The Space Guardian (2 page)
Lahks did not realize that her physical body had echoed her mental shriek of terror, but an attendant’s hand on her shoulder and anxious inquiry helped rescue her from the vortex of need that was sucking at her psyche, threatening to disperse it into atoms once it had a good grip. She shut off everything, even her father’s sending, which had become absorbed into that all-encompassing ocean of longing.
“Miss Mhoss, are you ill?”
The tightening grip on her shoulder and the anxious voice snapped her eyes open. “Ill?” she gasped, still dazed.
“Is something wrong? Are you transition-sick?”
“No.” The pieces of Lahks’ personality seemed to snap together with rubber-band resilience. She had learned something new. She summoned an apologetic half-smile. “It must have been a bad dream.”
The attendant looked puzzled. Few people had bad dreams since personality adjustment was so easy, but the universe was large and many strange types inhabited it—especially those who worked at or visited the Guardian Institute. He only asked if he could get Lahks something to help her.
“No, thank you. The effect is ephemeral,” she replied. “But you can tell me how long it will be until we make Lyrae Haven. I seem to have lost track of time.”
“Fifteen tu, Miss Mhoss.”
“Thank you.”
Lahks watched the half-raised, gracefully swaying tail of the attendant as it retreated with a frown that had nothing to do with her usual idle puzzlement as to why her particular breed of humanoid had shed such a useful appendage. She was wondering whether she dared open her receptors to her father again. She had not guessed that every living thing that “wanted” sent. Now she realized that she had been trained, perhaps prenatally, to receive on a particular . . . well, call it wavelength, although the energy sent and received certainly had nothing to do with sound or light. That would be why telepaths born into nontelepathic groups were so frequently insane; there was no one to train them to restrict their reception. But her father . . . Lahks fought off panic. For the first time in her life she was utterly, completely, alone.
The warning bell rang. People filed back to their seats. Foam enwrapped them. The effects of Carroll’s equations were negated. With its customary startling shake, space uncoiled itself and lay flat. Lyrae Haven sent out a slender, probing finger, which the ship grasped firmly. It crawled forward at ten thousand km/ tu. The probing finger changed to a softly clasping hand and the ship was pulled gently into its lock. The seat released her, Lahks stood up and defiantly shook out her long black hair. Leading string or no leading string, she would seek out Ghrey. The first phase was finished; now began the second.
Lahks registered under the number assigned to her as a Guardian trainee at the transient hotel where her reservation had been sent. It was the largest at Lyrae Haven and the busiest. People came and went constantly, sat in the lobby, met friends, asked silly or serious questions at the desk. Nonetheless, the clerk would remember the white teeth that flashed in a smile in the coffee-colored face, would remember the silken swing of long black hair as Lahks asked about ships leaving for Old Terra. There was one the following day. Lahks nodded, passed her Institute card over, and asked that a reservation be made and charged at the trainee rate.
The clerk nodded respectfully and a little regretfully. Guardians, even trainees, were not to be trifled with. He passed the card into the recorder, punched the information, then handed the slip to Lahks to be thumbprinted. That would about wipe out her accumulated back pay, but since Lahks did not plan to be anywhere near where it would be possible to draw upon it, she did not worry. Up in her room, she worked swiftly. The burglar-proof section of her traveling bag opened in response to her ring-finger impress. Several medium-sized good quality gems were extracted from its contents.
After much arguing and negotiating to establish a paper currency or credit system, gems still remained the interplanetary medium of private exchange. They were easy to carry, simple to evaluate in standard credits, impossible to counterfeit (at least it cost so much to make a gem that would pass spectrophotometric analysis that the real things were bargains by comparison, and, on all humanoid planets and most nonhumanoid ones, gems were highly desirable.
The outer section of the case provided Lahks with a gray-brown tunic, soft leather boots, and an over-the-shoulder pouch to replace the striking red-and-black traveling suit she had been wearing. Dressed, she looked in the mirror to check. A rather triangular face, framed in ash-brown hair cut straight across the forehead and square under the ears, stared back with tilted green-gray eyes. The eyes warmed, and the mouth, just a shade too large for the pointed chin, curved up. This was Lahks I, or Transform I; it was the way she remembered herself as a child before she learned she could look any way she wanted.
