Deadly Relations: Bester Ascendant (15 page)

She was still alive, tied spread-eagle. Naked One eye was swollen shut, and her face was battered beyond recognition.

Help me…

Bey cut the bonds with a small knife.

“The ambulance just arrived, sir,” one of the bloodhounds said “Tell them to hurry.”

Am I… I’m in trouble.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bey said, softly. “Don’t wont’ about anything. Just hang on, okay?”

I just didn’t want… I wanted it to be like it was…

“It will be. Just like it was. We’ve called your parents. They’re coming to get you.”

Really?

“Really.”

And then she wasn’t there anymore.

Bey bowed his head, then straightened and stood. He looked terrible, like an angry god, a single tear trickling down one cheek.

God damn them. Damn them to hell, Al suddenly caught, from Bey.

It had a strange subtext, almost as if he weren’t talking about the criminals who had raped and murdered Cristoban at all, as if he meant. But that was impossible.

“Come on, Mr. Bester,” he said, softly. “It’s time we left, you and I.”

Bey swirled his coffee and gazed out at the creamy morning light on the canal. A paddleboat with a young couple in bright yellow shirts disturbed a family of ducks. A third-story window opened, and a beautiful girl with long, white hair leaned out to enjoy the hint of breeze.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Al said, sipping his own coffee.

“What are you sorry about, Mr. Bester?”

“I know it upsets you when someone gets killed”

Bey seemed to consider that for a long while, as Amsterdam quickened, and the streets began filling with men and women in business suits, the fronts of restaurants and shops rolling up. The older man’s eyes took all of that in, and his face was placid, but Al was certain that if he dared to scan him, he would hear Stravinsky playing.

“A fellow goes out to the country one day,” Bey began, “and he stops in at this farm. He’s talking to the farmer, when he notices this pig with three peg legs. Three wooden legs and one real one. He asks the farmer about it.”

“Let me tell you about this pig,“ the farmer says.

“This is some pig. This pig saved my life once. The house was on fire, and this pig charged right in, dragged the wife and me out“.

“That’s pretty amazing,“ the fellow said.

“That’s not all. This pig can do calculus and all kinds of mathematical whatnot. Why, some say he’s even solved Fermat’s last theorem“.

“Seems I read that in the papers a few years ago,“ the city fellow said.

“Yep. Reporters came out for that one. Also, this pig can play the piano-he prefers Chopin. He really is some pig“.

“Well, I have to agree“, the city fellow replied, “but what happened to his legs“?

“Well“, says the farmer, “when you’ve got a pig this special, you don’t want to eat him all at once“.

Al blinked, felt his lips lift up involuntarily.

“Yes, it was a joke, Mr. Bester,” Bey replied.

“You are permitted to laugh.”

“Yes, sir. It was an awful joke, if I may say so, sir.”

“Mr. Bester, somehow I don’t think of you as a connoisseur of humor, so I will take that as a compliment. Cultivate a sense of humor, Mr. Bester. You will need it to survive. And if you use it correctly, you might even be able to convince mundanes that you are almost Human.”

He finished off his coffee.

“What do we do now, sir?”

“I’ll have to go to the arraignment this afternoon. I was thinking of sending you back to Geneva.”

“If I’ m in the way, I understand.”

“On the other hand, I have most of the day free, so instead I considered we might take in a few museums - there is a very nice modern art museum here, you know. We can eat some frites and mayonnaise, wander along the waterfront, check out what was the red-light district, before the neo-Lutheran purge last century. Beautiful buildings that have seen centuries of the best and worst that Humans can do. We can remind ourselves that we are still alive, and that that is a fine thing indeed. What do you say, Mr. Bester?”

Al thought about all the studying he had backed up because of this trip.

“That sounds fine to me, sir.”

Chapter 9

The blade flicked out in what seemed to be a straight lunge, but Al knew it was a feint-disengage. He went for the parry anyway, but instead of staying put or advancing to riposte as his opponent expected, he took a brisk retreat, caught the elusive steel with a second parry in prime, slid neatly inside the enemy point, and riposted at last-a difficult move, but it looked very elegant if you could pull it off. He pulled it off.

