Chalker, Jack L. - Well of Souls 02 (7 page)

The New Harmony stewards walked down the aisle, collecting pistols. They explained that each of them would be further screened for weapons before disembarking and suggested that surrendering all of them now would save later embarrassment.

Mavra handed in her pistol; the weapons she really counted on had passed every scanner she'd ever tried. If they hadn't, she wouldn't have them with her now. Landing on New Pompeii, she found she had been right. She walked boldly through the scanner, and it didn't paralyze her, as it did to two of the others carrying concealed broken-down pistols and knives.

Finally they were all cleared, and Mavra looked around.

The small spaceport was designed for two ships such as this one; there was another in port, almost certainly Trelig's private craft. Guards and scanners were all over, but she expected that. Her mission didn't look impossible.

She could use some help from the others, she knew, but dared not enlist them for the same reason they couldn't use her. It was highly probable that at least one, maybe more, was an Antor Trelig plant.

No luggage was off-loaded; none had been allowed. Trelig would provide, he'd said, and he limited what anyone could carry in the process.

The man himself stood there to greet them— tall, much taller than the New Harmonites, a giant-sized, muscular, exceedingly handsome version of the model. He wore flowing white robes and, with his very long hair, looked like an angel.

"Welcome! Welcome! Dear friends!" he called in that now famous orator's voice. He'd paid good money for it, and he'd gotten value received. He then greeted each in turn, by name, and kissed their hands in the universal formal ritual of greeting. When he took Mavra's his bushy eyebrows, another departure from the New Harmony model, went up.

"Such amazing fingernails!" he exclaimed. "My dear, you resemble a sexy cat."

"Oh?" she replied, not disguising her contempt. "I thought you killed all the cats on New Harmony."

He grinned wickedly, and went on. When all had been greeted he led them out of the small, plush terminal. The sight was stunning. First, it was green— exceptionally green, a garden of tall but carefully manicured grass. To their left was a great forest that seemed to go off to the seemingly nearby horizon; to their right, small hills covered with brightly colored trees and flowers. And in the center, perhaps five hundred meters away, was a city the likes of which they'd never seen.

A hill dominated the scene; atop its grassy slopes was a tall building made of polished marble. It was enormous, like an amphitheater or temple. Below, at the hill's base, stood stylish buildings of an ancient model, also of marble, with huge Roman columns supporting great roofs that were decorated with mythological sculptures cut into the stone. Each had great marble steps going up to its entrance, and some were open enough that the visitors could observe spacious interior plazas festooned with living flowers and great statuary and decorated with fountains at their centers. The central building had a dome and the longest and grandest staircase. Trelig led them to it.

"I allow as little technology as is practical here," he explained as they walked. "The servants are humans, the food and drink is hand-prepared, and in some cases hand-harvested. No powered vehicles. I make some concessions, of course, such as the lighting, and the whole world is climate-controlled and maintained under the plasma dome and air pumps, but we like to keep the feeling rustic."

They found no difficulty with the walk or with the stairs; the .7 gravity made them all feel great, almost as if they could fly, and they weren't as tired at the exercise as they would be walking a kilometer on a one-G world.

Inside the main building was a great hall. A real oak table had been opulently set; it was low to the ground, and they would sit on padded and soft fur-covered cushions when eating. Below the table area was a slightly sunken wooden polished floor, like a dance floor, and the whole area was circled by great marble columns. Between the columns were stretched silken hangings, apparently in strips. They blocked the view, though.

Mavra looked up and saw that the dome had a complex mosaic design inside. Lighting was adequate— although the hall was somewhat dim except in the area of the polished floor— but so indirect that it was impossible to tell its source.

Trelig seated them all, and took his own place at the head of the table. Fancy fruit cups were set in front of each place, real fruit, they all noted. Other exotic fruits decorated the tables— kumquats, oranges, pineapples. Many poked gingerly at the fruit with their chopsticks; most had never had the real thing before.

"Try the wine," their host urged. "Real stuff, with alcohol. We have our own vineyards here and turn out some pretty good stuff."

And it was good, far better than the synthetics they'd all been raised on. Mavra picked at the fruit. Raised on synthetics, she preferred them to the real thing. The wine, though, was excellent. Such stuff was generally available, but usually priced far out of reach for most people.

Trelig clapped his hands, and four women appeared. They were all tanned and dark-haired, but otherwise distinctly different, certainly products of worlds other than New Harmony. They were all longhaired, wore heavy cosmetics, and were also heavily perfumed. They were also barefoot, and dressed only in filmy, single-piece dresses of unfamiliar but obviously ancient design. You could almost see right through them.

They cleared away the fruit cups and wine glasses with efficiency, not glancing directly at anyone at the table or saying a word. No sooner did they disappear beyond the curtains than other women, behaving with the same glassy-eyed efficiency, appeared carrying perfectly balanced silver trays on their heads.

"Disgusting," Mavra heard a man near her snarl. "Human beings waiting on other human beings when robots can do the job."

Most nodded slightly in agreement, although she wondered how many of the visitors were Comworlder politicians with whole worlds of slaves.

The performance continued throughout the meal, each course being perfectly timed. Wine was supplied in great variety and quantity, and never was a glass allowed to remain empty. The women performed as if they were machines. Mavra counted eight distinct serving girls, and who knew how many others supplied them out of sight beyond the curtain.

The meal was strange, exotic, and exceptionally good, although Mavra was filled after the second course and several others quit along the way. The bearded man wolfed down the food, though, and Trelig took some of each course.

