Medusa: A Tiger by the Tail

CHAPTER TWELVE Into the Lion’s Den

I didn’t sleep nearly as long as I needed, but it was a good, solid sleep and just what I needed to restore my confidence and get my brain working again.

Entering the city wasn’t much of a problem, but once in, I wasn’t at all sure what I could do. The only thing certain was that my theory of breaking the system by transformation was about to get a real test. The trouble was, I would have to be slow and careful to’have any reasonable chance, and I just didn’t have the. time for that.

Having served in the city in Transportation proved invaluable. Of course, to enter I simply waited for a train to come up and stop, then I walked in with the train when they turned off the energy barriers to admit it. Once inside the entry tunnel, though, I was in the yards for the trains and had to make my way carefully to the passenger section. Having worked the station, I knew where the monitor cameras were located and where the inevitable “dead” zones were, although they were hardly conveniently located for my purposes. At this point, naked and hairless, I was an easy mark for a monitor and a sure flag, so getting into position without being observed was time-consuming.

I was counting on the Rochande passenger train, my old workhorse, to come in late. There were inevitably a number of TMS personnel on board, not for patrol but either coming back from some training mission or arriving after assignment to Gray Basin. It would still be a ticklish operation, requiring a lot of luck, but overall I’d had more than my share of that lately and had to trust that I’d get a bit more.

There was a spot between the passenger platform and the automatic baggage-handling section that was part of the freight operation which did not overlap two cameras. By a zigzag route I managed to make it across the yards and take a position behind a moving stair that was at the far end of the passenger section. For the first time it hit me that I would have to kill a few people if I went ahead with this; although I wouldn’t feel too badly about TMS or government personnel, an innocent or two would also be necessary. I didn’t really like doing that, but could only remember again the fifty-five who wouldn’t try to escape and who were, in many ways, typical not only of the people here but of the whole system I was fighting.

I had a pretty clear plan, based on my observations and experiences during my life here. It is in the nature of my business, and of my mind, to file just about everything away, even when it serves no apparent purpose. You never know when you’ll have to use one trivial or not-so-trivial item or another.

The initial move would be ticklish. There was a clock overhanging the passenger-discharge section that said I had to remain there, undiscovered, for at least two hours. To make my move too early might blow the whole scheme. Several station personnel passed very near me at various times, but thanks to my new Warden sense and my own self-control I was able to remain hidden in the shadows. At least, no alarms went off.

Finally, it was only ten minutes before the train was due, and I was starting to get nervous. None of the station people had passed in almost half an hour, and I needed one, my first innocent victim, any time now. The train was actually within earshot, stopped for the barriers, before I got mychance. A grade-four passenger-service agent walked from the baggage office up toward the platform. As she passed, I moved fast and silent from my shadowy place.

The deed was done in a couple of seconds. I had created a sharp, serrated ridge of cartilege on my arm and reinforced the muscle. I decapitated her rather cleanly, then had a nervous moment as the head started rolling out almost into camera range. I grabbed it, but it was messy and unpleasant.

I had timed the maneuver perfectly and applied just the right amount of force. Decapitation sounds terrible, and it is; but considering the Warden’s amazing powers you had to strike an immediate, certain death blow or you’d have it. The other advantage was that the shock caused the body’s Wardens to snap into futile action to seal the wound, so surprisingly little bleeding occurred.

I made no attempt to duplicate her features more than roughly; I hadn’t seen them long enough in presentable condition to do so. Still, I managed it, displacing some of my extra mass into height to manage to fit, however uncomfortably, into the clothes which were, mercifully, close enough to the color of Medusan blood to mask the stains somewhat. The girl’s sandals, however, would never fit without a lot of work, and I didn’t even try. None of this disguise really had to last for very long.

I had an uneasy moment when it looked as if two others were going to walk back by my hiding place with its grisly contents, but, fortunately, at that moment the train rounded the bend and slid into its slip. Everybody snapped to professional attention.

