Dark as Day (26 page)

Should he change his mind and tune in? How old was the “secret message” that Paradigm was shouting about? He knew it was one of the most sensational of the Outlets, where “exciting news” could easily be the rehash of something decades old.

Whatever he did would have to wait, because he was approaching the bronzed double doors of Ligon Corporate. He stared in through the eye-level camera, was recognized from his retinal pattern, and waited for the heavy doors silently to swing open. The Level Three Fax was waiting there, but also to his surprise was Uncle Karolus Ligon.

Normally Alex’s uncle had no time for him. Today he examined Alex’s paler-than-paper face, gave a broad wink, and said “Been getting the old leg over, then? She must have been quite a tiger from the looks of you,” and led a mystified Alex through to the conference room.

Only five positions were marked out at the marble-topped oval table, including a seat for Alex. That was a bad sign. It meant that only the most senior family members would be present. In addition to Alex—who was decidedly
not
senior—he saw Lena, Uncle Prosper, Uncle Karolus, and Great-aunt Cora. There was one significant omission.

“Where’s Great-aunt Agatha?”

He addressed the question to his mother, but it was Prosper Ligon who answered. “Agatha is indisposed.”

“You mean she’s
sick
. She can’t be.”

Great-aunt Agatha, as she would readily point out, was one of the Commensal program’s biggest success stories. Five years ago, she had been a weak and wasted centenarian. Now, at age one hundred and ten, she enjoyed an active social and sexual life.

Prosper nodded his ancient donkey head. “I am sorry to say that is so. Agatha is sick. We have yet to learn how sick.”

His tone was mournful, but Alex saw a gleam of yellowed teeth. Great-aunt Agatha had been widely advertised by Sylva Commensals in their promotional material. A picture of her before and after the conversion to a Commensal, with the note: Which would you rather be: young-looking and healthy, or old and sick?

It was obvious how Prosper Ligon’s thoughts and hopes were running. If Great-aunt Agatha were really sick—or, better yet, died—that would knock the stuffing out of Sylva Commensals’ sales. And Sylva was one of the companies whose growth had pushed Ligon down toward the bottom of the top ten corporations in the System.

Prosper went on, “The condition of Agatha is not, however, relevant to the reason for this meeting. Alex, I am sorry to tell you that we have received a most disturbing report from Cyrus Mobarak. Before we begin, would you like to make a statement?”

A statement about what? Alex glanced at each of the faces, and received no enlightenment. Uncle Karolus gave him another wink.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to make a statement about.”

“Very well. If you choose to feign ignorance, so be it. The other day, you went with your mother to meet Cyrus Mobarak and his daughter, Lucy-Maria. While Lena and Mobarak were briefly absent, it seems that you persuaded Lucy-Maria to go with you on an expedition to the lower Ganymede levels. Does the name ‘Holy Rollers’ mean anything to you?”

“Yes. She took me there.”

“Lucy-Maria states otherwise. At the Holy Rollers Club, she maintains that you, without her knowledge, placed some form of behavior-modifying drug into an otherwise harmless drink. She remembers nothing of subsequent events, until she was discovered by security guards in a private room. She was naked, she had been sexually assaulted, and tests revealed the presence of multiple addictive drugs within her body. She was carried home, where she told her father that although she cannot state with absolute conviction that you were the guilty party, she spoke only a few words to anyone else present at the club. Would you now like to make a statement? Would you, for instance, like us to request that a DNA test be performed to establish that you were not the person who forced himself onto her?”

Alex shook his head. “Forcing yourself” onto—or into—Lucy-Maria Mobarak would be an impossibility, because she was always at least two steps ahead of you. He would get nowhere telling his family that. As for the DNA test, chances were better than even that he would fail. He wasn’t sure how many people he’d had sex with that night, but he was fairly sure that it was more than one.

Prosper Ligon, staring down at the tabletop as though addressing it rather than Alex, went on, “If you have nothing more to offer on your own behalf, we are forced to assume your guilt.” Great-aunt Cora gave Alex a stony and accusing glare. Lena Ligon said, “My dear, I’m so disappointed in you,” and Uncle Karolus said, “How was she, then?”

“Needless to say,” Prosper Ligon continued, “Cyrus Mobarak now considers Alex Ligon as a dissolute rake, totally unsuitable as a marriage partner for his innocent daughter.”

