Technos

Chapter Six

From her window Mada Grist stared at a dancing swirl of snowflakes and felt an unaccustomed pleasure in watching the steady fall. It had begun an hour ago and now the woods and hills, the logged outhouses of the hotel were covered with a fluffy white blanket, bright in the light of the beacon rotating on the roof. There was a random charm about the flakes, she thought, each holding its own pattern, each drifting to the vagaries of the wind, to settle and add to the thickening blanket.

Like people, she thought, pleased with the analogy. Born to drift and then finally to settle. But the comparison was incorrect. People, unlike flakes of snow, could determine their direction and choose their own place of landing.

Musing she turned from the window, polarizing the glass to insure her privacy, the interior lights brightening as she touched a control. A mnemonic clock whispered the time, adding that she had only thirty minutes before the time set for dinner. She ignored it, concentrating instead on her reflection in a long mirror.

The body was superb.

Fabric rustled as she eased the thin robe from her shoulders, bright synthetics falling to mound at her feet. They were slender, high arched, without blemish. Long legs rose, tapering, from fine ankles and shapely calves. The hips swelled beneath a narrow waist, the waist rising to high breasts and rounded shoulders. Her hands touched the thighs, rose over the cage of her ribs to cradle the molded fullness, rose higher to pause at the base of her throat.

The clock whispered again, this time adding that the council was due to meet in a couple of hours. Trust Vargas to choose such a peculiar time. He was growing more irrational every day, but it wouldn't be the first session she had missed and she doubted if it would be the last. And, tonight, there were more important things to do.

Reluctantly she turned from the mirror, recognizing the narcissus complex and a little amused by it. How many women, she wondered, were in love with their own bodies? How many had cause?

Dressing, she left the room. Krell, his face anxious, met her in the passage outside. It was paneled with dark wood carved with depictions of the chase, men hunting beasts with primitive weapons. Against the implied virility of the motifs he looked diminished and insignificant, an illusion heightened by the furtiveness of his eyes.

"I'm worried, Mada," he said. "I think we'd better call the whole thing off?"

"The meeting? Why?"

"Brekla hasn't arrived. Marmot called to say that he's been delayed. Dehnar-"

"Is a coward," she interrupted. "And so are you, Eegan. Sometimes I wonder how you ever managed to win your seat on the council."

"And that's another thing. There's a meeting called and we shall be missed. I honestly think that we'd better leave it until a later occasion."

He meant it, she decided, searching his face. He wanted to abandon the whole enterprise and run back to what he imagined was safety. To bow and cringe and hope to be overlooked in what was certain to come. To hide like a rabbit-and to scream like one if caught. It was hard to remember that they had once been lovers.

"You're a fool," she said flatly. "You're letting your imagination run away with you. So what if the others can't come? We are here to enjoy a private dinner, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"But-"

"What are you afraid of? We intended to talk about the Technarch-is that a crime? We are members of the Supreme Council and have the right to discuss anything we want wherever we want. But now we won't even do that. We will simply enjoy the evening and that is all."

"We could be watched," he said miserably. "Vargas has spies everywhere. If he knew that we had gotten together he would be immediately suspicious."

"He's that already." Firmly she tucked her arm through his and led him to where a waterfall of stairs fell to the dining area below. "But if we suddenly leave for no apparent reason he will have grounds for thinking the worst. Now smile," she ordered. "You are the host, remember? Look as if you're enjoying yourself."

It was a place in which to have pleasure. The area below was bright with polished weapons; the walls hung thick with trophies: mounted heads watching with glass eyes, horned and fanged and once terrible but now only pathetic decorations. Glass and silver and snowy linen reflected the glow of a great fire and the discreet brightness of facsimile flambeaux. The air was scented with wood smoke, and the soft music carried the sound of wind in the trees.

Shergan met them at the foot of the stairs. He smiled as, bowing, he kissed her hand. "Mada, my dear, you look superb! What do you think of the weather?"

"The snow? I like it."

"I'm glad to hear that. I'm arranging a party to take advantage of it. The hills will be ideal for skis and toboggans, and we can have a fire and hold a winter picnic. Does the prospect attract you?"

She hesitated, almost yielding to temptation. It had been a long time since she had sported in the snow. Regretfully she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but no. There's too much work waiting for me and it would be criminal to ignore it."

Shergan was insistent. "Work can wait. What's the point of being on the council if we can't take a vacation when we want one? Come on, Mada, you'll enjoy yourself."

He had not, she noticed, invited Krell. Was there more to the invitation than appeared on the surface? Again she shook her head.

"No, and don't try to change my mind. It simply isn't possible."

"To change your mind?" Shergan smiled as he summoned a waiter and ordered drinks. "Isn't that the prerogative of a woman, to change her mind? You were always a hard one to convince, Mada, but I'm not giving up hope."

About what, she wondered, sipping at her glass. The distillation warmed her throat and stomach and added to the enjoyment of the surroundings. Even Krell seemed to have lost some of his worry though his eyes were still furtive as he scanned the room. Searching for spies lurking behind the furniture. At times he was pathetic in his concern.