My luck had held up to this point, but now I’d need more. I waited until the tram was completely in and docked, then watched the doors slide open and the passengers begin to emerge. When I spotted two TMS uniforms with duffels I went into my act, fully aware that the others would also see, but counting on the usual mob inclination on Medusa to let TMS handle things whenever there was a question of responsibility. I pulled the trunk of the woman’s body out a bit, so an arm and leg were showing, then stepped out myself and cried, hysterically, “Monitors! Come here! Please hurry!”

Nobody calls a cop on Medusa unless there’s terrible trouble. I saw the two young faces, a man and a woman, glance over at me, look puzzled for a minute, then follow my arm that pointed to the exposed limbs. They dropped their duffels, and trotted over to me.

“What’s the matter?” the woman asked, sounding more concerned than nasty.

“T-there’s a body there!” I stuttered, sounding scared to death. Both of them looked shocked, then turned and knelt down as I angled myself so that the moving stab: shielded me from the platform. By then most of the people had gone up and we had no curious gawkers, but there was certain to be a couple of curious train people pretty quickly.

The two monitors were pushovers. I managed to chop them both cold before they realized what had happened, then killed them a bit more cleanly but no less efficiently. I had to move damned fast—their bags were still on the platform, and the camera would at least have seen that.

I quickly got rid of the transport clothing and pulled off the man’s monitor uniform. I was working against time and just barely got it right. Fortunately, the man was not too far off my size, so I was able to adjust myself for a reasonable, if slightly uncomfortable, fit. It only had to look presentable.

I took the risk of rolling the bodies out and under the train when a quick peek showed, incredibly, nobody looking in my direction or even, it seemed, aware that anything was going on. Then I walked back out onto the platform, picked up a bag, turned, and called back loudly, “Okay, I’ll meet you in the main terminal!” Hoisting the bag on my shoulder, I then took the moving stairs myself.

The main terminal was, of course, still pretty busy, and that helped a lot. I needed another switch, one not so easily traced, and quickly, but no opportunity presented itself. I walked¹ into the lavatory, looked through the bag, found some evidence that this private was a new. transfer to Gray Basin, and decided to take a chance, at least for the moment. The train wouldn’t be turning around until it was cleaned and serviced, about two or three hours. If they didn’t look for that passenger agent too hard, I might have some tune before the bodies were discovered. Such callous murder was so totally alien to this society they would search everywhere for the missing agent before looking for a body. The other recruit was almost certainly new herself and unlikely to be missed immediately, either. If, and it was a big if, the computer hadn’t flagged the two of them dropping their bags and running out of view. But who could know?

Using the private’s card, I took the bus to TMS headquarters. I needed another TMS body because, again, I bore only a vague resemblance to the dead monitor. Luckily, I knew Gray Basin’s TMS building pretty well, including, thanks to the probably late Major Hocrow, many of its own dead areas.

I got off a couple of blocks before reaching headquarters and managed to toss the bag into a trash receptacle before walking boldly down to the building. If only the people knew how many dead zones there were in any major city there’d be hell to pay, I thought with some amusement. The alley with the trash bin had a camera, but it was mounted high on a wall and easily seen. So by just keeping the trash bin between me and it I couldn’t be seen. They still might send somebody to check the trash, of course, but by then I’d be somebody else—I hoped.

I entered by the garage rather than the front door, my uniform being sufficient to get no more than nods from a few monitors.

There was a single camera mounted on a slowly rotating and wide-open mount in the center of the car-maintenance garage. A piece of cake. I just walked along until I found a monitor checking a car for something, struck up a mild conversation, then, when the camera and mark were easily in the right positions, chopped him. This time I had had a few minutes to study the intended victim’s features and the luxury of a less messy kill, so I had no trouble in duplicating her features. She was a fairly large woman and things fit pretty well, and, under the car, I was able to change quickly and efficiently into her uniform.

I found the replication trick a cinch, at least as far as I knew. Just concentrate on the victim, match his or her Warden configuration to yours, and let your Wardens emulate the pattern. It was kind of weird to feel hair grow out rapidly on my head, and to watch flesh act as if it were something independently alive and fluid; but the actual change was so damned easy, now that I had a few minutes.