Afterward, he showed them how the cushions unfolded into recliners, and they relaxed, with more wine and snacks, while a small circus of musicians and jugglers performed in the lit wooden floor area. The festivities went on for some time, and the evening was enjoyable. Trelig knew how to throw one hell of a banquet.

Finally when the last of the performers was through and the guests applauded politely in unison, it was time for Trelig to settle them all for the night. "You will find everything you need there, a complete modern toilet. Sleep well! We have an amazing day tomorrow!"

He led them down to the stage and through a curtain, which revealed a long marble hall. Their footsteps echoed as they walked along the hall, which seemed to go on forever. Finally they made a turn and came upon another, seemingly identical corridor. Now, though, Trelig opened a large, hinged door of solid oak, perhaps ten centimeters thick, and showed each one to his room.

The accommodations were sumptuous and individually decorated. Mavra's had a thick carpet of some sort of fur, a writing desk, dressing table, bathroom, old-style dresser, and an enormous round bed.

She was happy to see it. Although she prided herself on holding her liquor, the wine had been exceptionally strong, perhaps deliberately so. She hadn't really noticed the effect until she'd stood up for the walk to the rooms. She felt dizzy, slightly giddy. At first she suspected the wine had been drugged, but then realized it was just potent.

Trelig bid her goodnight and closed the great door with a chunk. Immediately she went over to it and pulled on the bronze handle.

It was locked, as she knew it would be.

Next she searched the rooms. One of her earrings buzzed slightly, and she moved to the center of the room and stood under a pretty but largely ornamental chandelier. Getting the chair from the writing table she climbed up. The buzzing grew exceptionally loud. She nodded to herself. Fixed in the base of the chandelier was a tiny, almost invisible remote camera. It was hinged so it could be positioned by remote control in any direction, and had an infrared lens attachment.

Within ten minutes she found two other cameras, one in the bathroom proper, the only place the chandelier camera couldn't reach, and another actually hidden in the shower head. The three cameras were placed so that no area of the room was invisible to them.

The cameras were cleverly hidden, yes, but not so cleverly that they wouldn't be found by anyone looking for them. Trelig wanted them found by anyone who would care about them at all; it was a demonstration of his power and their futility.

They were of standard design. She went back to look at the chandelier, saw it wasn't following her more than haphazardly, and then walked over to the bed. No sheet, she noticed. But one wasn't needed in the perfect climate control of the room. No way to hide doing something under a cover, though.

She sat on the edge of the bed, back to the camera, and slipped off her boots, then slid the belt-whip over her head and put it off to her right, away from the camera's view. Then the earrings, on top the belt. She reached over to a night table, pulled some tissues, and picked up a small mirror. She started to remove some of her makeup.

As she was doing this, her feet turned one of the boots on its side, and then held it in place while the other foot released studs at four points. The sole fell open on tiny inner hinges, revealing a number of small gadgets. She gingerly got one she needed, clasping it between her toes of one foot, and then grasped another with the other foot.

Ready now, she slipped off the pullover, got up, and pulled down the body-stocking. As she leaned down to take it off, her left hand grabbed both of the devices.

Nude now, she stood up and actually turned around. The motion looked natural, but the watchers would draw the obvious conclusion: nothing hidden in the body cavities. Her fingers, the same ones that suckered rubes with cards and the shell game since she was small, held the two small devices invisibly. Assuming the lotus position on the bed, she turned the lights off with her right hand.

In the exact instant the lights went off, she dropped one of the devices on the bed and pointed the other at the chandelier. She was guided by a beam of light she could see only because of special contact lenses she wore.

Striking the camera, she snatched the other device, a tiny rectangle, and positioned it so it rested on the pillow, pointed toward the camera. Satisfied, she put the first gadget down and relaxed in the lotus, eyes closed.

All of this had taken less than ten seconds.

Satisfied by what she could see through her special lenses, that she'd gotten it right, she opened her eyes, relaxed, then carefully and silently slid off the side of the bed, trying not to jiggle the little rectangle.

Free of the bed, she checked and saw that the gismo was still in position. The device was incredibly complex; she'd discovered it only when it was used to trap her in a minor con, and she'd paid plenty for it. What it did, simply, was freeze the first image the camera saw and hold it there. There was an automatic adjustment of several seconds from the standard to the infrared mode, a little longer to refocus. She then had eleven seconds to shoot and position the feedback projector, as it was called.

Quietly, with the stealth and caution of an expert burglar, Mavra dressed herself. She started to put on the boots, then thought better of it, remembering the clattering echo of the halls. She removed the buckle from the whip-belt and used its pin to fix it under the whip, then turned the small whip handle so it could be easily drawn by releasing the nearly invisible binding studs.

She hadn't been removing her makeup with the tissue; she'd been smearing it evenly all over her face and rubbing her hands with it as well. Now she took a small shrink-wrapped pack from her left boot and opened it, removing the tiny pad. Carefully, methodically, she smoothed it over all exposed areas of her skin. The mild chemical, reacting to another in the makeup, caused it to turn a deep black. Next she removed the special contact lenses, squeezed two drops in her eyes from a nearly minute dropper, then took another, different pair out of her pack and slipped them in. They were clear, but if she activated the tiny power supply in her buckle, they would turn into infrared lenses. More than one on New Pompeii had cat's eyes.

Switching to that mode, she picked up the mirror carefully and looked at herself. She looked exceedingly monstrous, of course, but the chemical blackener was an effective shield against the heat radiation infrared viewers saw. She touched up a few spots until she could see nothing in the mirror. Her hands she checked visually.

Then came the nodules. They fit under her long, sharp nails, and the injector point actually merged with the points of her fingernails. She loaded each one of them, not all with the same stuff. More than once these nasty little devices had saved her neck— and cost others dearly.