Rebel (5 page)

"Well, you're the guy who'd know," said Cole.

"I'm off to get my gear together and alert Jacillios to the fact that we're leaving shortly. I'll see you when I get back."

"Have a good time," said Cole. "And be careful."

"I won't do anything you wouldn't do with our esteemed Security Chief," answered the Molarian, "but I'll do it with far more finesse and elan."

"I'm sure you will," said Cole. "But I meant, be careful in case there's still a Navy ship or two lurking in the area."

"If I run into one, I'll give it your exact location in exchange for an extra day on Braccio II," said Forrice with a hoot of laughter.

"Don't say it," remarked Cole as Forrice swirled off to the
Teddy R.

"Don't say what?" asked Sharon.

"Tawdry."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

"Sad," said Sharon.

"Why?"

"We don't have any Molarian females aboard the
Teddy R"
she replied. "How would you like to face the knowledge that you were on a ship with no women, and you could never go back to your home world?"

"I'd probably develop a crush on Vladimir Sokolov or Bull Pampas," answered Cole.

"Say that once more and you can spend the night with them," said Sharon.

Cole decided not to say it once more.

The next two days were uneventful. Jacovic supervised the training of the new members of their makeshift team, and the rest of the crew spent their time enjoying the various attractions of Singapore Station. For the bulk of them it meant drinking, gambling, and eating real food (as opposed to soya products). Most of them avoided the plethora of drug dens, because Cole had made it clear from the day he'd arrived as the
Teddy R'
s Second Officer that he disapproved of them and the people who used them.

There were other attractions as well. Sharon found a pair of art galleries. Christine spent long hours discussing computers with a dealer in black-market machines. Rachel Marcos and Luthor Chadwick stopped by a small theater, watched a revival of a millennia-old Shakespeare play, decided they enjoyed it, and saw four more plays in the next thirty-six hours. No one knew quite what Val did when she wasn't in Duke's Place, but she usually returned with a satisfied smile, as well as an occasional split lip or bruised knuckles.

As for Cole, he spent his time wandering through the alien levels of the station with no set purpose in mind except to satisfy his curiosity. It was on one such excursion that he was walking down a broad corridor, idly glancing into store windows, when a Lodinite brushed against him.

Cole didn't think much about it at the time, but later, as he was ascending to the human levels, it ocurred to him that he and the Lodinite had been the only two beings in the corridor, and that the Lodinite could have—
should
have—-missed him by a good twelve to fifteen feet. On a hunch, he began rummaging through his pockets, and sure enough he came to a folded piece of paper.

He opened it, saw that it was in a language he couldn't read, assumed it was Lodinite, and instantly contacted Sharon, who was in one of her art galleries.

"What's up?" she asked as her image suddenly appeared in front of him.

He held up the note. "Recognize the language?"

She shook her head. "No. Why?"

"Someone wants me to read it. A Lodinite passed it off to me, but he could just have been a messenger."

"Christine's busy watching Oedipus get his eyes plucked out," said Sharon, "but Malcolm Briggs is on watch back on the ship for another two or three hours. He's almost as good with a computer as she is. You might have him take a shot at it."

"Okay, thanks," said Cole, ending the connection. He decided not to transmit the note's image again until he knew what it said, just in case there were any electronic peepers around, so he summoned a robo-cart and instructed it to take him out to the
Teddy R,
which was moored half a mile out on Docking Arm 7. Even if Sharon was mistaken and Briggs wasn't on duty, he wanted the note translated on the ship, where the
Teddy R's
security systems would prevent anyone not on the bridge from reading it.

As it happened, Briggs
was
on duty.

"How long should this take?" asked Cole, explaining what he wanted and handing the young officer the paper.

"The difficult part is identifying the language," answered Briggs. "Once we do that, it should take about half a second."

"Try Lodinite."

Briggs had the computer scan the message, then uttered a command.

"No, sir," he said a moment later. "Definitely not Lodinite."

"There can't be a lot of races using this particular scrawl," noted Cole.

