Necropath (20 page)

“You no stay here. I no afford keep girls too old, too damage. Now go.”

She hung her head, shoulders shaking. She looked up at him, trying to find the magical words that might make him change his mind, but he had closed his eyes and tipped back his head.

Sending the stool flying, she stood up and ran from the office. She locked herself in the toilet, covering her face with her hands and trying to muffle the sound of her crying. She thought of working at the new bar, the Paradise Bar, thought of the human men she would have to go with. She could not believe what was happening to her.

She decided to go home now. Tomorrow, she would come back and talk to Fat Cheng, plead with him. Perhaps she could do other jobs here, work behind the bar, clean up. Anything other than work in the Paradise Bar.

She dried her eyes on the sleeve of her T-shirt, stood, and tried to compose herself. She took deep breaths, counted to ten, then opened the toilet door and hurried out. As she walked through the bar, she felt a hundred eyes on her, heard laughter and comments. She forgot her mask in the cloakroom in her haste to be away, and the smog out on the street stung her nose and throat.

It seemed to take a long time to get home, tonight.

She climbed the stairs, weary. Even her little room, her scant possessions, were of no comfort now. She could not bring herself to switch on the vid-screen, much less cook herself a meal.

Often in the past she had thought of killing herself, but the thought of Pakara had always stopped her. Dead, she would never again see her sister.

She reached under the pillow and pulled out the silk scarf from Pakara. She read the message again, smoothed her fingers along the embroidered words, and then cried herself to sleep.

* * * *

VERKERK’S WORLD

Vaughan leaned back in the couch before the bulging viewscreen as the
Spirit of Vega
made its transition into the airspace above Sapphire Falls, Verkerk’s World. The inky, starless blackness was replaced by the quick, almost subliminal, flash of blue sky and a range of jagged mountains. Then the black of the void returned, before disappearing again. The viewscreen flickered for ten seconds with alternating scenes like images on a defective hologram. Vaughan had only ever witnessed transitions from the ground, watching voidships come and go above Bengal Station. To behold a world come into being, the birth of a reality he was soon about to join, was an altogether more startling experience.

The ship made its final jump and the magnificence of the view was revealed. The crystal screen curved beneath the couch, and Vaughan sat forward and stared down between his feet at the silent, drifting landscape far below. They were passing above the foothills of the mountain range, the hills buckling in a series of rucks and folds, flattening out gradually as they gave way to a vast, cultivated floodplain. Ahead, he could see the outskirts of the city of Sapphire Falls, big timber houses laid out on a grid pattern of streets. It was dawn, the sun rising above the mountains, and Vaughan was amazed to see that the streets of the city were almost deserted. His sensibilities, geared to conditions on Bengal Station, could not help but compare: he supposed that this was the first of many imminent culture shocks.

He was still trying to gauge his reaction to Chandra’s invitation to join him on the investigation. Chandra had met Vaughan at the ‘port, and introduced him to Commander Sinton. “Jeff Vaughan, sir, the telepath. He’s the best man for the job.”

They had chatted for a while, Sinton obviously trying to assess his worth. Sinton had been shielded, common for a man in his position. Chandra had told his commanding officer that he had worked with Vaughan before, and that he was sure he would prove invaluable on the case.

But Vaughan suspected that Chandra had other reasons for wanting him along. He recalled Chandra’s expressions of concern over the past few days. He wondered if Chandra thought a sojourn to another world might bring about a transformation of Vaughan’s personal situation. Christ knew, Chandra was naive enough to assume that different scenery might prove a palliative for depression. Vaughan found himself resenting Chandra for his patronising presumption. He feared that Chandra would probe him about his past, as he had done once or twice recently, in an attempt to play the amateur psychologist.

However, during the forty-eight hour journey to Verkerk’s World, Chandra’s manner had struck him as rather odd. He seemed wary of Vaughan, not the usual friendly, forthcoming Chandra of old. Also, he’d been fastidious with his mind-shield, ensuring that he had it on him at all times, as if he had secrets which he did not want Vaughan to share.

Not that Vaughan had worried. He’d spent time alone at the bar, avoiding the other twenty passengers, and muting their mind-noise with copious doses of chora.

The
Spirit of Vega
banked over the city. Vaughan spotted a few tiny roadsters, like trilobites, moving slowly along the streets. To the left, parallel with the mountain range fifty kilometres inland, was the geological feature that gave Sapphire Falls its name. Over millennia, the escarpment that was the termination of the floodplain had been eroded by the work of a thousand streams. From a series of fissures, waterfalls tipped in spectacular arcs to the rocks a kilometre below, sending up great billowing drifts of rainbow-spangled spray.

Vaughan had spent a couple of hours at the start of the journey scrolling through a screader advertising Verkerk’s World. The planet was vast, with almost four times the continental surface area of Earth, and the new government was eager to promote travel and tourism. The screader flashed graphics of spectacular geography, boasted unexplored terrain in tracts the size of Asia.

