Vectors (15 page)

Glasses and a bottle were produced from a locker and Katuki poured generous shots of a dark brown liquid. "Here's to our new buddy, Waldo Burmeister," he said, handing them around. "I know he's going to be a real help to the operation here."

Waldo hesitated, glass in hand, and looked at the door. "I'm sure you know best, but isn't this a bit risky? What about the guards?"

"Down here? You couldn't get a guard to the hydroponics levels unless you bribed him." Katuki thought for a moment. "I don't think I've seen one on this level for three months. Provided everything runs smoothly here, we're left to ourselves. Here's to you."

Waldo lifted his glass, expecting the worst, and gulped it down. He'd thought it would be near-beer, or rot-gut. It turned out to be high-proof, top quality bourbon. The others grinned at his obvious surprise.

"Not bad, eh, Waldo?" said Katuki. "I tell you, we do all right for ourselves down here. Know how we do it?"

Waldo accepted a second glass and thought for a moment. Obviously, they'd found a way to make or smuggle good booze. He didn't want to get involved in what might be a risky operation. On the other hand, he certainly didn't want to be cut off from the supply. This needed a careful answer.

"Mr. Katuki, when a lawyer is asked if he was given a piece of information, he's legally obliged to answer, yes or no. But he can't be asked what he or somebody else was thinking. So to answer your question, I'd rather not be told where the drink comes from."

There was a baffled silence for a few seconds as the gears ground inside Katuki's bullet head. Then his face lit up. "Hey, I like that." He turned to the others. "See how to do it. No talk, no chance to get caught out." Then to Waldo. "You'll get the picture for yourself soon enough, when we look around the works tomorrow."

The next day wasn't so good. Despite Katuki's pride in the set-up, the three hydroponics levels were a bit stark. They began with the algae breeding tanks on the third level, where the big vats were cultured for the seeders.

"We pipe 'em to Station Down as soon as they're ready," explained Katuki. "Then the seeders spray the algae out into the upper atmosphere. They convert carbon dioxide to oxygen as they fall, and die when it gets too hot for them. Each time we go over the same spot on the ground, the algae get a bit lower before they're crisped. It's already a couple of degrees cooler down on the surface than it was when the project started."

Waldo suppressed a yawn. Technology bored him. They went down a staircase to the second level and then along a corridor that led to the second level hydroponics tanks. Katuki had got a little more jumpy, excited about something. He kept glancing at Waldo as though in anticipation.

"Don't ever touch that red lever on the wall unless I tell you," he warned as they came halfway along the corridor. "It opens up a section of the floor, so we can dump chemicals into the channel on the first level."

"What's in the channel?"

"Partly treated sewage, on its way through the lowest level hydroponics tanks. You wouldn't drown if you fell down there—it's only waist-deep. I don't think you'd enjoy it, though."

They walked on, Waldo treading very gingerly as they went over the trapdoor section of the corridor. Just before the staircase to the lowest level Katuki stopped and looked into a small room on the left. It was filled with long spirals of silver coils, winding halfway to the ceiling. It looked curiously familiar. As they came down the staircase and out to the lowest level hydroponics, Waldo had a sudden insight.

A still. That's what those metal coils had to be, and that's where the liquor was coming from. As they walked past the fronded, blue-green plants of the long hydroponics tank he noticed that Katuki was looking at him with a sly, expectant air. Waldo winked and Katuki grinned back at him.

"We don't need to talk about it, right, Waldo?" he said. "A wink's as good as a nod to a blind horse."

They moved out along the first level catwalk, with the big hydroponics tank on their left. A broad stream of grey-green sewage, with beaded bubbles winking at the brim, moved sluggishly past on the right. Katuki noticed Waldo's expression and grinned again.

"That's where you finish up if you fall through the second level trapdoor. Don't make any enemies among the other vatmen, Waldo."

Waldo looked again at the steaming mess and shuddered. His appetite for dinner dropped a notch.

