending to close it. Behind him the dogs were shaking themselves vigorously, spraying water in all directions.

  Bey took hold of the heavy door. Instead of closing it he swung it wide. Approaching the threshold, right on cue, came Sondra Dearborn. She was bedraggled, shivering, and even wetter than the dogs.

  Bey took her by the arm and drew her inside. "Come in, Sondra. There's someone here that I want you to meet."

  He turned. "Trudy Melford, meet Sondra Dearborn. Sondra, this is Trudy. Did you bring a change of clothes? I thought not. Make yourself a drink. And why don't the two of you get to know each other a little while I hunt up something warm and dry for Sondra to wear?"

  * * *

  Bey left the room without another word and headed deeper into the house, closing the door behind him.

  Sondra stared after him in bewilderment. She was exhausted. After a horrible experience with the Fugate Colony form in low Earth orbit, she had been through another one almost as bad in fighting her way to Wolf Island. With smart planes and boats and self-correcting equipment, few people died any more during transportation. But that was only another way of saying that occasionally people did die. Sondra was hugely relieved when her solo transport landed on the wind-lashed beach. She stuck the data recordings made during her trip to orbit into the pocket of her dress and jumped ashore. She didn't take a second look at the other craft, farther along the shore, and she paid little attention to the two dogs whose frenzied howls greeted her arrival. She was no longer afraid of them. In fact she was glad to have their barks pointing the way ahead as she staggered toward the house through driven sleet so thick that she could hardly see.

  All the way across the ocean she had wondered what Bey was likely to say to her. Here she was again, arriving at Wolf Island without invitation or adequate warning.

  It was mystifying to find him greeting her at the door like a dear and intimate friend. And even more baffling when, after the briefest of introductions to Trudy Melford, he left her alone with the super-billionaire who controlled BEC.

  To hide her confusion Sondra did as Bey had suggested. She'd been offered a drink, she wanted a drink, she needed a drink. Something strong with warmth and plenty of stimulants, to calm her chattering teeth and churning belly. She mixed, gulped, and gulped again until the glass was empty. Only after she had mixed a refill did she finally turn to face Trudy Melford.

  The other woman was watching her with concentration and poorly-disguised irritation. Sondra knew why. She had broken up a tête-à-tête between Trudy and Bey. From the look of it, a very private one. A casual guest did not sit at ease and barefoot, in a lounge robe carefully designed to show off her lush figure.

  Sondra returned the detailed scrutiny. Trudy Melford wore the current look, but at an age older than was fashionable. Sondra guessed it at thirty, but assessed Trudy's actual age as a good deal older. Mid-forties, for a bet.

  Why wear neither one age nor the other, neither true age nor the early twenties that was the general preference? Sondra looked again, and saw other anomalies. She had studied the current fashion in great detail. Like Bey, she could catalog the minor differences.

  And unlike Bey, she was able to make another deduction. Before ever visiting Wolf Island she had studied every reference she could find to Behrooz Wolf. Not just his technical work, but the personal details. She knew the name, age, background, and physical appearance of every woman with whom Bey had enjoyed a significant relationship.

  So, apparently, did someone else. Because Trudy Melford's deviations from the standard form were far from random. They had all been chosen with infinite care—even, Sondra now realized, the age—to make Trudy Melford's appearance a subtle composite of Bey's former female companions.

  It was ironic. Sondra had considered doing the same thing herself, until she made a rough estimate of how much it would cost. Nothing that she would need was off-the-shelf. The necessary form modifications called for complete custom-fitting, using specially-written and delicately designed programs. Expensive programs. She had been forced to drop the idea.

  Sondra was suddenly aware of her own drenched hair and soggy appearance. And so, from the snooty look on her face, was Trudy Melford.

  Sondra felt the rising tension between them. "I've never seen a form quite like the one you're wearing." She tried to sound casual, and failed. "How much does it cost?"

  "A negligible amount." Trudy raised her dark eyebrows and again surveyed Sondra's clothes. "But rather more, I'm afraid, than you would be able to afford."

  The tone was friendly enough. But the claws were out of their sheaths.

  "Oh, I wasn't thinking of using it myself." Sondra glanced toward the door through which Bey had vanished. "I gather that I'm perfect for some pe
ople, just the way I am."

  "I'm sure that you are, my dear." Trudy smiled, showing even white teeth. "Perfect. For some people."