The word “innocent” finally got to Alex. His head was aching worse than he ever remembered it, and he was being crucified for nothing. He remembered Kate’s advice.
Screw your family. Give them hell
. But they were screwing him! He burst out, “His
innocent
daughter! Did Lucy say I was her first fuck ever? Because if she did, that’s a total lie. I bet she’s had more men up her than the Ganymede central elevator.”

Great-aunt Cora gasped, Uncle Karolus guffawed, and Prosper Ligon said acidly, “We neither inquired of Cyrus Mobarak regarding his daughter’s previous sexual experience, nor do we intend to. The simple fact of the matter, Alex Ligon, is that you have failed the family. If we hope to achieve a union with Mobarak’s empire, we must seek it through other methods. And fortunately, such an avenue appears to be available. Lucy-Maria Mobarak is, it seems, very taken with your cousin, Hector.”

“Hector!” Alex said. “But he’s a total idiot!”

“Now then,” Karolus said. “That happens to be my son you’re talking about. Not that I disagree with you. But Cyrus Mobarak is a doting father, and if things work out he’ll go along.”

“If?” Prosper glared. “This
if
is news to me. I thought Mobarak’s consent had already been given.”

“It’s not him. It’s her.”

“Lucy-Maria is balking?”

“Not exactly. But somebody put a half-witted idea in her head. She says she wants Hector to ‘prove himself.’ ”

“Prove he is able to sire children?”

“Good God, no. If all she wanted was proof of his fertility, I could offer plenty. I’m paying for his little mistakes all over Ganymede. No, she wants him to perform some great and noble deed.”

“What sort of deed?”

“The mind boggles.” Uncle Karolus scowled. “It’s not like he can ride off on a horse somewhere and fight a dragon. Hector says he wants to think about it and come up with something valuable for the family, all by himself. Except that thinking is what he’s worst at. Alex there is the one who thinks.”

“To remarkably little avail.” Prosper Ligon turned again to Alex. “You owe the family some exceptional service as compensation for what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything that Hector hasn’t done a hundred times.”

“Comparison with your cousin will not help your case. He at least is doing his best for the family. I will tell you exactly what we expect of you. We discussed this before you arrived.” Prosper looked around the table for the confirming nods of agreement, and went on, “You were present at our last full meeting, when the decision was made to accept the contract for Phase Two of the
Starseed
contract. Our profit for this work—and, indeed, possibly the very survival of Ligon Industries—depends upon the rights to operate down to and within the atmosphere of Saturn. Those rights reside with the lease on the minor moon Pandora. Do you recall any of this, or were you daydreaming of lustful pleasures throughout the meeting?”

“You are confusing me with my sex-mad cousins, Rezel and Tanya. I remember perfectly well what was said at the meeting. It was Rezel and Tanya who were supposed to contact the present leaseholder and fuck him until he didn’t know which way was up or what day of the week it was. I was only a third-string back-up. What happened? Did the nympho twins strike out?”

Bad language and sexual references had no effect on Prosper Ligon. The old donkey’s head gave a more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger shake, and his uncle said, “Insults to fellow family members cannot compensate for your own failings, Alex. Do you deny that you have family duties and family responsibilities?”

“I have always done my absolute best for this family. The very fact that I am here, where I have no wish to be, proves that.”

“Very good. You now have an opportunity to prove it once again. Rezel and Tanya, for whatever reason”—Prosper Ligon coughed drily—“were unsuccessful in arranging to meet with the current leaseholder of Pandora. From certain rumors that we have heard, concerning the interests and nature of the leaseholder, we believe that you have a better chance of success. We wish you to take on this assignment.”

It was no surprise to Alex—the mysterious ticket to the Saturn system had been a pretty obvious clue. “You mean because he’s interested in computers and computer models? If he’s really reclusive, that won’t be enough. There are tens of millions of modelers in the System, and he won’t agree to see any of them. He’ll surely refuse to see me.” Alex thought of the predictive model in its present disastrous condition, and went on, “Even if he would see me, I can’t possibly go anywhere at the moment. My work is at a critical stage.”

Lena Ligon shook her head, and said in her sweetest and most reasonable voice, “Alex, dear Alex. Give us some credit for knowing what we are doing.”

Prosper Ligon raised his head and added, “Your mother is far wiser than you. She realizes, as apparently you do not, that Ligon Industries has connections and influences that extend to the highest levels of Jovian system government. Will you accept the truth of that statement?”

