Charles Sheffield - The Mind Pool

“I’ll send the full specifications just as soon as I have them,” said Brachis.

The Margrave nodded and opened the outer door. “And after that I’ll need about three weeks. At the end of that time I’ll tell you how close I can come to what you want. And you will, of course, need to appoint a suitable intermediary. I dare not meet with just anyone.”

“Understood. I will make those arrangements.” The heavy door closed. All light vanished, and Brachis and Bester stood together in a moonless and overcast Earth night.

“Why Needlers ?” said Brachis, as they climbed to the top of the stairs and waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. “I looked over the Margrave’s whole lab, and I didn’t see one needle.”

“They don’t prick. Not any more.” Bester was peering around, in every direction. “That’s how it was done when method started, ages back. Way Margrave tells it, in early days, they were all biologists, playing around with female animals and producing offspring. No poppas.”

“Parthenogenesis, you mean. Lots of organisms propagate that way.”

“Yeah. Partho-that. Knew it was fancy long word. Biologists heated eggs, and put eggs in acid, and gave ’em electric shocks or poked ’em with needles. Sometimes egg developed, more often not. Then they got fancier and started new game. If you use hollow needle, real fine one, you can inject stuff into middle of cell. That way you get new DNA into nucleus.”

“King, when they taught you standard Solar, didn’t they ever mention articles? Let’s talk Earth-lingo. You’re making my head ache.”

Bester grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Fine by me, squire. Not many foreigners can talk Earth talk, so I tend not to use it with ’em. Anyway, after they learned the DNA injection and gene splicing techniques, the Needlers never looked back. They learned how to put duck DNA in an eagle, or spider DNA in a mosquito, or anything in anything. It’s a tricky technology, of course — if you and me tried it, the egg would die. But some of them are hot-shot good at it, like the old Margrave there. If you want it, he can make it.” Bester stared at Luther Brachis with vast curiosity. “Did he say he can make it — what you want?” Brachis did not answer. He could see fairly well, and he started forward. King Bester grabbed him by the arm. “One minute longer, squire. Never rush it, at night on the surface.”

“Wild animals?”

“You might say that. Scavvies. They come up out of the warrens at night, see what they can find. If you ever meet Bozzie’s Scavengers when you’re up here, you run for it and don’t stop. They’re tough and they’re mean. They’ll cut you to pieces for your clothes — or just for the fun of it.”

Luther Brachis was listening to Bester very closely, and taking in everything that he saw or heard. He was going to be visiting this place again, several times, and he had better learn how to operate here.

The steady breeze on his face was already less disconcerting, but the smell of decay — it must be dead plants or animals, crumbling away to unplanned and uncontrolled dissolution — made his nose wrinkle with disgust. There was a strange, whispering sound on all sides. It was the sedge, leaf rustling over leaf. He stared upwards. The cloud layer above was not unbroken, and in the open patches of sky he could now see stars, strangely soft-edged and subdued. They seemed to move and flicker as he watched.

Brachis saw the entry point to the lower levels, thirty steps ahead. “The work that the Margrave will be doing for me is none of your business.” The hook had been set back in the lab. Now it was time to strike. If King Bester could be caught anyhow, it was by the nose — his nose for curiosity.

“Of course, King, things would be quite different if I could be sure you were on my side. I could tell you a lot of things, then, and you could really be involved in them. There could be lots of jobs for you.”

“I can’t go to space, squire. It’s not safe up there.”

“Forget space. I’m talking down here, on Earth.”

Bester snapped his fingers. They had begun the descent now, in a slow, steady elevator that seemed to go down forever. “Try me, squire, just try me.”

“I’d like to. But it seems to me that you’re already working for Mondrian. Anyone who works for him can t work for me.”

“I don’t work for him — swear I don’t.”

“You were waiting for him, when we came out of the Link exit.”

“Not true, squire. I wasn’t waiting for him, he came to me. I was waiting for anyone who came in from outside, because that’s where I get business. People want things — just like you wanted things.”

“Maybe. But if you work for me, we’ll have to start slowly, and carefully. You’ll have to prove you don’t work for Esro Mondrian. He’s smart, and he’s sneaky.”

“He frightens me, squire, and that’s no lie. I don’t even like to look at his eyes.”

“Then you stay that way. It’s safest. So you think you’re ready to do a job for me?”

“You name it.” Bester was almost too eager. “You name it, and I’ll do it.”

“All right. For a beginning, you can keep an eye on the product that the Margrave will be developing for me.’

“I will. But I don’t know anything about it.”

“You will — as soon as I have the full spec myself. I’ll send that to you, and I’ll want you to deliver it to the Margrave. Naturally, you don’t tell anybody one word about it. And I’ll want you to keep a close eye on it as it’s being developed.”

“He thinks he can make it for you when you don’t even know what it is yet?”

“I told him the basic idea. The Margrave will try, I’m sure of that. His pride won’t let him refuse. If you watch him closely, you’ll know how well he succeeds even before I do.”

They were back at the level where Tatty Snipes lived. She had arranged sleeping accommodations for both of them, in large, luxurious apartments. King Bester had rolled his eyes when he saw them, and given thanks aloud that he wasn’t expected to pay for them.

“One more thing,” added Brachis, as they came to his apartment door. “About the Needlers. Those products are wonderful. You could export them all over the Stellar Group. But you don’t.”

Bester fidgeted in his patchwork clothes. “Yeah. Well, they would, you see — if they was allowed to. But there’s a problem.”

“If it’s a question of export licenses — ”

“Not that. See, the Needler labs make all kinds of Artefacts, but all the best ones have something in common: The DNA in ’em is mostly human. That’s not permitted, but they all do it or they can’t compete. Remember Sorudan? Didn’t look human, I know, but there’s more human DNA in that Artefact than there is in the smart chimps in the transportation system.”

Luther Brachis shook his head. He went into his apartment without speaking. And yet King Bester had the odd feeling that he could not have given the big security commander more welcome news.

An hour before sunlight touched the surface far above him, Esro Mondrian was waiting in total darkness. He had slept for three hours after midnight, and awakened shivering and perspiring.

Tatiana lay at his side, one arm across his body. He eased away from her and moved slowly and carefully through into the next room. Once the door was closed he turned on a low-powered light and switched the communicator to whisper mode.

“Captain Flammarion?”

As Mondrian had expected, Kubo was awake. The wizened little man drank too much, ate almost nothing, and seldom slept. Both of them were awake twenty hours out of twenty-four.