Asgard's Conquerors (7 page)

"I need to tell someone my side of the story," I insisted,
politely but firmly.

She threw the cotton-wool into the waste-disposal, and sealed up her
bag.

"I'll see what I can do," she promised. "But I really
don't think it will do you any good."

I had an ominous suspicion that she was right.

3

Dr. Kimura's
intercession on my behalf brought results of a kind. She must have gone
straight to the top, because my next visitor was one of the microworld's top
men. His name was Ayub Khan. He was tall and handsome, with a casual grace
about his movements. I got the feeling that he'd have been a top man wherever
he was, on a microworld or a whole planet.

"I'm very sorry," he told me, with apparent sincerity,
"that we must welcome you to the solar system in this manner. We
appreciate that you have spent a long time in, as it were, solitary
confinement, and it is most unfortunate that you should be subjected to more of
the same on an involuntary basis. But our hands are tied. The Star Force claim
jurisdiction in this matter, and their case is compelling."

"I was drafted on Asgard after being wrongly convicted of a
crime," I told him, already knowing that it was hopeless. "My
services were about to be sold, under a slave contract, to the people who
framed me. Eventually, the truth came out, and under Tetron law, the contract I
signed under duress became illegal. The Star Force complied with the Tetron
directive, and I obtained legitimate discharge papers. I'm not a deserter; they
have no right to arrest me."

Khan shrugged.

"Tetron law does not apply here, Mr. Rousseau. The case must be
tried according to UN law. I am certain that the court martial will take into
account all the relevant information."

"Do they shoot deserters nowadays?" I asked him.

"Very rarely," he assured me. "In the majority of cases,
returned deserters simply have to serve out their time in a penal
battalion."

"Great," I said bitterly.

"Hostilities have ceased," he pointed out, "but there's
still a great deal of work for the Star Force to do. An interstellar war leaves
an unimaginable amount of mess. Our colonies will need rebuilding—and we have
to take care of the surviving Salamandrans too. Even in a penal battalion,
you'd be doing vital and valuable work."

I couldn't derive much consolation from these helpful observations.

"Mr. Rousseau," he said, kindly, "we are entirely happy
for you to consider yourself a guest of Goodfellow, in spite of your awkward
circumstances. We will make no charge for your food or for the use you might
make of our information networks. But the law binds us as it binds you, and we
must work within the constraints of the situation."

He reminded me very strongly of my last jailer, 69-Aquila, who had also
been scrupulously polite.

"I'm grateful," I said insincerely. "I would like to ask
a couple of questions, if I may. I understand that the Star Force had been told
that I was heading for the system, and a general instruction had apparently
been issued to apprehend me. Is that right?"

"I believe so."

"Do you know how they found out that I was coming? They couldn't
identify my ship until I relaxed the stresser, and I didn't send any messages on
ahead. Who told them to expect me?"

"I have no idea," he replied, smoothly. "I infer that a
message must have arrived from your point of departure

while you
were in transit."

I'd inferred the same thing myself. A stress-pulse message would easily
have beaten a ship in flight. But stress-pulse messages are expensive, and are
used very sparingly. Susarma Lear couldn't have sent it, because her ship had
left Asgard long before mine. She must have reached the solar system months
ago. She could certainly be responsible for labeling me a deserter, but there
was no way she could have known that I was coming home. If the message telling
the Star Force to expect me had come from Asgard, then it could only have come
from the Tetrax. But how could the Tetrax have known that I was wanted? And why
should they have cared?

It didn't make sense.

"Dr. Khan," I said, politely, "I'd be very grateful if
you could use your influence to try to find out how the Star Force knew my ship
was due. It could be vital to my defence."

"I shall be pleased to do so," he assured me.
"Goodfellow is a civilized world, and I would not like you to think badly
of us."

I couldn't really imagine that I'd be carrying any happy memories away,
but I let the matter rest there. When Ayub Khan had gone, I sat down on the bed
and tried to make myself feel better by counting a few blessings. At least, I
told myself, I was still a rich man.

Then my other visitor arrived.

"Hello Rousseau," he said, as he strolled in through the
security-sealed door. "Small universe, isn't it?"

I looked up at him in open astonishment. I hadn't seen him for a long
time, but I had not the slightest difficulty in recognising him.

"Jesus Christ!" I said. "John Finn!"

"Around here," he told me, "I'm Jack Martin. I'd be

obliged if
you could remember that."

John Finn was the black sheep of Mickey's family. I'd known him
slightly when we were all teenagers in the belt, but he and Mickey hadn't been
close. Whereas Mickey was big, shy, and awkward, John was small, sharp, and too
clever by half. He'd come to Asgard once, having left the system for reasons he
never fully explained. He'd had money—enough, at least, for a round-trip
passenger ticket on a Tetron ship. But Mickey was dead by then. John didn't
seem too grief-stricken when he found out—just angry that Mickey had left the
ship to me. Maybe if I'd thought Mickey would have wanted him to have it, I'd
have given it to him, but I didn't.