The major trouble with the Changeling property was the tendency to forget how you wanted to look. As a child, this had resulted in a constant shifting of color and feature. Lahks had to be confined with a “serious illness” for several months until she had learned the control principle. Unfortunately, there had never really been adequate opportunity to practice, and Lahks had compromised by working on five Transforms, which, once she thought of them, would lock in automatically until she consciously thought another Transform into being. Within each Transform she could make major or minor changes, or choose an entirely different appearance, but such effects had to be held with conscious effort. For short-term emergencies, total alterations were useful; for extended periods they were dangerous, owing to the tendency to slip back into one of the standard Transforms.
When Lahks was sure she was in and stable—Transform I was oldest and most familiar, but she had been using II for many years—she listened attentively at the door. The tiny pickup in her right earlobe informed her the corridor was empty. She slipped out, thumbed the lock-plate quickly, and in two jumps was halfway down the corridor. From there she could have come from any of several rooms and she walked sedately to the downwell and stepped on the plate. No eyes followed her as she walked quietly out of the hotel, an ordinary-looking girl in ordinary, inexpensive traveling clothes.
In the hotel the sunlight of late afternoon had filtered softly through windows that looked out on peaceful countryside. On the other side of the doorfield, cross streets offered psyche-shocking choices. Parallel with the main facade of the hotel, a wide, dignified thoroughfare showed elegant shops and cafes at mid-morning. At right angles, the screaming lights, sounds, and scents of a honky-tonk town on Saturday night presented a hurly-burly of wild entertainment, stalls filled with bizarre goods, and garishly lit Places of Pleasure.
Having glanced once at the night street, Lahks walked along the facade of the hotel and idled past the elegant shops, stopping now and again to examine a particularly appealing item. Halfway along she turned into a wide doorway completely surrounded by government seals. Here she exchanged her gems for GC notes that would be negotiable in Wumeera and made reservations for transport in the name of Tamar Shomra. The banker’s clerk reached to turn off the privacy screen, but Lahks shook her head, leaned forward confidentially, and gave instructions. His face carefully blank, the clerk nodded and began to punch keys in the recorder beside him.
When Lahks emerged, her face wore a frown and her teeth held her underlip, as if she were deep in thought. She walked slowly back toward the hotel, her bulging pouch tightly clasped under her arm. When she was opposite the hotel entrance, she stood for a moment, as if irresolute; then with a furtive glance over her shoulder, she darted into the night alley. Before she had gone twenty meters, the bulging pouch was pulled sharply and its strap flapped loose. Lahks’ green-gray eyes lit with anticipatory laughter showing tiny silver-gilt flecks. She had hoped someone from the Guild would have noticed her exit from the Bankers’ Exchange and had made herself an ideal mark. There was little question that anyone attempting purse-snatching would be from the Guild. Local lightfingers were not encouraged at transshipment points. To survive in so small and easily policed an area, a thief or smuggler needed protection, and that was best afforded by the Guild.
Although the pull on her pouch had the true, sharp snap of the professional, Lahks’ bag shifted only fractions of a centimeter. Simultaneous with the shifting came a low cry of alarm. Lahks turned on the instant, chuckling.
“Don’t pull,” she advised. “This is good stickfast. It will take the flesh off your bones before it lets go.” Her voice was low, pleasant, carrying no threat. The smile that curved her lips was quite genuine.
The youngster who faced her sullenly, his hand invisibly welded to her pouch, was just what she had hoped for. Well dressed, well fed, looking like the scion of any well-off family, he was typical of a Guild man in a transshipment area. Within seconds of having her pouch, he would have deposited it at a convenient drop and blended into the crowd gathering around the victim.
“So I take a fall,” he snarled. “Call Patrol and get me loose.”
“No fall—not if you are as smart as I think you are,” Lahks purred. “Just swing around, put your hand on my wrist, and we’re two old friends taking a walk.”