"You never know," replied Briggs. "More than eighty races use the character we use for 'o,' and another fifty use some form of 't' and 'i.'" He uttered another command that sounded as alien to Cole as Molarian or Lodinite. The computer began humming to itself, then replied to Briggs in the same mathematical language.

"Got it, sir," said Briggs. He frowned. "It's in Pnathian."

"Pnathian?" repeated Cole. "What the hell is that?"

Briggs shrugged. "I've never heard of it."

"Ask the computer."

Briggs did so. "Pnath is a thinly populated planet at the far reaches of the Republic, as you near the Outer Frontier. Population estimated at four million. They pay their taxes, refuse to serve in the military for religious or ethical reasons, were late to develop interstellar travel, possessed a barter economy prior to joining the Republic ..."

"Enough," said Cole. "What does the note say?"

Briggs had the computer print a hard copy and handed it to Cole.

The Octopus extends his greeting and felicitations to Captain Wilson Cole of the
Theodore Roosevelt,
and requests a private meeting with him that may prove to be to our mutual advantage. Conditions being what they are, I recommend neutral ground, and that each of us be accompanied by only one subordinate. If this is acceptable to you, bet five Maria Theresa dollars on the Level  Three Blue Impress in the
porchii
game at Duke's Place before 2200 hours, Station time. This will signal your acquiescence, and before 2400 hours a time and place will be proposed. You will signal your acceptance by making the very same bet.

"No signature," noted Briggs when Cole showed him the note.

"He already told me who it's from," answered Cole.

"Are you going to take him up on it, sir?"

"I'll have to think about it, but yeah, probably I am. If he's got Singapore Station covered that thoroughly, I think it's worth a pair of five-dollar bets to learn what he's got in mind."

"It could be a trap," said Briggs.

"It could be," agreed Cole. "But I doubt it. After all, if he wanted me dead, the Lodinite could have backshot me this afternoon just as easily as it passed me the note."

"I'd like to be the one to accompany you, sir," said Briggs.

"I appreciate the offer, Malcolm," said Cole. "But in case it
is
a trap, I'm taking the Valkyrie."

Briggs tried unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment.

"Try not to look like I just shot your pet or your best friend," continued Cole. "You're very good at what you do, and in all immodesty, I'm pretty good at what I do. But I've never met anyone as good at what
she
does as Val. When I need my back protected—or my front, for that matter—she's the one I want protecting it."

"I know, sir."

"In fact, while I'm thinking of it, let's see if we can track her down." He checked his timepiece. "It's about 1900 hours Station time right now, so it wouldn't hurt to alert her."

Briggs spent the next ten minutes trying to locate or contact Val, but without any success.

"Her communicator must be broken," he said at last.

"The hell it is," said Cole.

"Sir?" said Briggs, puzzled.

"It's okay," said Cole. "I know where she'll be." He began walking to the airlift, then stopped and turned to the young lieutenant. "That note remains secret until I say otherwise."

"Security will be able to find out, sir. They have access to everything I do up here."

"Sharon and Chadwick are both off the ship. The likelihood is that they'll stay off past 2200 hours, and even if they don't, there's no reason why they should retroactively monitor every command you gave the computer. If they find it, they find it. Just don't volunteer anything."

"May I ask why, sir?"

"I don't want a bunch of earnest but uninvited bodyguards scaring the Octopus away."

Cole went back to the airlift, took it down to the shuttle bay, and emerged onto the enclosed docking arm, where he summoned a robo-cart and was soon in the interior of Singapore Station.

He walked past Duke's Place, past his favorite restaurants, and eventually came to a halt in front of a nondescript building that had a single small glowing sign above the door: GOMORRAH. He paused for a moment, then entered it.

A shining metal robot stood behind a small counter in a foyer that was far more opulent than the building's exterior hinted at. "Greetings, good sir," it said in silky tones. "Welcome to GOMORRAH, the most unique brothel on the Inner Frontier."

"All of your employees are androids, right?" said Cole.

"We prefer to think of them as perfect specimens of humanity, indistinguishable from yourself except in the area of performance, where they exceed all expectations and comparisons."