When I climbed out from under the car I was the private, to all onlookers, anyway, and again I timed the camera just right to stash the body in the car’s trunk. With any luck, it might be a couple of days before the body was found, and I didn’t need that long.

Satisfied, I took out “my” card, called the elevator, and rode up to the desk and central processing area I knew so well. This was always a busy area, and the risk I ran here had mostly to do with meeting some friend of the person I was supposed to be. I couldn’t hold that kind of pose for a moment against somebody who knew the original well.

The important thing, though, was to look and act as if you belong and you’re working on somebody’s instructions. Usually that’s enough to get by in public areas, where people just don’t expect this sort of thing. I went in back to the small compartments, each with its own terminal, that TMS monitors used when filing reports. I picked an empty one, flicked on the terminal, and started.

While I expected no trouble in breaking the simple computer codes generally used, I was surprised to find that these terminals needed no codes at all. You just stuck in your card, which certified that you were a legitimate TMS monitor, and that was enough when the computer monitor checked appearance against file. No fingerprints, no retinal check, just a simple method for a society that took far too much for granted.

I punched up kor—chtno—lu and then sat back and waited for the data to come up on the screen. I scrolled quickly through the basics to the last entry, which was what I wanted:

It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. Ching had been brought here in the early morning, processed, judged guilty and sentenced to UD—Ultimate Demotion—then turned over to Centrum officially. She was to leave at 1705—in less than an hour. The computer didn’t say how, but it had to be via the shuttle. I punched the reference number given and got a similar readout:

HONO, W-O UNCLASS., ARRESTED 1416 OFFICERS CENTRUM 17-9-51. The rest of the listing was identical to Ching’s, except, of course, that the end reference referenced Ching’s case. So they were both going out on the shuttle. Well, maybe I should, too.

Bluff and bravado will only get you so far, but it does wonders in a tightly regimented society. I walked out the front door without any problem and headed for the bus to the central terminal. I wasn’t about to risk trying for a TMS car—the motor pool authorizations would be pretty tightly watched. Then I stopped, cursed myself, walked around to the garage, and found the car with the body still hidden inside. This, of course, had to be her car, and that would make things easy—if the damned thing worked.

It did, and I was soon out of the garage and heading toward a city gate, a dead body under the back seat and a really irritating squeal coming from somewhere in front that had obviously been the reason for the service.

I reached the road gate to the space terminal with no problem, but had to get out, present my card to the monitoring machine, and tell it that I was going out to the terminal with some special paperwork that some other monitor had forgotten. It was a routine enough thing, and I had no trouble getting the barriers lowered quickly.

The shuttle was already in, and I made it with almost twenty minutes to spare. I hadn’t been back here since arriving on Medusa, but the place hadn’t changed much. It was small and cramped and not very impressive, since passengers were infrequent. I saw only a couple, both official-looking, sitting around now. No sign of Ching or Hono, though, let alone of the arresting officers. For the first time I began to fear that I’d blown it.

My confusion must have been all too apparent, for one of the government employees waiting to board, a white-haired man of middle age, stood up and came over to me. “Something the matter, young woman?”

I was a little startled for a moment, since I’d forgotten I was playing a woman at this point. Actually, this was the first conversation I had had with anyone since assuming this identity, and the change had almost slipped my mind.

“Yes, sir. I have some papers that never got cleared for a couple of prisoners supposed to go out to Centrum, and now I don’t see ’em.” The voice sounded funny, but more or less female, which was all that mattered on a world like this.

He frowned. “Let me see them.”

I was ready. I had made hard copies of several forms with the dispositions of Ching’s and Hono’s cases for just such an eventuality. They wouldn’t fool a monitor, but they’d get by a bureaucrat, I hoped.

He looked them over, smiled, then handed them back.

“Well, it’s easy to see why. They departed on the eighteenth—that was yesterday.”

I was thunderstruck, and for a moment my self-control failed. I hadn’t slept a few hours, I’d slept almost a day and a half on that city roof!