Marmot joined them as she finished her drink. He was apologetic. "Sorry I'm late, but something came up at the last minute."

"Glad you could make it," said Krell. He seemed relieved. "Brekla and Dehnar won't be joining us. Alica isn't down yet, but she is here. How was the journey?"

"Not too bad though the snow's pretty thick over the city." Marmot took a gulp of the drink a waiter brought him. "There was a power failure. A fine thing to happen. I'm going to propose that an inquiry be held to investigate the cause. Someone's been careless and I want to see him pay."

"Relax," said Shergan. "You worry too much."

"And some of us don't worry enough," snapped back the other man. "We're responsible for the whole of Technos, or have you forgotten? If we overlook a thing like this what will happen next?"

"Murder, violence and sudden death," said a new voice. Alica had joined them. She smiled greetings and accepted a drink. "Are you still beating that old drum, Gill? Do you still look under your bed at night for fear of saboteurs?"

"You can laugh, Alica, but you can't tell me they don't exist. That failure, for example. It could have been an accident but we wouldn't have accidents if the technicians knew their jobs. I-" He broke off, shrugging. "Well, never mind that now. Let's enjoy our dinner."

It was a fine meal but wasted Mada thought later as she headed back to the capital. Leaning back against the cushions of her flier, the pilot a vague shape beyond the dividing glass, she pondered the events of that evening.

Krell was a loss. Marmot had a real concern but was inclined to gnaw too long at details. Shergan was more promising; like Alica he used words as a mask for his real thoughts and both he and the woman would be potential allies to back her in a vote of impeachment. Not that she intended to put any such proposal to the council. In fact it would be better if she took steps to disengage herself from any possible intrigues. Better and safer. And yet could she feel really safe alone?

For diversion she looked through the transparent canopy forming a roof over the cabin. The snow had ceased, the fallen whiteness giving the night a strange, luminous quality. Far to one side, falling from the sky in a haze of blue, a ship settled down the landing field. A vessel from Cest probably, or one from Loame; another contingent was due from that planet. It could not be a casual arrival, for such ships were banned from landing at night.

A streak of brilliance from below caught her eye. A monorail traveling high above the snow, the line of illuminated cars looking at this distance like a bright and flexible snake. It swung in a wide curve as it followed the line of a ridge, and she watched it, remembering, feeling an unaccustomed touch of nostalgia.

As a girl she had loved to ride on the monorail, sitting beside a window, the inevitable book in her lap, merging her studies with glimpses of the coast, the restless sea, the soaring mountains and wooded hills. The soft hiss of the train had allowed her to concentrate and, as a student, she had traveled at reduced fare. And sometimes she had met interesting people. That young man, for example, who had been obviously attracted and who had worked in a subterranean power installation. He had been very keen and very disappointed when she had firmly told him that study came first, thoughts of romance a long way behind. He must be married now, with grandchildren probably, or dead, which was more likely.

It had been a long time ago.

She blinked, annoyed with herself at the sudden sentiment, reminding herself that she had achieved her ambition, that she was a member of the Supreme Council and that all the study and work had been worthwhile. Even love had come later, or a facsimile of it; the quieting of her bodily needs in a succession of barren affairs. She was rich and powerful, respected and admired. Why then did she feel sad?

The night, she decided. The touch of nostalgia. The sight of a train which had wakened old memories.

But it was just a train, a string of cars humming along a single rail. She looked at it again, staring beyond her reflected image into the luminous expanse of the night. The cars would be warm and comfortable, the seats soft, the metal fabric of the car vibrating with a restful hum. And there would be people and the sound of talk and laughter.

Abruptly she yielded to impulse.

"Take me to the monorail station," she ordered the pilot. "One not too close to the capital, and one in which a train is shortly due."

"Madam?" His voice held surprise. Against the partition his face was a featureless blur as he looked back from the controls.

"You heard me," she snapped. "Obey!"

She smiled as the flier wheeled, circling to follow the rail below, conscious of the pilot's rigid disapproval. Well, if he didn't like it that was just too bad. It was a long time since she had indulged herself in a foolish whim and it would be good to ride in a monotrain again.

* * *

A group of soldiers at the far end of the car were having themselves a ball, passing bottles back and forth, singing, making the most of what remained of their leave. A woman sat crying, tears running down her cheeks, thin hands clasping a worn hand bag. Two old men snored in the third row, and a pair of lovers were lost to the world.

Dumarest watched them, dispassionately, sitting hunched in his coat and fighting a mounting fatigue. It had been a hard night. The journey to Farbein had been as he'd expected: the cars jammed with commuters; businessmen leaving the base; parents returning after visiting their sons. At the junction he'd had to wait for an hour to catch a connection which took him well along the coast before returning to the capital in a wide circle. As the hours passed so the train had shortened, cars being dropped as the number of passengers had diminished, the passengers themselves changing in character.

He shifted to ease the ache in his bones. The upholstery was worn and the springs unkind. He'd managed to buy some confection from a machine at Farbein and had managed to quench his thirst with a handful of snow but aside from that had had nothing. One of the derelicts woke, gasping, staring about with rheumy eyes. To Dumarest the sight was reassuring. They had ridden with him all the way, probably buying a ticket to the next station and riding the loop all through the night. Like himself it was the only place they could find warmth and a measure of comfort. Their presence meant that the train was badly checked and he should be safe from questioning guards.