"Okay, this is the place, then," said Cole. "I need to speak to one of your clients."

"I'm afraid that is forbidden, sir," said the robot. "Our guarantee is that no patron will be disturbed during the length of his or her stay here."

"Before we get into an argument, at least tell me if she's here," said Cole. "Her name is Val, though she's got about fifty others she uses on occasion. Big woman, close to seven feet tall, redheaded, damned good-looking though I imagine that would be lost on you."

"I cannot release that information, sir," said the robot.

An instant later the robot was staring down the muzzle of Cole's burner. "I suggest you make an exception."

"This is pointless, sir," said the robot. "I have no sense of self-preservation, so threats are useless."

"Do you have a bouncer here?"

"A bouncer, sir?"

"Someone to keep the customers in line if they start acting in"— he searched for a term the robot would understand—"antisocial ways?"

"Each of our robots is more than capable of subduing any living human, though of course such force is almost never required."

"So you're the only nonprostitute on the premises?" said Cole.

"Other than the patrons, yes, sir."

"And clearly it is your duty to preserve their privacy and their dignity."

"That is correct, sir."

"Then I think we may reach a meeting of the minds after all," said Cole, his burner still trained on the robot's head. "Pay attention, now. If you don't tell me what I want to know, I fully intend to melt what passes for your head until it is nothing but a metallic puddle."

"I told you before, sir," said the robot. "I have no sense of self-preservation."

"I know," said Cole. "But you've also told me that you have a sense of duty. If you don't tell me whether Val is here and, if so, what room she's in, I will melt your head down to a molten lump, do the same to any other android who stands in my way, and I will then break down every door in the house looking for Val, and I will have absolutely no respect for your patrons' privacy. Is that quite clear?"

"That is unacceptable," said the robot.

"Then I suggest that it is time for you to make a value judgment. Is it better to answer my question or to end your existence while not protecting the privacy of most of your patrons and the property of your owners?"

The robot stood absolutely still for almost ten seconds. "The patron known as Val is in Room 16."

"Can you summon her?"

"No, sir. You must contact her yourself."

"I have a feeling she doesn't like to be hampered by clothing
or
equipment," said Cole. "Can you summon the robot she's with?"

"The
android
," the robot corrected him. "She is with two of them. I can contact them, but I cannot summon them."

"Can you patch my voice through one of them?"

"Your message, yes. Your voice, no."

"All right," said Cole. "Here's my message: Val, this is Cole. You've got an hour to wear out your partners and finish up your fun. Then I want you to report to me over at Duke's Place. We've got a job to do, and it can't wait."

The robot was motionless again for a few seconds. "The message has been transmitted."

"Fine," said Cole. "May I make a suggestion?"

"What is it, sir?"

"She's going to be in a foul mood when she comes out of that room. If I were you, I'd develop a sense of self-preservation in the next hour and be somewhere else when she emerges."

Duke's Place was crowded, as usual.

Cole sat at the table the Platinum Duke had reserved for him and his crew. He was joined by David Copperfield, Sharon Blacksmith, and the Duke himself. They spoke about the art galleries, the theater, and the murderball results from the Quinellus Cluster, and finally Sharon could stand it no longer.

"Damn it, Wilson!" she said at last. "You've been indulging in small talk for forty-five minutes, which is half an hour longer than you've done it in all the time I've known you. What the hell's going on?"

"Nothing," said Cole. "I'm just relaxing."

"And glancing at the door every ten seconds," she continued. "Who do you think is going to walk through it?"

"You never know," said Cole.

"You know what I think?" said Sharon.

"I have no idea what you think."

"I think you're chatting away about all these things you couldn't care less about so you don't inadvertently talk about what really interests you!"

"You want to talk about sex and food, I'll talk about sex and food," he said.

"Bah!" Sharon got to her feet. "I'm going to get a breath of air. You'll tell us when you're ready to."

"The air's the same out there as in here," said the Duke.

"True," said Sharon. "But out in the corridors I don't have to listen to his bullshit."

She turned and began walking away.

"If you run after her, I believe you could catch her before she leaves the casino," offered Copperfield.