I must have looked really crushed—as I was—because the government man said, “You’re going to have some problems, huh?”

I nodded, thinking as fast as I could. “Yes, sir. I’m pretty new here, and while I just was told by my boss to get these things down here, when I come back with them and they see the wrong date it won’t be my sergeant who gets the blame. Discipline’s pretty rough up here, too.”

He seemed genuinely touched. “Give me your card.”

“Sir?”

“I said, give me your card. Let me see what I can do.”

I was afraid he was going to call me in and try and square a nonexistent mission with an unknown superior, but I had no choice. I did, however, eye the exit. I was outside the city here, and all I really needed was some running room. Unfortunately, I was also in the most heavily monitored type of buildings on Medusa—since it was exposed to the outside—and one connected to live evaluators with automatic rifles all over the place. If I made a run for the door now they’d hit the alarm; if I stood here, I was prcbably trapped. The only thing I could think of was to let this scene run its course and take a last-gasp chance at a panic escape when the right time came.

The man was back from a small office in a couple of minutes and he was smiling as he handed back my card. “I think we can arrange for you to complete your mission, Monitor. I’ll square things with your superior, since you’re not due back on duty until 0800 tomorrow anyway.” He winked. “Nobody will ever know, huh?”

I was thunderstruck. “Then you’ll take the papers with you to Centrum and see that they’re delivered?”

“Oh, my, no. I’m not going to Centrum, unfortunately. But there’s plenty of room on the shuttle, and I’ve logged you as my guest as far as Centrum, with a return on the morning flight. The trip is still going to cost you some money you probably don’t” have—Centrum’s not cheap—but you’ll get there and back and be able to deposit your papers with no one the wiser at your end, since I’ve cleared it on my personal assurance.”

I could hardly believe this. “You mean you want me to come with you?”

He nodded. “And better hurry. We’re about to board. Well? How about it?”

I considered his offer. Out there was freedom. The shuttle meant new dangers, and I was probably too late to do much anyway, even if I could find them. Still, I’d come this far, and this seemed the only sensible thing to do under the circumstances, so I nodded. “All right, sir—and thanks.”

Of course, the question I had weighed was not that hard to answer. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has this kind of luck. When too many things keep going right, you just have to know you’re being had. I don’t know whose bodies they’d found, or where my slip had come, but somebody had gotten a lot of laughs at seeing me do my routine, knowing all the while that I was a day late and didn’t realize it.

Obviously escape was out. They’d never let me make the door, and it would be a very uncomfortable ride. It seemed to me that going along with things would at least bring me close to Ching and Hono, even if very dangerously, and I was still, not without resources.

The shuttle was the same comfortable craft I remembered, only now there were only the two government bureaucats and myself aboard. The takeoff was smooth and effortless, although not without the press of many gravities into the soft foam seats and the unsettling but thrilling feeling when the boost was cut off.

“Dunecal, next stop, five minutes,” the speaker said crisply. “Remain in your seats and strapped in at all times.” That surprised me, since I’d assumed we were going directly to Centrum, where my welcoming committee would be waiting. But, sure enough, we descended smoothly and were soon in Dunecal, mam city of the central continent, and my benefactor’s destination. He wished me well, and departed, acting for all the world as if he had no idea who or what I really was—and he may not have known, I reflected.

“Loading passengers now,” the speaker announced. “Centrum next stop.”

I thought about jumping ship at this point, but there seemed no purpose to it. I was hooked and was being reeled in slowly for the amusement of whatever sportsman was on the other end.

Three passengers boarded at Dunecal, a man and woman in government black and another young woman whose looks were so startlingly different I almost had to stare.

Women on Medusa were no beauties. Oh, once you got used to them they were fine, but all were chunky, and had a masculine muscularity about them. There was, after all, a chance that anybody could flip from one sex to the other and so the average person was a bit of both, really. I had frankly almost forgotten the difference between normal human and Medusan females until this young woman came on.

