"I agree one hundred percent. We'll talk later, Gerry."
I touched the End pad, thinking that the Reversionist party wasn't the only one that would have to rethink its strategy during the days ahead.
Especially if the Haluk colony vote went the way I feared it would.
I tapped out Karl Nazarian's code. It was several minutes before he answered. He looked calm and assured, and somewhere along the line he'd ditched the incongruous caterer's coverall and donned an elegant business suit that would have done John Ellington proud. Both men had about the same build. Maybe the vice chairman had shared.
"Do you have time to give me a progress report?" I asked. "I'm on my way to the safe house. With Joanna."
"I see." The old security man kept a perfectly straight face. "Are you going to reveal your secret bolt-hole to me?"
"Kingfisher Lodge. Don't tell anyone else."
Karl nodded his approval. "Yeah, that might be just about perfect. God knows none of the paparazzi websters will find you up there. We pretty much shut the lodge down after Dan's abduction, but there was no important damage to the physical plant, and the fritzed security system was repaired. Do you have portable weapons?"
"The hopper Adam loaned me has a locker full of top-drawer assault gear. Supplying computers to the Commonwealth must be dangerous work."
Karl chuckled. "High-paying, anyhow. You want me to let Stanislawski know where you are?"
"I'll tell him myself. What's happening in Toronto? Any trace of Drummond? I figure he's either hiding in Macpherson Tower or else the Servant of Servants took him away in the Haluk flagship for some strenuous debriefing."
"Maybe not. Makebate's gone."
"Shit—I didn't even realize the ship had survived Phlegethon!"
"Fake Helly drove her back to Earth, claiming he'd been held captive by Y'tata corsairs for six weeks. Since then Drummond has taken the ship all over the galaxy, overseeing the Rampart-Gala consolidation. He's even been to Artiuk, the Haluk GHQ in the Spur. No telling where he's headed now if he's driving that dazzle-boat of yours. A Macrodur security team checked Makebate's berth at Oshawa Starport and found her gone. She jumped the line and lifted off for an unspecified destination just before noon. That would have been shortly after Fake Sam called Drummond's code from the boardroom. The ship manifest listed a pilot named Helmut Icicle."
"That wiseass! Thumbing his goddamn nose at me... I'm surprised he didn't wait to see if Fake Sam regained control of the boardroom situation."
"Probably figured it wasn't going to happen," Karl said. "Think about it."
"Yeah. Well, it's probably for the best if Drummond just drops out of sight. We certainly don't want to bring him to trial. Let the galaxy believe that an anonymous Haluk was my double."
"There's no trace of Makebate's fuel signature within a hundred light-years of Earth. He's had all the time in the world to make a clean break. Zone Patrol's on alert, and Rampart has put a hefty price on the head of the John Doe perp who stole the starship. Makebate is so distinctive that Drummond won't dare take her to any important human world."
"Let's hope he ends up on Bumfuck-Beta in the Crab Nebula," I grumped. "What's the situation now in Rampart Tower? Have you been able to question Fake Sam?"
"Yes. The Haluk Grand Design is just what you suspected: a plan for conquest by subversion. Demiclones were supposed to infiltrate Commonwealth government agencies and the Hundred Concerns over a period of years. According to Sam, they already have a fair number of maggots inside the Concerns, but relatively few in the government."
"Did you ask him about Assembly Delegates?"
"Yes, but he had no information. I suppose it figures. Most espionage systems are compartmentalized."
"Tell me more about the Grand Design."
"No real surprises. While the demiclone insertion continued, Haluk colonies in the Milky Way were supposed to expand as rapidly as possible. They'd build up their starship fleets, their scientific and technical establishments, and their heavy industry, with help from unsuspecting humanity. Eventually the Commonwealth authority structure would be so riddled with alien subversives that it would fall without much of a fight. Sam didn't know the precise Grand Design timetable. That's in the hands of the Haluk Council of Nine."
"Not the Servant of Servants?" I was surprised.