"She's a free agent," said Cole.

"Ah!" said Copperfield, his alien face alight with excitement. "You're having a lover's quarrel!"

"I'm not quarreling with anyone."

Val entered the casino just at that moment.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Cole. "I have to speak to my Third Officer. I'll be right back."

"Have her come over to the table and speak to her right here," suggested Copperfield.

"She's got a crush on you, David," said Cole. "I wouldn't want her making a fool of herself in front of all these people."

"She has?" asked the little alien, his face lighting up. "Really?"

"Would I kid you?" said Cole, getting up and walking across the room to intercept Val before she could reach the table.

"What is it?" she said ominously. "And it better be good. I'd paid for four hours, and they wouldn't give me a refund. You owe me five hundred Far London pounds."

"I'll pay you when we're back at the ship," said Cole. "But I'm going to need your help first."

"Doing what?" she demanded.

"Keep your voice down and listen," said Cole, and something in his tone made her instantly alert. "In about an hour and a half, I'm going to bet five dollars over at the
porchii
table."

"That's an alien game," she said. "No human can keep all those rules straight." Then: "It's a signal."

He nodded his head. "It's a signal."

"To whom?"

"An old friend of yours," said Cole. "The Octopus."

"What does he want?"

"A meeting. We each bring one protector. You're mine."

"Damned right I'm yours," said Val. "I'm worth five of Bull Pampas and ten of anyone else you've got on board."

"And modest, too."

"Modesty's for those who have something to be modest about."

"Anyway, the man's fleet has us outnumbered five or six to one, and he's infiltrated Singapore Station to the point that he could single me out and pass word to me about the meet without anyone else seeing or knowing about it. He'll have someone we don't know at the table, ready to spot whether or not I make the bet." Cole paused. "Based on all that, I think he sounds like a good man to know."

"I know him," replied Val. "'Good' isn't exactly the word I'd use for him. He's the biggest warlord on the Inner Frontier."

"And I'm the most wanted criminal in the Republic," Cole reminded her.

"He probably heard about the offer the Duke got, and figures he might as well kill you now and maybe he won't have to waste any ships going up against us. Or maybe he just plans to turn you in for the reward. It's got to be one or the other."

"That's why you're coming with me," said Cole.

"I hope he tries," she said grimly.

"I trust you don't mind it if I hope he doesn't?"

"All right," said Val. "Have we got anything else to talk about right now?"

"No."

"When do you place the bet?"

"At 2200 hours."

"Ship's time or station time?"

"Station."

"I'll see you at the
porchii
game then," she said. "In the meantime, I'm going to try my luck at the
jabob
table. If I have a run of bad luck, I assume you'll honor my marker for up to five hundred pounds?"

He nodded. "I said I owed it to you."

"Good," she said, flashing him a smile. "You get to live long enough to place your bet."

She was on her way to the gaming tables before he could answer.

"Get your business taken care of?" asked the Duke when he returned to the table.

"Yeah."

"Good. I've bought a controlling interest in a discreet little restaurant at the far end of the station, just above the transport level. Why don't the three of us go over there and see if I've made a wise investment?"

"Later," said Cole.

"It's got mutated beef from Greenveldt," said the Duke enticingly.

"I'm not hungry now. I'll catch up with you later."

"Your loss," said the Duke, getting to his feet. "David?"

"I'll wait until my old school chum is ready," answered Copper-field. "He shouldn't have to eat alone."

"But it's all right if I do?" said the Duke, amused.

"You're a capitalist swine," explained Copperfield. "We're merely consumers."

The Duke laughed. "How can I argue with that? I'll see you later."

"You should have gone with him," said Cole.

"I wanted to stay and see how they contact you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Steerforth," said Copperfield. "I was the biggest fence on the Inner Frontier. Covert contact is my forte. You sit here, you have nothing to say, you practically chase Sharon away, you speak to the Valkyrie where no one can overhear you, you turn down a free meal at the Duke's new restaurant. What else could it be? You're waiting here to be contacted, and Val has something to do with it. Probably she's your protection."