Alex has stressed that very point to Kate Lonaker, little more than an hour before. He nodded.

“We feel sure that a leave of absence for you to pursue the question of the Pandora lease will be approved. What we ask of you is that you visit the current leaseholder, and argue our case.”

“Suppose that he won’t meet with me?”

“We have evidence to suggest that he will. Once again, we possess corporate resources which you seem to undervalue and underestimate.”

Alex was ready to reply—he was going to say that he would take the assignment, in the hope that would let him escape from the meeting—when the door leading into the conference room crashed open.

Everyone turned. Great-aunt Agatha stood on the threshold. Her clothes were normal enough in style, but her blouse lacked the usual carefully-chosen brooches and hung open to reveal her carefully sculptured bosom. “Started without me, eh?” she said. “The decline of manners is a symptom of this decadent age.” She walked forward briskly enough, but with an odd and crab-like sideways motion.

As she took her place at the table, Uncle Karolus said abruptly, “Thought you were sick.”

“Nonsense. Now, what’s the first order of business?”

She was addressing Prosper Ligon, but it was Lena Ligon who answered. “Agatha. There’s something wrong. You’re
yellow
.”

As soon as his mother said that, Alex could see it, too. Great-aunt Agatha’s skin had a slightly sallow tinge, but it was her eyes that really showed it. Usually the whites were absolutely clear, with a hint of blue that spoke of perfect health. Those whites were now a muddy yellow, almost buff in color.

“Nonsense,” Agatha said again. “Lena, you are imagining things.”

“You told me you were sick.” Prosper Ligon walked around the table toward her. “You were supposed to go to Sylva Commensals so they could take a look at you. Did you go?”

“I did not. Complete waste of time. I feel fine.” Agatha placed her hands on her right side just below the rib cage. She was pressing there, and Alex noticed a slight tremble in her fingertips.

He glanced at the others. They seemed to have no idea what was wrong. “Aunt Agatha, are you feeling any pain?”

“Of course not.”

And of course, her answer should have been no surprise. One advantage of being a Commensal was that one of the interior organisms took care of pain symptoms, while others repaired any damage.

“It’s the parent schistosome,” Alex said. And, when the others stared, “The big wormy thing that sits above the liver in a Commensal. There’s something wrong with it. Maybe it’s even dead. Look at her symptoms. She has jaundice, because the liver isn’t breaking down bile correctly; and I think there’s swelling in the liver, where she’s pressing herself.”

“Nonsense. I am perfectly fine.” But Great-aunt Agatha’s words lacked their usual crisp diction, and she was bending over sideways in her seat.

Prosper said, without any hint of haste, “This meeting is now adjourned. Karolus, Alex, give me a hand. Cora, make an emergency call.”

“Where to?”

“Sylva Commensals, of course. This is their responsibility.”

Karolus said, “Ha! Sylva. Trillions in damages,” and went at once to Agatha’s other side.

Alex was slower to move. He had been watching his mother. On her perfect face, for the first time in his life, he saw undisguised alarm and terror.

* * *

“They say she’s going to be all right.”

Kate paused with the lighted taper in her hand. “
They
being who?”

“Sylva Commensals. Apparently the death of one of the big schistosomes is rare, but it has happened before. They’ll take it out of Aunt Agatha, put in a replacement, and she’ll be as good as new.”

Kate lit the candle and blew out the taper. “They more or less have to say that, don’t they? Either things are fine, or else they admit there’s something fundamentally dangerous about becoming a Commensal.”

She had greeted Alex on his return with an explosive, “I’ve wondered and wondered. You’ve got to tell me
everything
.” More revealing than her words were her clothes and the condition of her apartment. She was wearing a tight pantsuit of powder blue, showing off her figure and enhancing the color of her eyes. The lights were dim, and a casserole was steaming in the kitchen oven. Where Alex would sit was a bottle of whiskey and a flagon of Callistan ice melt, drinks that he preferred to any wine in spite of Kate’s efforts to “educate” him. The table was decorated with candles, sprigs of ivy, and fronds of lady’s slipper. Alex, knowing that Kate was a great believer in the language of flowers, sneaked a look at a reference database while she was off removing the casserole from the oven.
Sprig of ivy, with tendrils: assiduous to please
. And
Lady’s slipper: win me and wear me
. Both of which suited him very well. He wasn’t going to mention the recent past if she didn’t.