"Sam said the SSL concocted the original scheme, but he ultimately answers to the Nine. Their offices are hereditary and they act as repositories of racial wisdom and conscience. They don't overrule the Servant very often, though. He receives his authority directly from the Haluk common people—hence his title."
"Interesting. Did Fake Sam know whether an imminent attack on humanity is being contemplated?"
"No. He isn't privy to military strategy. He was trained in human corporate law and only assumed his position a couple of months ago. It was fortuitous that he went to Rampart rather than some other Concern. It's not easy for the Haluk to insert ringers in really high places without arousing suspicion, so they're forced to wait until an appropriate opportunity presents itself. The real Sam Yamamoto was granted an extensive leave of absence not long after you took off for Phlegethon, with the understanding that he'd be promoted and raised to the board on his return. It was a perfect setup for the Haluk to plug in their man."
"Did you find out what happened to the real Sam?"
"The demi says he's locked up in Macpherson Tower. The Haluk kept him alive for what the fake called 'coerced consultation.' There are nearly three hundred other DNA donors being held prisoner there for the same reason. Not all from Rampart."
"Christ! ... Karl, we've got to do something about them before the Haluk decide to eliminate incriminating witnesses."
"I've already got Hector working on it. There's no way short of a declaration of war that CCID or ECID can search an alien embassy without permission. But embassies have been stormed by inflamed mobs of citizens before. I guess it all comes down to the principle you quoted in your infamous Wall Street Journal interview: we can do whatever we please, so long as we don't give a damn about the consequences."
"Kelly's Rules," I murmured, "come back to haunt me. Okay. Do it! Just have Hector and his hooligans wait until after Toronto's 2300 hour newscast... Did Fake Sam give you the names of other demi agents inside Rampart?"
"So far we have Amadeo Outline, our biggest fish, thirty-six Internal and External security people ranging from colonel to grunt, and forty-five relatively low-ranking personnel in the Finance and Data Processing departments. Sam also named twelve high-ranking executives working for other Haluk Consortium Concerns. They were the only outsiders he could recall offhand. I've already passed that information on to CCID and ICS. We'll get more names out of Sam during the next interrogation session when we go to deep-probe. He's resting now."
"Right. Now tell me about Amadeo Guthrie."
"Pure gold!" Karl grinned triumphantly. "He opened a secret file in his personal computer that listed over sixty demiclones in crucial Rampart fleet positions on Seriphos, Tyrins, Hygeia, Asklepios, and Caduceus. Dispatchers, Fleet Security starship officers, even an Assistant Maintenance Chief at Seriphos Starport. With luck, they're being rounded up right now. We're getting the situation under control."
"Karl, I want the names of all Rampart demiclones in custody released to the media in time for tonight's late news posting. We need to arouse public opinion—make the invasion of Macpherson Tower morally justifiable."
"I can't release the names myself, Helly. I don't have the authority. If I leaked them anonymously, only the tabloids would pick them up. You need the information posted on legitimate media sites."
"All right, I'll talk to Eve about it. You pass the names on to her immediately, along with any other confession material that might make a splash. Just one last question: When your gang did the secret DNA testing of the Assembly Delegates, did they find any ringers?"
"Not a one. We tested a fair number of staffers, too. They were all human seve
n months ago."
"Okay. Keep up the good work. And let me know how Hector's plan to storm the embassy shapes up."
I ended the call, got myself a cup of coffee from the hopper's tiny galley, and drank it down scalding, cursing the impossibility of having a real drink for at least two more hours. I could have used some Dutch courage before making the call to Eve, which would determine whether Joanna and I continued on to Kingfisher Lodge or returned to Toronto.
Under normal circumstances, even with the Haluk out to fry my fanny, I'd probably have stayed at Rampart Tower and worked with the others on damage control, at least until after the Assembly vote. But I wasn't normal—not mentally and certainly not physically. I was walking wounded and desperately in need of a timeout. Trouble was, I was afraid my older sister might be, too.
