The Dark Lady (28 page)

“Has
he
any interest in the Dark Lady?” she asked, drawing meaningless little patterns on a pad of paper as she spoke.

“He is interested in her only as a piece of property that he can sell to Malcolm Abercrombie,” I said.

“How vulgar,” she replied. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, and then she suddenly stood up. “I wish I could help you, Leonardo,” she said sympathetically, “but the fact of the matter is that I simply cannot send you to our Saltmarsh branch.”

“Is it because of the problems on Charlemagne?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “You have been completely exonerated of all wrongdoing.” She paused. “But your contract is with the Far London branch of the Claiborne Galleries. The Saltmarsh branch has no authority to employ you.”

“Cannot an exception be made?” I asked. “This may be a matter of vital importance.”

She shook her head. “I'm afraid not, Leonardo. If you had the means of getting there, I could conceivably grant you a brief leave of absence— but I must justify all my actions to my superiors, and I can't justify transferring you to Saltmarsh merely for your personal convenience.”

“I understand, Great Lady,” I said unhappily, my hue reflecting my disappointment. “I am sorry to have bothered you.”

“It was no bother, Leonardo,” she said soothingly. “I'm just sorry that I couldn't be of more help to you.”

I left her office, returned to my desk, sat perfectly still, and analyzed my conversation with Tai Chong. There was a time when I would have accepted it verbatim, but my continued association with Men had taught me to question every statement and every motive— and as I questioned her statements and motives, I began to realize that, far from wishing to stop Valentine Heath from robbing Malcolm Abercrombie, Tai Chong actually wanted him to succeed. That was why she wished to speak to him: to tell him which paintings she could place without any embarrassing questions being asked. And that was why she had refused to transfer me to Saltmarsh: to eliminate any possibility of my meeting the Dark Lady again unless I helped Heath.

Or could I be mistaken? I knew that Tai Chong was not unwilling to deal in art of questionable ownership, but could such an intelligent and compassionate woman truly be willing to stand by and allow one of her clients to be robbed? And even if that were true, would she actually try to manipulate events to guarantee the success of the robbery?

I did not know, but experience had taught me that if a human being acted from one of two possible motives, the more selfish motive was probably valid. With a sigh, I instructed my computer to erase the letter I had been writing her.

I worked until lunchtime and then, instead of going to my usual restaurant, I walked to the most affluent section of the city and came at last to the Far London Towers.

I received a number of hostile stares as I walked through the lobby, but no one tried to stop me as I summoned an elevator and entered it. I did not know the number of the Presidential Suite, but I reasoned that it had to be on the top floor, and so I directed the elevator to take me there.

I emerged into an opulent corridor, filled with exquisite sculptures from all across the galaxy, and finally came to a large hand-carved door of Doradusian hardwood.

“Who's there?” demanded Heath's voice as the security system informed him of my presence.

“It is Leonardo,” I answered.

An instant later the door slid silently into the wall, and I entered a lavishly furnished room. Heath got up from a form-fitting chair and walked across the plush carpeting.

“You look even worse than you did this morning,” he commented. “Come in and sit down.”

“Thank you,” I said, walking over to a sofa that hovered a few inches above the floor.

“Are you all right?” he asked solicitously. “Your color keeps darkening.”

“It is the Hue of Shame.”

“Oh?”

I nodded. “I have come to tell you what you want to know,” I said.

My craving for feed was greater than it had ever been in my life.

Gradually, as consciousness returned to me, I remembered that I was inside the Deepsleep chamber, I opened my eyes, winced as the light struck them, winced again from the pain of movement, and lay perfectly motionless as I silently counted to three hundred. Then, stiff but no longer in agony, I sat up, clumsily swung my legs over the side of the module, and carefully stood up.

Heath was sitting on the edge of the other module, his usually well-groomed hair wild and unkempt, a disoriented expression on his face. He flexed his arms tentatively, then lowered his feet gently to the floor.