Green light, his point. The score was fourteen-fourteen. Al returned to the en garde line and pulled off his mask. He saluted his opponent, a long-jawed, big-boned fellow named Emory. Al flashed Emory a smile.

“One more. Loser buys lunch.”

Emory nodded a little nervously. Perfectly relaxed, Al flexed his legs and dropped his foil to absence. They began to dance. Emory was a bit predictable. He beat, advanced quickly in a low line, lunged, disengaged.

He p-cast his next move - or what he wanted Al to think was his next move, a retreat-cross-back-fleche and instead did a lunge-and-duck, hoping Al would be suckered into running onto his blade. Al went for it.

Give the guy a break - he hadn’t won a match all day, and this was, after, all, only practice. If they ever faced each other in an official bout, Emory would learn, to his dismay, that Al had been fencing about five notches below his best.

“Well done,” Al said, taking off his mask and saluting.

He strode forward enthusiastically to shake Emory’s hand.

“It was a good bout,” Emory said.

“I’m surprised I beat you.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got some good attacks. You sure suckered me with that last one. I guess I’ m buying lunch.”

Emory grinned.

“I guess so. I… ah… I promised some friends I would meet them in the sandwich shop on the square. Would you mind being in company?”

“Not at all,” Al replied.

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

“… and the farmer says, `Well, when you have a pig this special, you don’t want to eat him all at once.”

Al finished.

All five made faces. Emory aside, Al hadn’t met any of them before— they were all sophomores, and he was a senior.

“Thanks a lot, Al,” one of the girls - Alemba - said.

“Makes my ham sandwich all the tastier.”

“I strive to give pleasure,” Al replied.

They were all still chuckling, Alemba included.

“So tell us, Al,” Emory said, after the moment had passed, “what was it like, tracking down Brazg and Nielsson?”

Al put on a sober face.

“You heard about that?”

“Everyone heard about that. A lot of us were rooting for you, when you had to be the statue of the week, but we were afraid to say so. The older kids…”

“I appreciate that, but it’s just as well you kept quiet. The Corps doesn’t punish without good reason. Going after those two was the dumbest thing I ever did in my life. I genuinely appreciated my punishment.”

“Still, some people went too far. Fatima…”

“I felt sorry for her,” Al said.

“I still do. I wish I had understood at the time how disturbed she was. Maybe I could have done something.”

He was surprised to realize that he really meant this.

“What she did to me was a symptom of her own problems. It didn’t really have much to do with me.”

“That’s right, you were there, weren’t you-when she, you know…”

Al nodded.

“That hunt was part of my punishment, my lesson. The Corps really wanted me to understand the evil that’s out there, the kinds of things that can happen to telepaths in the mundane world. Believe me, when I saw what that sick pervert did to her…”

He broke off, strategically.

“It must have been awful,” Dierdra said, her violet eyes round.

“Let’s talk about more pleasant things,” Al suggested.

“Yeah,” Emory replied.

“Like our trip on the lake next weekend… Al, would you be interested?”

“That sounds nice,” Al said.

“Can I let you know in the next day or so?”

“Sure?”

Later, when he and Emory were alone, the taller boy looked a little sidewise at him.

“Did you let me have that last point, in the gym today?”

Al chuckled.

“I never let anyone `have’ anything. Haven’t you heard that about me?”

“The older lids talk like that about you,” Emory said, cautiously.

“I have to say, you aren’t what I expected.”

Al chose his words carefully.

“It’s not their fault. I used to be a little too competitive. I’ve… learned a few life lessons.”

“Well,” Emory said, a little awkwardly, “you’re okay by me.”

“Thank you, Emory. That means a lot to me. See you in fencing tomorrow?”

“Count on it.”

“You won’t fool me with that duck again.”

“We’ll seer.”

Al watched him go, surprised at the warmth in his chest. He was still at the top of his class. He still tested highest in psi-tests. And he had-friends? Almost friends, anyway. People who liked having him around.

“Good morning, Al.”

Bey shuffled some papers from his desk.

“What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I could take a rain check on the Geru exhibition this weekend.”

Bey nodded. He seemed a little stiff.