John had stayed on Asgard for six months or so. He had gone out into
the levels a couple of times with a work-gang, but hard labour hadn't been to
his taste. He'd done a little work for the Tetrax on salvaged technics, but
that hadn't led to the kind of rewards he was looking for. He'd eventually
headed back to the system. He hadn't bothered to say goodbye. I hadn't missed
him.

"I'll try to remember," I promised, telling myself that at
least he was a familiar face, and might even be friendly. "What are you
doing here? And how did you get past the security lock on the door?"

"I came to visit," he said, cockily. "And security locks
are no problem. I'm the maintenance man around here."

I shook my head in honest bewilderment. He sat down beside me on the
bed, and crossed his legs. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Stayed in the outer system when I got back," he said,
nonchalantly. "Never did like the inner planets much. Belt boy, like you.
Was on Titan for a while, and Ganymede. Signed on with Goodfellow to have a
look at the local sats.

Nice people.
I do hired-help-type jobs: maintenance work, shuttle pilot, drive the
ground-vehicles, that sort of thing. It's not much, but it fills in until I can
get some real work. I tell tall tales about Asgard. They say you went to the
Centre, met the makers."

"Not quite," I said. "I was a long way down. Had a brush
with some people who could do very clever things with machines. Couldn't say
that we really got much of a conversation going. Still don't know who built
Asgard or why." I matched his style of conversation effortlessly.

He sat down on the bed, and suggested a cup of coffee. I dialled up a
couple of cups. It wasn't as good as the stuff my Tetron organics produced, but
that wasn't surprising.

"You're in trouble, Mike. They still call you Mike?"

"Yes, they do. And I am in trouble."

"Star Force really wants to nail you. They don't send out that
kind of alert signal for just anybody. Entire system's been eagerly awaiting
your return. Don't know what you did, but you sure ruffled somebody's
feathers."

"Star-captain named Susarma Lear," I told him. "Funny,
really—I could have sworn that we were getting along quite well toward the end.
She didn't like me, but she seemed willing enough to let me be. I guess I
underestimated her."

"I've heard of her," said Finn. "Got quite a reputation.
Ran some bold raids in Salamandran territory. Tits loaded down with medals. I
can help you, you know."

I studied him carefully. He had the same pinched face. He was wearing a
little moustache now, which made him look like a Parisian pimp out of some old
movie. I didn't like his manner, which had always suggested to me that he'd
overdosed on assertiveness training in the sixth grade.

"You can?" I countered guardedly.

"Sure. Can get you out of here and away. Anywhere in the system
you want to go—or out of it. If you stay in the system, it'll have to be Earth.
Nowhere else big enough to hide. Still three billion people down in the hole.
Lots of places where they don't have full registration. Your people were
Canadian, weren't they? That's not so good. Australia may be a different
matter. Biotech desalination plants, desert reclamation . . . population
climbing, lots of work, not many questions. On the other hand, maybe you'd be
better off out of the system entirely. For good. Still got friends on
Asgard?"

"I guess so," I answered, without much conviction. "I think
I could bear to say goodbye to the system forever, if I had to. All things
considered, if I were aboard my ship right now, I don't think I'd wait to be
court-martialled." I stared him in the face all the while, still waiting
for the punch line.

"Rumour has it that you got rich," he said, delivering it.

"Where are these rumours coming from?" I asked him. "All
of a sudden, I seem to be famous. Rumour says that I got deep into Asgard, met
some funny people. Rumour says that I got rich. Who's doing the talking,
John?"

"Star Force," he replied, laconically. "Some of their
guys were with you down below, right? Makes a good story, especially with the
star-captain featuring. She's famous. You're just notorious. But they do talk
about you, Mike. Flattered?"

"Not exactly. I'd rather be inconspicuous."

"I know the feeling. I can get you out of Goodfellow, you know.
The benefits of knowing the maintenance man, if you see what I mean. Locks
don't matter."

"And you were thinking of helping me out for old time's sake, were
you?" I asked, with the merest hint of sarcasm.

"No," he replied, bluntly.

"What sort of price do you have in mind?"

"Well," said Finn, "I don't say it's going to be easy.
In fact, it could expose me to a bit of risk. I wouldn't be able to stay here,
would I? And the Star Force would be looking for me, too. What are you carrying
in the way of exchange?"

I had part of my fortune in metals, part in organics, and part in
Tetron drafts. Tetron paper money is the only kind you can trust. I told him,
without being specific about amounts.

"I can't use the Tetron scrip," he said. "It's
registered to user, too easy to trace. But if we were together, we could split
everything fifty-fifty, couldn't we?"

I supposed we could. It was a lot of money to pay a maintenance man for
fiddling a lock or two, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be partners with John
Finn. I was sure, though, that I didn't want to serve ten years in a penal
battalion. But we hadn't got to the bottom line yet.