“Good morning, Leonardo,” he said, noticing me for the first time.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” I replied.

“Not without cause,” he replied. “You haven't eaten for thirty days.”

“And how are you, Friend Valentine?” I inquired.

“Starving!”

Heath headed off toward the galley, groaning when his muscles didn't respond as he wanted them to, and I fell into step behind him, trying to ignore the shooting pains in my limbs.

“Oh, am I stiff!” he complained.

We reached the galley and ordered our food, then sat down at the tiny table and proceeded to eat voraciously and silently for the next few minutes. Finally Heath leaned back on his chair and sighed contentedly.

“God, that was good!” he said devoutly. “I'm so full I may just go back into Deepsleep and take a little nap while I digest it all.”

“That is not necessary, Friend Valentine,” I said. “The human body digests its food in— ”

“That was a joke, Leonardo,” he interrupted.

“Oh,” I said. Then, because I did not wish to hurt his feelings, I added, “It was very funny.”

“Thanks,” he said wryly.

“You are most welcome, Friend Valentine.”

“You know,” said Heath, “I used to wonder why someone didn't just deposit one hundred credits in a bank at eight or nine percent— or even two percent, for that matter— and then go into Deepsleep for a few centuries. He'd wake up the richest man alive.” Heath grimaced. “Then I went into the chamber for a month or two, and I realized that you could die of starvation in less than a year. There's a big difference between shutting down your systems completely and just slowing them down to a crawl.”

“Also, the Oligarchy has decreed that no investment shall accrue interest while the investor is in Deepsleep,” I pointed out. “That is why the Deepsleep process is a government monopoly: so that each chamber can be programmed to report the duration of each being's Deepsleep experience to the Treasury computer at Deluros.”

“But that's a relatively recent ruling,” he replied. “It didn't exist during the Republic or the Democracy, and Deepsleep's been around almost twenty-five hundred years. No, I'm convinced that more than one man must have tried it and starved to death before coming out of Deepsleep.”

There was a momentary silence.

“Where are we now, Friend Valentine?” I asked at last.

He shrugged. “We should have reached the Albion Cluster about two days ago,” he responded. “I can check our exact position with the computer.” He activated the computer with a voice command. “Computer, please give me our present position.”

“We are in the Albion Cluster, and will pass the Maximus system at a distance of three light-years in approximately seventy-nine minutes.”

“Right on schedule,” said Heath with a smug smile. “We must be a couple of days ahead of Venzia.”

“But he left almost thirty-six hours before we did,” I said.

Heath smiled confidently. “There aren't too many ships around that are as fast as this one— and Venzia doesn't strike me as the kind of man who'd own one of them.” He ordered a glass of wine from the galley, then asked the computer if it had recorded any messages while we were in Deepsleep.

“Yes,” replied the computer. “I have stored three messages in my memory banks.”

“Give them to me in the order you received them,” said Heath.

“The first is from Louis Nittermeier,” announced the computer.

“My lawyer,” explained Heath.

“Valentine? Valentine?” said a man's high-pitched voice. “Damn! Why are you always in Deepsleep when I want you?” There was a momentary pause. “All right— let's see what I've got. All charges against you have been dropped, and you're free to return to Charlemagne. They confiscated about half your artwork— everything that wasn't registered with your insurance company— but we're negotiating to get it back. I think half a million credits will do it; there's one more guy I've got to see at police headquarters, but I've been told on reasonably good authority that he's not unwilling to bargain. What else?” Another pause. “Oh, yes— you lost your apartment on the west side of town, the one you rent under one of your aliases. Evidently you've neglected to pay your rent for the past four months. I've managed to tie it up in court so nobody else can move in; if you want it back, send me forty thousand credits for your back rent and maybe another ten thousand for a security deposit. And don't forget to pay your hard-working attorney. End of message.”

“It wasn't much of an apartment anyway,” said Heath with an eloquent shrug. “Computer, play the next message.”