“I was going to talk to you about that. It was a little problematic anyway. Some things have come up. You have some other engagement?”

“Some of the sophomores asked me if I’d like to go out on the lake with them.”

“Go, go by all means. This is what I’ve encouraged in you, eh? You should be out with the other students - for your own sake, and because it makes a good impression.”

He glanced at his watch.

“If you have time for a walk, though…”

“Right now, sir?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No, sir.”

But Bey never went out this time of day.

“Forgive me that little subterfuge, Mr. Bester,” Bey said, as they strolled along the park-like north quad.

“I wanted to mention something to you, and I wanted to do it where no one was likely to overhear.”

“No problem, sir.”

“Matters have come to my attention that will impinge on our talks.”

A little hollow seemed to appear in Al’s throat.

“Oh. Anything important, sir?”

“Yes, but I can’t talk about it. And that’s not what I…”

Bey paused for a second, uncertainly, and for no reason he could name - Bey’s thoughts were, as always, carefully guarded-Al felt a slight dread.

“Mr. Bester, did you ever meet with Director Vacit?”

“Why-yes. Yes, sir. When I was six years old. He called me to his office after that incident with the Grins I told you about.”

“Hm.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Mr. Bester, I worked closely with Director Vacit in his last years here. He took few into his confidence, but he confided in me now and then. Those of us who knew him well were aware that he took a certain interest in you, Mr. Bester. Over all of the other students. None of us ever knew why, not even Natasha, who was closest to him.”

“I… me, sir?”

“Yes. It was one reason I was keeping my eye on you, out of respect for him, though as I think you know, I’ve found reasons of my own to be concerned for you.”

“Thank you,” Al said, almost at a loss for words.

“I… I know you’ve saved my life, in more than one…”

“No, let me finish. I don’t want to get sidetracked. The present director-Johnston, the one you met at your hearing-has done everything he can to remove the influence of Vacit. All of Vacit’s former aides are elsewhere, retired, or - well, Director Johnston has certain ambitions. And a certain vision for the Corps, which is-which some feel is untraditional.”

This uncertain speech was not like Bey at all.

“But you’re still here,” Al noticed.

“Indeed.” Bey plucked at his beard. “He knows, Mr. Bester - Johnston knows that Director Vacit took an interest in you. Like me, he doesn’t know why. That bothers him a lot. And so he keeps a close eye on you, Mr. Bester. And those you associate with. You have a bright future ahead of you, Mr. Bester, but you have an enemy. He will be the more your enemy if you and I continue our association, especially now.”

“Now, sir?”

“I really can’t speak of it.”

“But, sir - Dr. Bey, I don’t care about that…”

“Yes, you do. You will. And you don’t have all of the facts before you, from which to predict consequences. Mr. Bester…” his voice softened “…Al. I don’t want to hear from you. Don’t come by to see me. Don’t message me. Respect my wishes in this.”

He turned, put a hand on his shoulder.

“But know that I am proud of you. You’ve learned a lot.”

“I’ve learned everything important from you, sir.”

“You were an apt pupil. I will consider you a perfect one if you obey me now.”

“I…”

His chest was tight.

“I will, if you tell me to, sir.”

“Good. Perfect.”

He reached into his pocket

“I want you to have this.”

He withdrew something, something that fit into his palm. Al held out his hand stupidly and felt something cool pressed there.

“This was my first. It always brought me luck. Hang on to it. On the day you have earned the right to wear it… and that day will come, Al, I do not doubt it in the least I would be proud to see it on your uniform.”

He paused, as if to say something else, shook his head, and suddenly turned and walked away.

“A bientot, Mr. Bester.”

Only when he was gone did AI open his fingers to stare at what he already knew was there - the brass and copper of a MetaPol badge.

Two steps to your right, Al, Emory p-cast.

He glyphed, too. Al saw himself approaching a shallow pit. It was perhaps a yard across. He paused for an instant, trying to will himself the ability to see through the blindfold but of course that was impossible. He could only see through the eyes of his teammates. That was the point of the contest, really. One reason he had avoided such team events in the past it meant trusting one’s teammates completely.