Charles Sheffield - The Mind Pool

“I have a way to reassure you fully on that question. When the ten Artefacts are in your possession, there will be no others. I’ll show you why — when everything else is settled.”

“With that understanding, you have a deal. I’ll set up the preliminaries. Ambassador MacDougal is busy with an Adestis safari — ” she waited for the snort of disgust from Brachis ” — but I should be able to see him by the end of the day. I’ll be in touch with you after that.”

She stood up, but now it was Luther Brachis who remained in his chair. “There is one thing more. A detail, but without it there can be no agreement.”

“For God’s sake, Luther. Drop the other shoe — and it had better be a small one.”

“I want Solar citizenship arranged for someone. Fast.”

“From one of the colonies? That takes time, even for me.”

“Not from the colonies. From Earth.”

“Then it’s easy. Who is he?”

“She. It’s a woman, Godiva Lomberd.”

“Why citizenship? Why not just a visitor’s visa?”

“I propose to engage in a contract with her.”

“Sweet charity.” Sheldrake’s face took on something close to a real expression. “A contract! What a day this is turning out to be. First you offer Artefacts, which used to turn your stomach at even the thought. Then it’s Luther Brachis, the invincible, with an Earth-woman. You must have told me fifty times that nothing good ever comes from Earth. You even had me persuaded of it. And now — a contract! My opinion of you must be revised. You are not a bear, you are a blind mole.”

“Insult does me no harm. But you will arrange for her citizenship?”

“If the Artefacts are what you claim.” Lotos Sheldrake glanced at the notebook on her desk. “We need to talk timing. I believe that everything I need to do can be finished within five days or less.’

“Then that’s when you will get the Artefacts. And the next day, Godiva Lomberd must link up from Earth.”

“It will be done.” Lotos moved with him toward the door. “And when she is here, I have a request: bring her to see me. I am curious to meet the one woman in the system who can make Commander Luther Brachis go soft in the head.”

“Do you have it with you?”

King Bester nodded and patted the bag that he was carrying. “Every last crystal.’

“Then come in.” The heavy outer door closed, shutting out the night sky of Earth, and the Margrave led the way to his private study. Bester had never been there before, and he stared around with open curiosity. It was a room that had been decorated with immense care, somehow blending to one harmonious whole the Qin dynasty terracotta horsemen, the Beardsley early prints, the original Vermeers and van Meegerens, and the computer art. In one corner, shielded from direct light, stood the bulbous form of Sorudan.

“Still got the singer, I see.” Bester nodded towards Sorudan.

“Yes, indeed.” The Margrave waved his visitor to an armchair. “I have been offered enormous amounts for Sorudan, but I consider it my prize creation. I will never sell. A drink, perhaps, to celebrate a successful transaction?”

“You bet, squire.”

Fujitsu examined the King closely, assessing the sophistication of the other man’s palate. At last he shrugged, disappeared into a closet in the corner of the study, and emerged carrying a bottle of pale amber liquid and two small glasses.

“Looks like good stuff,” said Bester.

“The best. Despite all our claims of progress, one cannot improve on perfection.” Fujitsu carefully poured two ounces of fluid into each glass and handed one to his guest.

Bester sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. He leaned his head back and drained the glass in one gulp. “Mmm.” He rolled his eyes. “Bit of all right, that. What is it?”

The Margrave glared.

“It is — or it was — one of the finest distilled liquors ever produced on Earth or off it. Santory scotch whiskey, cask-aged in the Hokkaido deep vaults, a single malt two hundred and fifty years old.” The Margrave took a first delicate sip. “Superb. When I hear of the nectar of the gods, I wonder how it could improve on this.” He shook his massive bald head. “Ah, well. Pearls before swine. I suppose we may as well get down to business. Did Brachis comment on the delivery?”

“Not a word.” Bester lifted the bag and placed it on the table between them. “I saw these counted in, and you might want to do the same coming out.” He saw the Margrave’s look. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t take any. This is just the way it was given to me.”

The bag was full of virgin trade crystals, their uncut surfaces gleaming a dull rust-red in the subdued light of the study. Bester lifted the crystals out in handfuls, examining each one and gloating over its quality before he set it on the table in front of Fujitsu.

“Best I’ve ever seen. Hey, wait a minute. What’s this doing in here?” Bester drew out a thin flat plate, round in shape and a couple of inches across. Unlike the other trade crystals, it had a smooth surface and no inner glow. “I know I didn’t see this one going in.”

At the touch of his fingers, the blue-grey disk came alive. There was a swirl of color in the center of the plate, resolving after a second or two to form a picture. A likeness of Luther Brachis appeared in miniature and peered out at them.

“Remember what you told me, King?” The tiny cameo spoke in a distorted metallic voice. “Any information you wheedled out of Fujitsu was supposed to come back to me alone. What happened to your promise? And you, Fujitsu. Why did you tell the King?”

Bester stared at the image with bulging eyes. The Margrave had knocked over his glass and jerked nervously to his feet.

“You didn’t keep your word, did you, King?” went on the tinny voice. “The Margrave told you more than he should have about the Artefacts — and you didn’t waste any time finding another buyer for the information.” The light from the small plate was steadily increasing. The face of Luther Brachis had almost disappeared, swamped by the glare of the brightening disk.

“That was a very bad mistake, King,” said Brachis, in distorted tones.

“Bester!” The Margrave started towards the door of the study. “Don’t touch the crystals — and get out of here.”

His cry was too late. Bester still held half a dozen crystals in his other hand. He wanted to drop them, but they were sticking to his palm. He shook his hand wildly, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge all of them. They had begun to glow, together with the ones on the table and in the bag.

“As for you, Fujitsu,” went on Brachis, “I don’t know how much you were in on the deal. I do know you were indiscreet. If you are otherwise innocent, you have my apology. I’m afraid that is all I can give you.”

The Margrave was at the door. He paused for a moment and pointed back. The ugly face was distorted with fury. “I hope you can hear me, Brachis. I will receive my due. My full due. That I promise you.”

He could not say more, because King Bester had begun a hideous high-pitched screaming and a mad capering dance around the study. The crystals in his hand were now incandescent. Lines of fire from them were spreading up his arm, running in blue-white sprays of sparks to his shoulder and across to his chest. The flames grew more intense. Fujitsu’s last glimpse of King Bester was of a brilliant living torch, a faceless column of fire that still screamed and leaped in impossible agony.

The Margrave ran through the laboratory, slammed the heavy door behind him, and dashed up the stairs that led to the surface.

At the top he froze. A new voice, inhumanly high and pure, added a counterpoint to Bester’s screams.