But for how long?

Not much longer, he decided. If Keon was any good at his trade he would anticipate what the fugitive would do. With the hotels blocked and the roads watched the monorail was the only thing left. His only hope was that he would reach the capital before the guards had been fully alerted.

He tensed as the train checked to a halt. The crying woman rose and left the car. The lovers parted for a moment, checked the station and returned to each other. One of the soldiers whistled as a woman entered the carriage and walked to where Dumarest sat. She ignored the whistle and sat across from him, her face muffled in the collar of a heavy coat.

Already Mada was beginning to regret her romantic impulse.

The train had been late and not as large as she remembered but then, she reminded herself, she had never traveled so late before. She had picked the last car for sentimental reasons. She had always chosen that car in the past, but it was not as she recalled. Surely the seats hadn't been so worn, the paint so dull? And the smooth hum of gliding progress, what had happened to that?

Time, she thought, the magic of distance. Foods lost their flavor, colors their brightness and the trifling details of annoyance became swallowed in a nostalgic glow. But that could not be the whole answer. Maintenance standards had fallen, and work that should have been done had been neglected. The wars, the drain of men and money to hold down the rebellious populations of Cest and Hardish must be the cause. How long must it continue?

It would be wise for the members of the council to mix more with the ordinary people. It was too easy to become detached. She made a mental note to raise the matter at the next meeting, then relaxed, looking around, determined to make the best of her illogical whim.

The soldiers she ignored; men trying too hard to convince themselves they were having a good time. The lovers created a sudden stab of envy, startling because unexpected. Yet how wonderful it must be to lose yourself in anothers arms. The derelicts-another matter she should bring to the attention of the council. The man opposite?

She met the impact of Dumarest's eyes.

He was studying her hands, her face, the color of her skin. The rich olive glowed in the subdued lighting and he frowned, wondering. It was the color of the women of Loame and he was reminded forcefully of the girl he had come to find. Elaine Delmayer. Could this woman be she?

It was barely possible and, in any case, she might know of her. Expatriates would tend to stick together or, at least, to remain in contact. He could lose nothing by asking.

He rose and stood above her. "My lady?"

She looked up, thinking that he was trying to scrape an acquaintance and amused at the possibility. An attempted seduction would at least beguile the tedium of the journey. "Yes?"

"Your pardon, my lady, but would you be so kind as to tell me your name?"

He was direct if nothing else, or perhaps the technique had changed since the old days. Yet he didn't look the type of man who would haunt the cars in search of women.

Quietly she said, "Sit down beside me. I do not like people to stand over me."

"As you wish, my lady." He sat and met her eyes. "Your name?"

"Mada Grist." It meant nothing to him, she could tell by his expression. "Why do you ask?"

"A personal reason, my lady. Are you from Loame?"

"No."

"Thank you, my lady. My apologies at having troubled you."

Incredulously she realized that he was going and put out a hand to detain him without conscious thought. He looked at it and then at her, his eyes questioning.

"Please stay with me," she said quickly. "Those soldiers. I am afraid they may try to molest me." It was a weak excuse but she made no comment. Did he think her a woman of pleasure looking for custom? Quickly she added, "And I am bored. Conversation will shorten the journey. Do you go to the capital?"

"Yes, my lady."

His voice was strong, matching the strength of his face, the masculinity she could sense emanating from his body. And she was responding to it! Startled, she felt the glandular reaction, the biological chemistry triggered by the stimulus of his proximity. To yield to it was tempting, but it was safer to concentrate on other things. His clothes, for a start. They were clean but cheap and rumpled as if he had worn them too long. And his manner of address was strange. It reminded her of Ruen, but this man was no cyber. He was being polite, she decided, using a safe term of address in case she should be of superior rank.

And that meant he must be widely traveled and used to dealing with nobility.

She glanced at him. He was relaxed, his eyes closed, dozing or perhaps reluctant to engage in idle conversation. She herself felt a sudden fatigue and wondered if it were genuine tiredness or the association of relative objects. The man, her desire, a bed, which for too long had symbolized nothing but sleep. And yet if she were to get him into bed with her, sleep would be the last thing on her mind.

She nodded, waking as the train halted, dozing again as it continued its journey. At the last halt before the capital guards entered the car. They were trim, awake and determined.

"Your identification, please."

She felt the sudden tension of the man at her side, an inner tightening outwardly invisible, and wondered if he was afraid. But of what? And why?

"Madam?" The guard was young and impatient. He blinked as she held out her left wrist, the thick, identifying bracelet gleaming in the light. She could appreciate his discomposure.

"Satisfied?"

"Why yes, madam. Certainly." He glanced at the man sitting beside her. "Sir?"

She saw the slip of plastic, the thumb held as if by accident over the photograph, and spoke before the guard could make a thorough examination.

"The gentleman is with me."

"Yes, madam. Thank you, madam. I am sorry to have caused any inconvenience."

She relaxed, smiling, as the train continued on its way.