After a month he had the working routine mastered, but his taste for the job didn't increase. As far as Waldo was concerned, a vatman's lot was not a happy one. Apart from Katuki, the vatmen were near-morons and a grunt passed for sparkling conversation. What with filtering, stirring, removing sludge and adding chemicals, Waldo had lost ten kilos and was beginning to regard a human being as no more than an instrument for recycling sewage. That was a pity, because the vatmen under Katuki's direction dined—and wined—amazingly well. The third level of tanks were dedicated to producing algae for the seeders, and the lowest level next to the bottom sewage channel was used for oxygen production. But part of the tank on the second level had been set up as a kitchen garden and produced excellent vegetables.

There was not much real meat. Waldo could see no way round that, except maybe cannibalism. As he got to know Katuki better that seemed less improbable. Behind the tough battered face lay an even tougher inside. The crews did just what he told them, with no arguments and no discussion. Waldo followed the same approach himself. His work was mainly on the lowest level tank, where Katuki seemed to think he was exceptionally reliable. It wasn't easy. Katuki had been so impressed by Waldo's remark on the virtues of silent accord that his instructions had become almost unintelligible, delivered through isolated words and a series of nods, grunts and winks. But since he clearly continued to regard Waldo with special esteem, everything must have been going well. And as Katuki had said, the guards much preferred the upper levels of Station Up, where the gravity and the sewage were less noticeable. Waldo hadn't seen one down on the lowest levels since his arrival, and his fears regarding the condensing coils of the still off the second level corridor had greatly eased.

You have to remember that I'm reporting Waldo's version of events, plus a few things that came out after the visit of the Space Federation VIP's to Venus Station. So it's very possible that Waldo was not quite the popular, respected figure that he describes. Be that as it may, one day Katuki came rushing down to Waldo's room for advice and assistance. He was so worried that his speech had become quite normal.

"Waldo, we got a bad problem coming up," he said. "Next week's the tenth anniversary of the terra-forming project. President Dinsdale and a whole bunch of VIP's are coming here for a big ceremony in Station Down—special algal spraying, banquet, everything. Trouble is, they'll be coming to Station Up as well, to give us a big inspection."

It was nice to receive Katuki's comments in words rather than in mime. Waldo could see no reason for the big panic, though.

"Don't worry about it, Katuki. He's not called Dandy Dinsdale for nothing, you know. I've seen him before. He wears thousand-credit suits and he changes his clothes five times a day. He has his own barber and his own manicurist. He can't stand dirt or filth in any form—it's a mania with him. I'm telling you, you'll never get Dinsdale within six levels of the vat areas."

"Waldo, he don't know what it's like here. He asked to see everything, and that dumb superintendent took him at his word. Rusty up in the guard block showed me the tour plan and it includes all our levels." Katuki paced up and down Waldo's room, two steps each way, then hammered his fist on the steel bulkhead. "Damn it, Waldo, what use is a prison if you can't keep the wrong people out of it?"

While Katuki was talking, Waldo's stomach had moved steadily up his throat and was now pushing at the roof of his mouth. That damned still! It would be the ruin of all of them. Why had he been fool enough to let a few bottles of liquor get him mixed up in another illegal deal? Why hadn't he stayed out or blown the whistle?

Because he'd heard Katuki's views on the way you deal with squealers and double-crossers, that's why. Waldo had the feeling that he'd been predestined for this set-up, ever since the judge had said the words Venus Station. Katuki was still airing his woes. "They want me to go over to Station Down and explain the way we feed the algal seeders. That means I can't be here to steer the tour the way I'd like to. I'll rush back over here as soon as I can, but I can't rely on one of those other dummies to show Dinsdale and the other brass round here. Christ, can you imagine Blattwitz or Grapelli leading the tour? It's taken me two years to teach those two to wash up before they come through for dinner. Waldo, it has to be you. You'll have to make sure the visitors only see what we want them to see. You'll do it, right?"

Waldo began to appreciate the narrowness of the beach between the devil and the deep blue sea. He was stuck with it.

"Right." He thought of the old advice to the woman being raped: relax.

"Then I'll make sure we have tour signs put up, to make it as easy for you as we can," Katuki went on. "People always follow arrows, even off a cliff. That's where I'd like to send that pansy Dinsdale. Damned troublemaker, why wouldn't he settle for a banquet like anybody else?"