The suspicion in the boy’s eyes was enormous, but he obeyed immediately. Every moment that he could delay being handed over to the Patrol was a moment more in which something might happen to free him altogether. So quick was the sequence of events, so low and brief the exchange of words, that any onlooker would think a young man had drawn a young woman’s attention by touching her bag. Then they turned, greeted each other, and walked off together, the young man’s arm protectively across the young woman’s back. They did not hurry. Down the Street was a Place of Pleasure. Lahks turned in at the door, her eyes more than ever alive with amusement.
Doubt, fear, and incredulity were so mixed in her captive’s face that Lahks was tempted to ask for an amusement room just to see what he would do. It was, however, a very expensive joke, and there was the additional danger that the boy would be so frightened he would refuse to go. So young a male might prefer the tender mercies of the Patrol to those of a female who needed to trap her partner with stickfast. Lahks began to giggle. What an unholy mess it would make if the boy cried coercion and the case came to the Director’s ears (all of them).
The Patrol was very strict about coercion even if they winked a little at Guild thieves. At transshipment points there could not, of course, be any rules about physical or sexual behavior. What was normal love-play for one race or culture might be the depths of degradation or even torture for another. This policy made transshipment stations a haven for “degenerates” of every culture. That harmed no one. Nine times out of ten any type of “degenerate” found willing partners. To prevent the tenth case from preying on the public, the laws of coercion had been promulgated. Stripped of their elaborate legal verbiage, these said that any act freely agreed upon by both parties, that did not culminate in death for either one, was legal; equally, any act, no matter how harmless physically, that was forced upon one party by another was illegal and punishable by law.
Actually, in spite of the knowledge that such an involvement would throw all her plans off schedule, Lahks would have yielded to the promptings of her worse self. Only the realization of the serious consequences to the boy she had caught restrained her. She wished him no harm at all. The fact that he was a thief was totally irrelevant to Lahks. A Guardian’s morality was aroused by nothing less than a cosmic calamity. Thieves were part of the normal functioning of life, and no Guardian would interfere with one except for personal or tangential purposes.
Putting aside her vision of a really beautiful practical joke, Lahks requested a privacy booth from the attendant. A small quivering sigh by her side raised a whole new train of temptations, but Lahks ignored them firmly. Fun was fun, but if she wanted to do this business at all, she had better get on with it. Besides, the young man was so young—a lightfingers was very low on the Guild scale—that it was unfair to tease him.
When the soundproof panel closed behind them. Lahks said, “Strictly business. Let go of my wrist and I will let you loose. No fall for you and no embarrassing questions, so don’t run. If you do, you will have to pay for the booth. First one out pays, you know.”
“You sound as if
you
know,” the boy snarled spitefully.
Indifferent to the jibe, Lahks slipped her free hand into the pocket of her tunic and brought out a flat spraytainer. With this she coated her pouch, arm, and the boy’s hand. In seconds a faint warmth marked the chemical reaction that neutralized the stickfast. The boy backed away as soon as his hand came free, his sullen eyes on the pouch.
“I wouldn’t,” Lahks commented. “First of all, there is nothing worthwhile in it. The money was forwarded to my hotel. Secondly, I wouldn’t want to hurt you, and I could. All I want is a recognition signal or a contact with the Guild. I have business on Wumeera. I might need help or transportation off-planet.”
There was no change in the sullen expression, and Lahks was annoyed. She understood why he was angry; she had trapped him and hurt his pride in his work. Also, he probably guessed she had been amused by his fear when she led him into the Place of Pleasure. But Lahks herself, whether caught in a harmless trap of her own or of someone else’s devising, had far more tendency to laugh than to pout about it. The irritation passed as quickly as it came. Whether or not he gave her what she had asked for, her purpose was accomplished. He would report her to his superiors as someone overinterested in the doings of the Guild. They would watch her, and that in itself would be a lead to them.
Because Lahks preferred direct dealings in this case, however, she set herself to soothe the boy—she dared not use the drugs available to her because the Guild might detect them—and succeeded insofar as he finally told of a code to call, which, he said, could provide a contact for Wumeera. By now the timepiece on Lahks’ wrist agreed with her inborn sense of time that about half a tu had passed. That was not ample, but it was adequate for two young people in a hurry. She suggested calmly that they leave.