  Sondra smiled back, seething.

  Trudy nodded. The two women turned away from each other. Nothing more needed to be said. There had just been a declaration of war; a statement as clear as if it had been written, signed, sealed, and delivered through official ambassadorial channels.

  CHAPTER 5

  Bey had watched the whole interaction with a good deal of satisfaction.

  He had left the room, but he had not gone far. During his fifty-plus years with the Office of Form Control he had lived at the center of a web of data collection whose gossamer threads extended right through the solar system. It was unthinkable that he would give up that addiction simply because he had retired; and it was natural that his house communications center would track what was happening anywhere on Wolf Island.

  The exchange between the two women did not make him feel sorry for either of them. They had invaded his privacy and interrupted his work. Sondra had done it twice. Trudy had done it once only, but she had also inflicted on Bey the unspeakable Jarvis Dommer. They both deserved a little suffering.

  He was surprised and pleased with Sondra. It required real nerve to take on the most powerful woman in the solar system, and she had done it rather successfully. True, her mouth was quivering and her hands were shaking, but that could be more the chill of her arrival than a loss of nerve.

  More importantly, the meeting had done what Bey hoped it might do. The Empress, clawing and snarling at Sondra, was less imperial. Trudy had lost at least a little of her absolute control.

  When the two turned away from each other and apparently decided to speak no more, Bey at once headed back into the room.

  "I'm sorry." He shrugged at Sondra. "I don't have anything in the house that would fit you." A perfectly true statement, as it happened. There were no women's clothes in his house at all.

  Sondra glanced at Trudy Melford before she answered. "You know me, Bey. One of your old shirts will do just fine. But I have to dry myself before I freeze."

  "Of course. Help yourself to anything you find in the guest suite." He gestured along the hallway. Sondra squelched away, turning only once to look back.

  "An interesting young lady." Trudy arched her slanting eyebrows. "Your assistant?"

  She was fishing. Bey ignored the bait. "You said earlier that you couldn't explain what you wanted me to do until I saw something for myself. You obviously don't have that something with you. Is it on Mars?"

  "Of course."

  "A new form?"

  "That, and much more." Trudy Melford leaned forward. "Will you help me? This is more important than I can say. It's not a question of money, but if you do help you will find me . . . more than generous."

  The Melford reputation was of a woman remote and quite untouchable. It was hard to accept that idea as warm hands enveloped Bey's and aquamarine eyes, deep and knowing as the sea, transfixed him. "Will you help me, Bey Wolf?"

  "How long will it take?"

  "On Mars? Just one day. If that is not enough to interest and persuade you, a longer stay cannot help. Will you do it?"

  "I'm not sure. I'll let you know."

  "When?"

  "Within one week."

  "But you have nothing to—" She stopped and took a deep breath. Bey could see the angry response being bottled up. An Empress must be accustomed to instant gratification.

  "If you're hoping I'll say yes," he added, "you'd better keep Jarvis Dommer out of my hair. I don't want him pestering me for an answer."

  "He is loyal and hard-working." Trudy was still holding Bey's hands. "Why do you despise him so?"

  "My Persian ancestors had a saying: 'A stupid man is one who is willing to die for a cause that he does not understand.' "

  "That could also be a definition of a loyal employee. You are not like that?"

  "I guess not."

  "Ah. A pity. Very well. One week, and if I have not heard from you I will call you myself." Trudy finally released Bey and stood up. She took her grey bag, opened it, and handed him a silver card. "To reach me at any time, use this on your message center. It will give you direct access, wherever I am. It will also cover any travel expense in reaching Mars. Do you wish to discuss other compensation?"

  "No."

  "I thought that's what you would say." Trudy managed to smile, a rueful lop-sided quirk of the mouth that Bey found highly attractive. "What a pity. It is much easier, don't you think, to deal with people who are motivated by money?"

  Bey found himself walking with her toward the entrance. "Easier, and in my experience less productive. What you don't pay for is usually more valuable than what you do."

  "And certainly more enjoyable." She waited as he slid open the door and held it. The wind howled in and around them, molding her robe to her body. The storm had become more violent than ever.

  "Do you think it's safe to travel while its like this?" He had to shout to be sure that she could hear him.

  "Given the right staff and the right equipment, it's perfectly safe." Trudy gestured toward the beach. Bey saw, shining in the gloom, the pale violet outline of a mobile link entry point.