She picked up on the third buzz.
"What is it?" Her face was haggard but her hair was still perfect. She recognized me instantly and didn't flinch.
"I'm on my way to a safe house. I plan to stay undercover for a while until I'm certain the Haluk aren't still gunning for me. I'll keep in close touch with you and with Karl Nazarian and Adam Stanislawski."
"Gunter Eckert will also want to confer with you," she said crisply. "Will you let me have your phone code?"
I gave it to her. "Tell Gunter I'll talk to him tomorrow, after the vote. Till then I'm incommunicado unless the world falls down. I've got a serious case of combat fatigue, and if I want to function tomorrow, I'll have to get some sleep. How are you holding up, Evie?"
Her eyes were focused firmly on mine. "I'm coping ... Asa. The police action in the tower has quieted down. Simon has retired to his tower suite. The other members of the Board of Directors are still here, helping to normalize the situation in whatever way they can. John Ellington will be wire-pulling and whip-cracking all night. I've spent most of my time talking to Cousin Zed and Matt Gregoire on Seriphos. Rampart ExSec starships are cooperating with Zone Patrol to organize interstellar surveillance over the Haluk colonies. Matt suggested we evacuate all civilians from Cravat as a precaution, and I agreed."
"We'll have to set up a heavy blockade around the planet. The best ships we have."
"They're already on their way. I understand the situation. Now."
"Evie—"
"You can trust me, Asa. I fully accept what you told us at the board meeting. I was duped and I feel humiliated and angry, but I'm not dysfunctional or in a panic. I'll survive this mess and so will Rampart. Just don't expect any warm gushes of sisterly sentiment for a while. At the moment, my emotions are on hold. There's too much work to be done."
"I agree. And it sounds like you have things well in hand. One thing I need you to take care of personally is the release of the names of all Rampart demiclones to the media. Do it in time for the Late Night Toronto newscast on PNN. Karl Nazarian will give the information to you right away."
"May I ask why you want to do this?"
"Have you been keeping in close touch with Karl?"
"He sends me hourly progress reports. I've only skimmed the latest one. The Perseus situation has occupied most of my attention."
"The Sam Yamamoto demiclone confessed that around three hundred human DNA donors—the real people who were exchanged for Haluk agents—are alive and being held prisoner inside Macpherson Tower. They look just like me."
"Oh, dear God."
"I want you to tell that to the media, as well as announcing the names of our missing people. Demand that every single one of the captives be freed immediately, unharmed. Warn the Haluk that dire things will happen if those people are killed or taken away. After the newscast, call up the Haluk embassy and formally reiterate your demand. Insist that it be forwarded at once to the Servant and the Council of Nine. If you can manage it, convince other Concern CEOs to do the same. A lot of those captives aren't Rampart people."
"But the Haluk will deny—"
"To hell with them! We want to arouse public opinion. Make our citizens receptive to the notion of a rescue raid on Macpherson."
"Asa, you can't!"
"It'll be a mob of outraged citizen protesters or some such thing," I said. "Nothing to do with Rampart. Would you rather have the captives dead?"
"No, but—"
"You have to do your part. Those people had their DNA stolen, just as I did. They've lost their human appearance and their identities. Alien interlopers have taken their places at work, lived in their homes, invaded the lives of their families ... Can I count on you to issue the statement, Evie?"
"Yes," she said, with no more hesitation.
Her old self.
"Thank you. There's one final thing you should know about." I told her how Karl had been deliberately infected with a debilitating virus by Haluk agents, and my suspicions about Simon. "Ask Karl to refer you to the doctor who was able to cure him. It's imperative that Simon no longer be treated by Rampart medical people."
"Those bastards," she hissed. "Those fucking blue bastards! I'll have Pop taken care of right now."
She cut me off.
I sat on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands, overcome with abruptly released tension, trying not to vomit up the coffee I'd drunk. Thanking God that Eve was charging ahead with her usual efficiency. That Karl and Hector and the others would continue to fight the good fight without me. That I didn't have to return to Toronto.