“Valentine,” said Louis Nittermeier, sounding terribly agitated, “what the hell did you do on Far London? The police have been in touch with me three times today.” A pause. “Some guy named Abercrombie is screaming bloody murder, and from the little I've been able to find out about him, he doesn't seem to be the kind of man who can be bought off. I'm sure you're as innocent as a newborn babe... but just in case you aren't, you'd better not get within five hundred light-years of Far London until you get yourself a good lawyer there— and I emphasize the word
good.
I'm not licensed to practice out there, and I wouldn't know what buttons to push even if they let me in.” Another pause. “Just between old friends, don't you ever get
tired
of this? I mean, does every toothpick you own have to be made of gold— and twenty-four-karat gold at that? One of these days you're going to bite off more than you can chew, and they're going to land on you so hard that you never get up. For all I know, it's already happened with this Abercrombie.” A weary sigh. “Well, good luck, and don't forget to pay your faithful attorney. Out.”

“How could he have known it was
me
?” asked Heath, frowning. “I've never met the man in my life.”

“He knows that you were the seller of the Mallachi painting, and that you returned to Far London with me,” I replied.

He shook his head. “
Lots
of people come to Far London every day. Why me? As far as he knows, I'm a legitimate dealer who sold him the piece he wanted.” He seemed to lose interest in the subject. “Computer, play the final message.”

“This is Tai Chong,” said a familiar voice. “We seem to have a major problem here.” She paused for a moment and then continued in a carefully neutral tone. “It seems that someone stole four valuable paintings from the home of Malcolm Abercrombie three nights ago. I have absolutely no idea who committed this heinous crime, but for some reason Mr. Abercrombie has the obviously mistaken notion that you are responsible, Valentine. He's gotten the police to issue an arrest warrant, and, while I have no idea where you are, if this message chances to reach you, I thought I should apprise you of the situation and urge you to turn yourself in to the authorities so that you can clear your good name.”

Heath grinned at her suggestion.

“If you are with him, Leonardo, I regret to inform you that Mr. Abercrombie has charged you with complicity in this crime, and that you are now a fugitive from justice.”

She paused again, and Heath turned to me.

“You'll notice that she didn't tell
you
to surrender to the authorities,” he said in amused tones.

“Why not?” I asked, sincerely puzzled.

“Because she knows you'd do it.”

“I am certain that I can smooth things over and get the charges against you dropped, Leonardo,” continued Tai Chong's voice, “but in the meantime, although I find this course of action repugnant, I have no choice but to suspend you without pay. My hands are tied in the matter; it is company policy to dissociate ourselves from anyone convicted of a felony— and while you most certainly have not been convicted of anything and will not be, the fact remains that this is the second felony warrant issued against you in the past two months.”

I sat stunned as she continued speaking.

“Your Pattern Mother contacted me when your weekly salary was not deposited in the House of Crsthionn account, and I had no alternative but to explain the situation to her. I regret to inform you that she knows the police are searching for you in connection with the theft. I will not rest until I have convinced her that you were in no way responsible for this unfortunate incident,” she added hastily. “I feel terrible about this, Leonardo, and I give you my word that I'll do everything in my power to see that you do not suffer unduly. You have always been loyal to me, and I will be loyal to you. Even if this thing drags on interminably, as now seems likely, there is a possibility that I will be able to use you as a free-lance consultant.”

“My Pattern Mother knows?” I repeated, horror-stricken.

“I have no idea where the two of you are, and of course I can have no idea of your destination— but if this message reaches you, Valentine, I am counting on you to surrender to the nearest authority, and also to convince Leonardo to do what is right for him. Good luck and Godspeed.”

“That's a classy lady,” said Heath admiringly. “I'll bet she had six policemen in her office when she sent the message.”

“But I thought I was doing what she
wanted,
” I said, totally devastated.

“You were,” answered Heath. “She never thought Abercrombie would suspect a Bjornn of collaborating with
anyone
to break the law.” He shook his head. “He's either brighter than I thought, or very paranoid.”

“What will become of me?”