Cole stared at the little alien for a long moment. "You didn't get
that
out of Charles Dickens. You're
good,
David."

"Why, thank you, Steerforth," said Copperfield. "Who are you meeting?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Let me know if he really has eight hands."

"Why should you think it's the Octopus?"

"You can't be bought off, and right now he's got the only fleet powerful enough to scare you off," answered Copperfield.

"Oh, I don't know," said Cole. "I scare pretty easy."

Copperfield emitted a strange sound, his equivalent of a snort of disbelief. "So am I right or wrong?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, you're right or wrong," answered Cole. "And now the subject is closed."

"But—"

"You heard me."

"Yes, Steerforth."

Cole sipped a drink and watched the customers, wondering if the Octopus's representative had arrived yet and which one he might be. Finally, with about five minutes remaining until 2200 hours, he wandered over to the
porchii
table. Val arrived a minute later, standing at the far side of it, not even acknowledging his presence.

Finally, when the moment came, Cole announced that he was betting five Maria Theresa dollars on the Level Three Blue Empress. The Mollutei in charge of the table took his money, spun wheels, rolled dice, turned up cards, and did four or five other things to prepare for the move. When he finished there were cheers and curses, some bets were paid off, others kept, pieces were moved higher and lower, forward and back, left and right—but Cole wasn't watching the pieces or the table. He was looking to see if anyone, human or alien, turned and left the moment he made his bet. As far as he could tell, no one did.

A moment later he began walking back toward the Duke's table, and Val joined him.

"Spot anything?" he asked softly.

"Whoever it was is still there," she said.

"No sense continuing to watch it," said Cole. "If he didn't leave the minute I placed the bet, there's no way to tell who he is. He could be the first one to leave the table now, or the tenth."

"That's why I'm here," said Val. "Let's dip into the Platinum Duke's drinkin' stuff while you're waiting for them to contact you."

"Sounds good to me," agreed Cole.

They reached the table, and found that Sharon had returned and that she and David Copperfield were waiting for them.

"Are we on speaking terms?" asked Cole as he sat down.

"Oh, shut up!" snapped Sharon.

Val chuckled.

"What's so funny?" asked Copperfield.

"She's on speaking terms with Cole, but he's not on speaking terms with her," said Val. "Good for you, Sharon! I find that proper and fitting."

Sharon stared at Cole for a moment, then shrugged. "Screw it," she said at last. "I'd rather talk to you than look at you."

"Lord knows most men are easier on the eyes," agreed Val.

"Shall we seal our renewed romance with some Cygnian cognac?" asked Cole.

"Why not?"

Cole summoned the robot waiter, ordered a bottle, and sent him off to the private room where the Duke kept his finest stock.

"I saw you at the
porchii
table," noted Sharon. "I didn't know you knew how to play."

"Evidently I don't," said Cole. "I lost five dollars."

"That's a big bet for him," put in Val.

"Maybe you should try that game Forrice has fallen in love with," suggested Sharon.

"You mean
stort
?" asked Cole.

"I think that's the name of it."

"Four Eyes is a fool," said Cole. "The damned game has a fifteen percent break for the house."

"Then why does he play it?"

"Because until one of the frail flowers at his favorite house of good repute comes into bloom, he's got nothing else to do with his time," answered Cole.

The robot returned, set the tray down on the next table, opened the bottle, and filled each of four glasses halfway, then passed them out.

Cole and Sharon sipped theirs, Val downed hers with a single swallow, and David Copperfield simply stared at his.

"Don't worry, David," said Val. "When you're all through pretending you like it, I'll drink it for you."

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

Cole took another sip, then frowned.

"What is it?" asked Sharon.

"Val, give me your glass," said Cole.

The Valkyrie passed him her empty glass, and he poured his cognac into it.

"He's good," said Cole, impressed. "I'll give him that. He even got to the robot to make sure I got the right one."

"What are you talking about?" asked Sharon.

Cole stared into the bottom of his glass, and read the message:

"Alpha Benedetti, third planet, smallest moon, 1600 hours tomorrow. You know the conditions."

Below it was a drawing of a stick figure with eight arms.