  "I have to be back on Old Mars in half an hour." Trudy was leaning close. She patted Bey's arm in a proprietary way. "Goodbye. Next time we meet, I hope it will be there."

  Bey watched as she bent low to face the wind and headed toward the beach. It was like a conjuring trick. Trudy reached and entered her carrier. There was a brief pause. Then the whole carrier lifted and moved into the Link portal. And finally the temporary portal closed, swallowing both the carrier and itself. There was nothing on the beach to reveal that either of them had ever been there.

  Bey slid his outer door closed. That was what real money could do, as opposed to mere millionaire-class wealth. Trudy, bypassing the usual Link points, would have been transported instantly to Mars. Chances were she was already walking into Melford Castle, even as he headed to his living room.

  He settled back into the chair where he had been sitting less than half an hour ago. His unfinished drink was waiting, its ice still only half-melted. Bey picked up the glass. The contents appealed greatly. He closed his eyes. He had been up all night and was beginning to feel it. He had earned a rest; and he had also earned the luxury of pondering a little bit on the curious behavior of Trudy Melford.

  What did she really want? He was cynical enough to dismiss her compliments, and experienced enough to discount whatever oddities might be waiting on Mars. BEC kept a permanent staff to analyze just such future business potential. They could do anything that he could.

  Well, almost anything. He smiled to himself. They couldn't say no to Trudy Melford.

  He smelled Sondra before he saw her. A distinct, flowery perfume came wafting into his nostrils. He sensed that she was standing close to him.

  He opened his eyes. And blinked.

  He had told her to help herself to anything that she found, but her appearance went beyond eccentricity. She had found a short-sleeved purple shirt, long enough to cover her body only to mid-thigh. She had drawn it in tightly at the waist with a broad black belt, which made it even shorter. Her feet were bare, her long hair was carefully styled and piled on top of her head, and she was wearing make-up for the first time since he had met her.

  Oddly enough, the combination worked perfectly. Bey nodded approval. "You didn't need to go to such trouble, you know, just for me."

  Sondra gave him a withering glare. "Don't kid yourself. Where is she? Where did she go?"

  "Trudy Melford?"

  "Who else?"

  "She already left. For Mars."

  "Well, damnation." Sondra flopped into a chair opposite Bey. "All this for nothing. That bitch. Did you invite her to come and see you?"

  "No."

  "So what was she doing here?"

  "Apparently not everyone who comes to Wolf Island waits for my invita
tion."

  Irony was wasted. Sondra glowered at him. "What did she want?"

  "To recruit me. To bribe me out of retirement. To get me to go to Mars and work for her."

  "I knew it!" Sondra stood up again abrupdy. "That fancy form she was using, and those sexy clothes. She was stalking you, couldn't you tell? If I hadn't arrived when I did . . . I assume you told her to go to hell?"

  "No. As a matter of fact I told her I would think seriously about her offer."

  Sondra put her hands on her hips. "You did what! You'd consider leaving here to work for her, for BEC and all its money?—when you won't even help one of your own relatives."

  "We can talk about relatives later. Meanwhile"—Bey sighed and stood up also. Any hope of peace was gone. "I didn't think you came here to feud with Trudy Melford. I thought you came here to tell me about the wild form that was shipped from the Fugate Colony. Was I wrong?"

  "No. I have all the records." Sondra clutched at her waist, and was briefly panic-stricken until she realized that the data device was still in her dress pocket. "I'll get them now and we'll go over them together."

  "No!" Bey had to call after her—she was already racing off along the hallway, a flash of purple shirt and long bare legs. "You give them to me, and I'll review them. Then we'll go over them together."

  He muttered to himself while he was waiting for her to return. What was the Office of Form Control coming to? Hadn't she been taught standard operating procedure? Everyone knew that separate reviews were performed before combined reviews.

  Or they knew when I was there. Bey caught the logical next line before it could fully emerge, and grinned to himself. The youngsters all knew better when Bey Wolf was running the show.

  The standard old-timers' complaint and boast. It had certainly been right to retire when he did.

  * * *

  The Fugate Colony was one of hundreds of small groups scattered through a vast, near-empty region extending from the Kuiper Belt to the limits of Cloudland. All those groups were on the face of it extremely diverse; and yet in one way many of them were remarkably similar.