Joanna and I could continue on to the tranquil solitude of Kingfisher Lodge. Deliberately, I programmed my phone to accept only Cosmic Priority emergency calls. Then I lay down to catch a few winks.
We arrived at our destination in the Eastern Kenora region of Ontario just after 2115. With only starlight for illumination, it was difficult to see any details on the ground, so while we were still at cruising altitude I turned on the wide-scan terrain viewer with false color enhancement to give Joanna an idea of what lay beneath us.
It was a beautiful, forbidding landscape of rolling, snow-covered boreal forest, laced by rivers and streams and strewn with icebound lakes. To the south, beyond the arterial Albany River, lay the vastness of Nipigon Wilderness Park, a rugged outdoor playground in summer, nearly uninhabited in winter. Northward and to the east the land flattened into dense boggy thickets of black spruce and tamarack that extended without a single track all the way to Hudson Bay. To the west was the little town of Central Patricia, where only administrative personnel, service and transport people, and traders lived all year round.
We descended to a little over 2000 meters and hovered in preparation for landing. I switched to a close-up view of Kingfisher Lodge itself. The rambling one-story building was constructed of sturdy plascrete with an attractive faux-log veneer. It was situated on the shore of a moderate-sized body of water called Caddisfly Lake, frozen solid now and smoothly covered with snow. Dense stands of balsam fir and white spruce surrounded an open compound about three hundred meters wide. I knew that the defensive perimeter extended another 400 meters into the forest and the lake.
Aircraft casually overflying and scanning Kingfisher Lodge would think it was deserted, buttoned up for the season. The compound had no ground-based dissimulator, external force-field, or any other detectable high-tech defenses. The Kagi emplacements and less lethal intruder deterrents were well-camouflaged among the lake rocks and brush, as were the multiphase alarm sensors. No interior lights were visible from the air. Two of the fieldstone chimneys gave off narrow plumes of vapor, indicating that the heating system was functioning, although the thermostat was probably set at a temperature level too low for human comfort.
In addition to the main lodge, which had at least ten bedrooms, the establishment included a guard tower disguised as a backwoods food cache, an equipment building, a couple of utility structures, and a boat shed. Between the rear outbuildings and the main house was a snow-covered circular area about ten meters in diameter, a lidded hopper lift that gave access to an underground hangar carved from the solid granite of the Canadian Shield. A tunnel led from the h
angar to the house. Not part of the original design, hangar and tunnel had been added during Dan's year-round confinement, for the convenience of the resident staff.
"Now let me show you how we get inside our rustic fortress," I said to Joanna. "Since this is a Macrodur hopper, it doesn't carry any of the lodge's system links, so we'll use your new phone."
She took the instrument out of the inside breast pocket of her suit coat and I showed her how to call up the lodge-exterior command menu, deactivate the antiaircraft sensors and photon weaponry, and roll back the door covering the elevator platform of the underground hangar.
While I guided the hopper's manual descent, she took care of the landing preparations. Then she accessed the lodge-interior menu and tapped more pads to switch on room lights, crank up the heat, awaken the housebots so they could deal with our baggage, turn on the mattress-warmer in the master suite, and start a couple of hot baths.
"This is absolutely decadent," she said, laughing. "A backwoods technocottage! Look: I can light a fire in something called the master-suite snuggery. Doesn't that sound cozy? And the phone even wants to program the stereo. Would you prefer classical or jazz?"
"Both. How about the Undercurrent and Intermodulation albums with Bill Evans and Jim Hall. Then maybe Eine Kleine Nachtmusik."
"Perfect."
I reengaged the perimeter defenses. We were hovering now at a little over tree height above the underground hangar entry, which was over a hundred meters from the house. I turned on the Mitsubishi's emergency landing spot and saw something dash across the snowy ground and disappear behind one of the outbuildings. Joanna saw it too.