Katuki had real venom in his tone. Waldo realized that Katuki's dislike of President Dinsdale went well beyond a difference of political opinions.

* * *

They spent most of the next few days scrubbing everything in sight, preparing for the big tour. When President Dinsdale finally appeared on the third hydroponics level, however, surrounded by a retinue of VIP's, it was clear that the cleaning efforts hadn't been sufficient. Waldo's predictions had been on the mark. Dinsdale, impeccably dressed and coiffured, was holding a fine silk handkerchief close to his nose, and his expression left no doubt as to his feelings. The superintendent handed the tour over to Waldo with obvious relief. Dinsdale's great disdain had penetrated even the superintendent's bovine brain. As they walked along the third level, Waldo babbled anything that happened to come into his head. He was preparing himself for the detour that would have to be made down on the second level, to by-pass the still.

Fortunately, President Dinsdale showed no interest in anything at all beyond his handkerchief. A couple of the others, though, were looking about them keenly and seemed to understand what they were seeing. Waldo led them nervously to the second level staircase, following the arrows that Katuki had set out.

As they came out into the second level corridor Waldo stopped, unable to believe his eyes. Instead of diverting them down to the lowest level, the arrows were pointing along the corridor, straight past the still.

The group was passing Waldo, blindly following the arrows, before he could get his brain working. They had reached the trapdoor and in two more seconds would be able to see the still.

At that precise moment, Waldo had a sudden flash of total insight, an apocalyptic vision of truth. Katuki, in his hatred of President Dinsdale, didn't care whether they saw the still or not. He was planning to kidnap Dinsdale and hold the party hostages. Why else would he let the secret of the still be revealed?

In moments of great stress, the body moves faster than the brain. While Waldo was still dithering mentally, his legs moved him over to the corridor wall. His hands, unprompted, pulled the red lever. The trapdoor swung open, and President Dinsdale and his entourage disappeared with a chorus of screams.

Waldo advanced to the edge of the pit, unsure what to do next. His sudden vision of absolute truth hadn't given him a follow-up act. He dithered on the brink, noting absently that all of the party with the exception of Dinsdale himself had managed to land feet-first in the sewage channel below. The President had eventually regained his footing, but he had suffered a sea-change into something undeniably strange and overpoweringly rich. He had lost his handkerchief along the way.

As Waldo hesitated, Katuki suddenly appeared at the second-level staircase on the other side of the trapdoor. He was carrying a heavy wrench in his hand. "Dirty double-crosser," he shouted, and ran towards Waldo. Waldo turned to flee, but another vatman was coming the other way, a heavy iron pipe in his hand and a murderous expression on his face. Waldo's problem of what to do next seemed to be solved.

With a moan of anticipation, he flung himself backwards through the trapdoor and immersed himself in his work.

In due course, the lowest level's ever-rolling silent stream bore Waldo, President Dinsdale and the rest of them along into the lowest hydroponics area, where they were able to climb out onto the catwalk beside the big tank full of blue-green vegetation. Waldo was the last to arrive, and had expected a certain amount of commotion to greet him. But the reality exceeded his wildest imaginings. He had never heard anything like it.

* * *

Waldo didn't mention that he had saved President Dinsdale from being captured and held hostage? That's not too surprising. You see, it just wasn't true. The trouble with apocalyptic visions is that they often won't withstand a rational examination. Waldo's wild surmise about Katuki's intentions seemed to make sense to him at the time. Why else would Katuki let the still be seen?

The trouble was, it wasn't a still at all. If Waldo had known as much science as the average ten-year-old, he'd have realized that those coils were just part of the standard water recycling equipment on the Station. The thing that Katuki didn't want the visitors to see, and the thing that he was sure Waldo wouldn't let them see, was the lowest level hydroponics tank.

Katuki had misinterpreted Waldo's wink when they had taken their first tour. As Waldo said, just because you've seen a piece of cheese doesn't mean you'd recognize a cow if you saw one. The thing that so excited the visitors who had been plunged through the trapdoor—with the exception of Dinsdale, who had his own preoccupations—was the lowest level hydroponics tank.