Just beyond the door they parted. Lahks hurried now back to the day street and to a second hotel where the Bankers’ Exchange had made a reservation and sent her money and a small selection of luggage purchased by an agent. It was a common-enough service. Many people changed identities at transshipment points. The second hotel was smaller, quieter, and rather more elegant than the first. By the time she reached it, Lahks was pleasantly aware that she had been picked up by a Watcher. Having registered, she chatted for a moment with the clerk, then asked him to send a meal to her room and then see that she was not disturbed. She did not space well, she admitted, with a tinge of embarrassed shyness, and was exhausted.
“Would you like the house physician to come up?” the clerk queried solicitously.
It was the last thing Lahks desired. She was efficient with external appearance, but her internal organs—either because Changelings were different, or because she did not pay Strict attention to where the organs should be or what they should be doing—were often in a state that made physicians turn pale and check their psych condition. Since it never seemed to cause her any inconvenience, Lahks did not worry except when threatened by examination. She refused politely, saying all she needed was sleep.
The room was very handsome. Lahks smiled to herself as she stretched on the bed to rest and wait for her meal. Bankers’ Exchange clients were always treated with respect. The fees they charged, Lahks decided, chuckling, deserved it.
“Dinner,” the door said.
Lahks opened her eyes and pressed the release. The roboserv trundled in, opened itself, and presented a tasteful, well-arranged meal to which Lahks did complete justice. A touch on the “completed” button caused it to refold and trundle out with equal efficiency. Lahks did not watch it go, although she pressed the door release at the appropriate time. She rose, undressed, and put Transform I’s clothes into the pouch, which she had turned inside-out. A cheap shift and alteration into Transform V turned her into a nondescript middle-aged woman who might easily be employed in some low capacity in such a place. By dropping her pulse rate to forty and lowering her body temperature to twenty degrees Centigrade, she convinced the Watcher that she was not herself (or was not there at all). Then it was quite safe to slip down the service stairs and out through the delivery entrance.
A secluded W.C. and a quick change back to Transform I permitted Lahks to walk into the first hotel with impunity. If anyone noticed, she was a guest who had gone out and was returning. Up to her room, shift back to Transform II, and stage one of phase two was successfully completed. Now she need only remove the essentials from the luggage that would go to Terra and carry on the normal activities of Transform II until “she” boarded ship. A reversal of the series of shifts of personality removed Lahks from the Terra-bound liner and brought her back to the second hotel in time for a late breakfast.
One thing Lahks noticed was that with each transformation she had an increasing desire to go on transforming, to giggle, to dance, to sing, to match her skin and hair color to the various wall surfaces and neon lights that flickered around her. It was a most interesting compulsion. Some day, she thought, when she had adequate supervision, she would have to yield to it and find out whether it would wear off naturally or become increasingly compulsive and dangerous. Perhaps Ghrey or Zuhema could have told her. With the thought came a cold wash of emptiness. Lahks rose hurriedly and began to think hard about outfitting herself for Wumeera.
An open stall on the night street yielded spider-silk blankets and a sleeping bag, worn but serviceable. An expensive shop on the day street provided a stillsuit, the best available. A full tu was spent in fitting. 4 tu more in a hot-dry chamber. When Lahks emerged she was 0.572 kilos lighter. The stillsuit yielded 0.570 kilos of water. Another tu was devoted to finer fitting. The deserts of Wumeera are wide and hot; 0.002 kilos of water every 4 tu might easily be the difference between life and death.
Lahks also purchased a used stun-gun, a narcotic needler, and a laser. The weapons were primitive from a Guardian’s point of view, but they might be useful and they were what a visitor to Wumeera would be expected to carry. The Watcher, which had been waiting faithfully at the second hotel, accompanied her throughout the several days she waited for the Wumeera transport. Only when she was on board and in her cabin did the small beep of its presence shut off. Lahks smiled and began to arrange her possessions commodiously. The continued interest of the Guild in her movements virtually guaranteed that the code frequency she had been given would summon a ship to Wumeera to take her off—if she could pay the price.