She was certainly Medusan—her casual clothes would not have been sufficient protection for anybody else—but, then again, she wasn’t. Her olive skin looked far softer than the tough hide we all took for granted. She was built as few women I’d met were built and had mastered all the right sexy moves. She also had a sweet, sexy smile on her very pretty face and her hair was longer than normal and light brown—the first of such a color I’d ever seen on Medusa, and one I’d rarely seen anywhere else, for that matter.

“Take that seat and strap in, Tix,” the man instructed.

She smiled. “Oh, yes, my lord,” she said in a childish-sounding yet sexy voice, and did as instructed. I noticed she never stopped smiling and just about never took her eyes off him. The other two strapped themselves in and the man noticed me staring at the young woman.

“Never seen a Goodtime Girl before, huh?” he called out conversationally.

I shook my head. “No, sir. I’m from Gray Basin, and we don’t see any there.”

“I daresay,” he answered with pride. “You just arrest ’em and send ’em to us and we make ’em.” He chuckled at that.

I responded with a smile I didn’t feel. There was something creepy about Tix, something unnatural.

I’d heard mentions of Goodtime Girls, of course. Everybody had. Entertainers, consorts, concubines, and a little of everything else, it was said—mostly for the entertainment and gratification of the bigwigs. But nobody I had ever talked to had actually seen one, or really knew anything about them except that theirs was a different kind of job. I always wondered why, on a planet ninety-percent female, there weren’t Goodtime Boys.

The man proved chatty. Either he, too, was ignorant of who I was or he was putting on a mighty fine act. I gave him my cover story, with the truth when explaining what I was. doing on the shuttle. He seemed to accept it.

Goodtime Girls, it seemed, weren’t employees, they were slaves. Oh, he didn’t call Tix that, but it was clear that all the euphemisms were stand-ins for the word “slave.” They had been convicted of crimes against the state and sentenced to Ultimate Demotion. Most UDs, as he called them, were sent off to the mines of Momrath’s moons, but a few were selected and turned into Goodtime Girls by expert psychs in the government’s Criminal Division. “Some of ’em are real artists,” he told me proudly. “You wouldn’t believe what Tix looked like before they worked on her.”

“There are no Goodtime Boys?” I couldn’t resist asking.

He shook his head from side to side. “Nope. Something in the process having to do with our little buggers the Wardens. When they remove the psyche or whatever it is they take out, the subject’s invariably locked in as female.” He gave a leer in Tix’s direction, and she nearly shivered with delight. “Not that I mind that a bit.”

I had to repress the urge to shiver. In all the barbaric acts of mankind, the worst was certainly abject slavery, and probably the worst of the worst was to create willing, natural slaves with a psych guide and a pysch machine. The system seemed terribly perverted, somehow, as well as downright crazy. Why have slaves on a world where robots were happily employed? The only possible answer was instant ego-gratification for the kind of mentality that worshiped only power. This guy had been “given” Tix by the government for doing such wonderful work and reaching a government grade level that warranted a Goodtime Girl. He took her with him as a highly visible status symbol, and because he got his jollies having a personal slave to order about. It was the ultimate reflection of the sickness of this society, I thought sadly. What kind of a place was it that was run by people who had psych-created fawning slaves the way influential people in other societies owned great gems or great works of art?

I repressed a sudden urge to kill the fellow and his companion right then and there, and maybe the Goodtime Girl, too, although, in more than one sense, she was already dead.

About twenty minutes after takeoff the speaker came on. “Please remain strapped in your seats. We are about to dock.”

The man and woman both frowned, and she. turned to him. “That’s odd. I didn’t feel any deceleration.”

He nodded. “I wonder if something’s wrong?”

There were no windows, so there was no way of knowing, but I tensed up. Here we go, I thought, and got myself mentally ready for any move that could be made.

I felt a shudder and vibration, then three quick deceleration bursts, and we slid neatly into the dock. There was a hissing, and then the rear door slid open. The man unbuckled himself and walked over to the door, looking out, still puzzled. “This isn’t Centrum,” he said, confused. “I think this is the space station.”

I unbuckled myself, sighed, stood up and walked back to the door. “Just go back to your seat,” I told him, “and relax. I think this is my stop.”