Vaughan found it hard to believe that only a million people made their home on Verkerk’s World. The screader had explained that for decades the Verkerk-Scherring Company had limited immigration, preferring to keep the planet as the exclusive, and expensive, preserve of the rich. Also, lack of major industry had curbed work opportunities. Even now, Verkerk’s World was reliant on neighbouring industrial planets for the supply of certain manufactured commodities.

The spaceport was a tiny affair three kilometres outside Sapphire Falls. The ship banked towards a docking berth, one of only four scattered across the weed-laced tarmac. One other voidship stood on the ‘port, a bulky freighter from one of the nearby worlds. The place had the run-down air of a colonial backwater.

The other passengers were filing through the lounge behind Vaughan, making their way to the foyer for disembarkation. He heard the thunking percussion of a dozen connecting-leads snap into the skin of the ship, the gurgling of siphoned fuel, and an arpeggio of musical notes indicating function shutdowns. He had lost count of how many ships he had boarded at this stage, scanning new arrivals. Too busy with the job at hand, he had never paid much attention to the sounds of a resting ship at journey’s end.

Chandra appeared from the lounge, carrying his case, and joined Vaughan. Out of uniform, he cut a dapper figure in a dark suit and white, high-necked shirt. His smile suggested an effort to improve relations. “This is an historic moment, Jeff. The first time either of us has stepped on extraterrestrial soil.”

Vaughan tried to find a suitable response to Chandra’s statement of the obvious, but not wanting to resort to sarcasm, he remained silent. He knew that his own reaction to Chandra’s cool manner during the journey—his avoidance of the cop, his disinclination to start conversation—had been noted by the other man.

An official passed through the crowd, casually checking papers. He arrived at Chandra and Vaughan, gave their passcards a cursory glance, and pointed through the exit to the terminal building. “You’ll find Lieutenant Laerhaven waiting for you, gentlemen. Pleasant stay on Verkerk’s World.”

They passed down the ramp. Despite the bright, early morning sunlight, the air was sharp and cold. A rime of frost scintillated across the tarmac, bringing to mind a host of long-forgotten memories of childhood in Ottawa. It was the first time in ten years that he’d seen his breath plume in the air: Chandra, mesmerised by the effect, was chugging like a steam train. Vaughan felt a sudden pang of longing for the familiarities of Bengal Station, the heat and humidity, the hurly-burly activity of the crowds.

One advantage of the sparse population was the pleasing lack of a concentrated mind-hum. Here, the noise of human thought beyond the ‘port was dilute, tolerable.

Chandra
brrr’d
his lips and hurriedly led the way to the terminal building.

Lena Laerhaven was a tall, big-boned woman, her handsome face severe between occasional smiles. She wore a green military-style uniform and carried a carbine slung casually over her shoulder. She strode across the blue and white chequered tiling and introduced herself. “Investigator Chandra, Mr. Vaughan, welcome to Verkerk’s World. I’m Lieutenant Lena Laerhaven. I’ve been assigned to liaise with you for the duration of your stay. If I can help you in any way...”

They shook hands, Laerhaven smiling with what seemed to Vaughan like unforced openness. He caught a predominant mood of confidence from her mind: she seemed a woman self-possessed, sure of her place in the scheme of things.

“If you don’t mind my asking, which one of you is the telepath?”

“I am,” Vaughan said. “But don’t worry, I’m not reading at the moment.”

Laerhaven nodded uncertainly at Vaughan’s tone. “Thanks for the reassurance—it’s just that I’ve never met a telepath before. The use of augmentation-pins has been proscribed on Verkerk’s World for the past twenty years.”

Vaughan managed a smile. “Are you surprised to find I look relatively normal?”

Chandra shot him a quizzical look.

Laerhaven changed the subject. “Oh, before I forget—a little present from the Agency.” She reached into one of the many pockets in her military fatigues and handed Vaughan and Chandra each a small, velveteen-covered box, smiling as they accepted the gifts in puzzlement. Vaughan opened his case, discovering a handsome watch within. At first glance it appeared no different from any other old-fashioned timepiece with minute and hour hands. Then Vaughan noticed that it was numbered from one to eight.

Laerhaven explained. “We have a sixteen-hour day on Verkerk’s World. Approximately nine hours of daylight and seven of darkness. I hope these will assist your acclimatisation.”

While Chandra thanked the Lieutenant, Vaughan strapped the quaint device on to his left wrist. It was years since he had last worn a watch.

“If you’re ready, gentlemen, I’ll drive you to the house we’ve set aside for you. When you’ve got your bearings, you can move about at will and make your own plans. This way.”

The passed from the building and walked across a deserted parking lot to a police roadster, the same dark green as Laerhaven’s uniform. Vaughan sat in the back.

Laerhaven clipped her carbine into a holder on the inside of the door and revved the engine. She swept the car from the lot, accelerating along a straight road raised between fields ploughed like corduroy.

“First time on Verkerk’s World, gentlemen?”

Chandra nodded. “Our first time off Earth.”

“Which country do you come from?”

“I was born on Bengal Station,” Chandra said.

Laerhaven glanced over her shoulder. “And you, Mr. Vaughan?”