Part 1 (1/2)

The Paradise Game.

Brian Stableford.

1.

In the course of my long and somewhat arduous career as a galactic parasite I have often had occasion to feel that everybody hated me. Only once, however, have I had the occasion to take particular delight in such a state of affairs. That was on Pharos.

The day we made the drop I wandered into the shanty town that the Caradoc crew had knocked together for their convenience. It was mostly slot-together plastic huts, but the foremen and the managers and organisers had more impressive edifices made of cuprocarbon in order to emphasise the difference in status. As a town, it was a distinctly sloppy job, but no doubt they would get around to turning it into a pathetic imitation of civilised suburbia in due course. The s.p.a.cefield, of course, was the number one priority, and that was where all the attention was being lavished at the present time.

I strolled around the streets, getting my feet muddy, with no particular purpose in mind, for half an hour or so, simply taking inward note of the layout. The important part-the stores, the bars, and the nerve centre of the operation-was in a crescent to the north, with the social focuses at one end, the administrative buildings at the other, and the commercial element in the middle. Facing the concave arc of the crescent was a solitary hut above whose door someone had scrawled the words NEW ROME. The hut had presumably been supplied and sited by Caradoc, which would also have flown the representative of justice in from the nearest outpost of official law and order. Caradoc had a thriving private police force, naturally enough, which would be much better accommodated in the admin cl.u.s.ter. I didn't bother looking for it.

Feeling in the need of some sustenance after a long flight out from New Alexandria, I went into one of the bars. It was early evening, but Caradoc was taking things easy and only working one s.h.i.+ft per day, so it was free time and the place was pretty crowded.

The moment I walked through the door I got the feeling that I was unwelcome. I can't say that every eye in the place was suddenly turned upon me, or that I managed to stop the current of conversation dead in its tracks. But I was noticed. Not only that, but I was obviously expected. Word had gone around that the Hooded Swan had downed and the pilot of the Hooded Swan was very well known to the Caradoc Company. At one time, I had been a standing joke, thanks to Axel Cyran's mean streak and a small matter of a large salvage fee. But the matter of the Lost Star and four Caradoc s.h.i.+ps that went bang had turned that particular joke sick and sour in no time at all.

-How does it feel to be popular? asked the wind.

Don't you know? I countered.

I walked up to the bar, feeling unpopular but c.o.c.ksure, and asked for something that I could watch being poured out of a branded bottle. It's not that I suspected the barman of harbouring any evil intentions toward me, simply that I didn't want Caradoc's home-brew.

I gave the man a note, made sure he didn't short-change me, and then I turned around slowly to survey the motley contents of the room, like they always do in Western films. Some of them were still looking at me, but most of them had apparently decided to ignore me. It was the safest course. I smiled nastily at all and sundry.

This job, I said to the wind, I think I am going to like.

-b.a.s.t.a.r.d, said the wind, with implied disgust at the att.i.tude I was taking. Besides, he added, it's not your job. You're only along for the ride this time.

I was only along for the ride on Rhapsody as well, I reminded him. But I sort of got involved.

-Well, if you sort of get involved here, said the wind, you could be in trouble. I imagine this lot is boiling with rage about Charlot's being sent in to sort out their nasty little mess, without you interfering as well.

We're being paid to interfere, I pointed out.

-Charlot is being paid to interfere, he corrected me. Strictly speaking, the Library is being paid to interfere. You only fly the s.h.i.+p.

Want a bet? I asked him. Charlot's going to need a lot of help sorting this lot out. He's brought Eve with him to monitor, and he's bound to co-opt Nick as an errand boy. He'll find something for me to do. He won't want me sitting- around all day while he's paying exorbitant sums for my services. I'm an expert on alien environments, remember.

-Just because you've spent most of your life grubbing about in them doesn't make you an expert.

It sure as h.e.l.l beats education, I told him.

Which was, of course, true. Nothing teaches you aliens better than trying to make a living off them. I hadn't got Lapthorn's touch by any means-Lapthorn had the empathy, he could play it all by ear-but I got by. Low cunning, I guess, and a calculating mind.

I was in fairly high spirits, because this particular job really appealed to me. Not just because it gave me a chance to stroll around Caradoc property kicking Caradoc cats in the knowledge that n.o.body dared call me any dirty names, but because it seemed Eke a sound, safe, time-consuming mission. Anything which made the time go by was all right by me. Every day brought me nearer to the time when I'd be my own master again.

Pharos hadn't been on t.i.tus Charlot's agenda, of course -it was just one of those things which tend to crop up now and again. One of the penalties of being one of the most respected and responsible men in the galaxy. Even if he was mad.

In actual fact, it struck me as a slightly dumb move on the part of New Alexandria to stick Charlot with the job of arbitrating in a dispute which involved the Caradoc Company, after the coup he brought off at its expense in the Halcyon Drift, which was less than a year ago. But G.o.d and the Librarians-particularly the latter-move in mysterious ways. Maybe New Alexandria had good reason for riling Caradoc.

What had happened on Pharos was that Caradoc had adopted it as part of its bigParadise drive. Its initial survey teams, for one reason and another, had somehow overlooked a few million indigenes, and when the natives wandered out of the forest to watch the Caradoc bulldozers clearing ground, Caradoc had been strangely remiss about amending its official claims. Word finally filtered out despite the publicity blanket, and volunteers from a self-appointed protection agency called Aegis had suddenly started making a big song and dance about it. By the time they flew in a team of investigators and agitators, however, Caradoc had produced what it claimed was an agreement with the natives swearing eternal harmony with Caradoc and all its works. Allegations and counter allegations soon buried the processes of New Rome in red tape, and New Rome had called in New Alexandria to arbitrate in the dispute. The Library sent Charlot, who was, of course, its number one expert on alien/human understanding.

Caradoc's operations were, in the mean time, severely restricted. So here we all were. Four or five hundred Caradoc operatives-crack planet-tamers-kicking their heels and tending their machinery; a dozen a.s.sorted Aegis freaks stirring things; one solitary New Rome rep; plus the crew of the Hooded Swan. All very cosy. And could there be a nicer place to sort it all out thanParadise ?

From where I was standing, of course, it didn't look at all likeParadise . The inside of a bar is a long way away from anybody's idea ofParadise , except for a few un-rehabilitated juicies. I admit to being prejudiced against Caradoc, but I'd far rather have seen anyone else but it in charge of theParadise racket, if there had to be aParadise racket in the first place. And I guess there had. It's one of the facts of life.

There was a game of cards going on in one corner of the room, and I wandered over to get a look at it.

After all, I was going to have to do something to keep me sane while I was here. As I moved, I drew attention to myself again. People looked to see where I was going and why. I'd never known so many people interested in my movements since some comedian had looted a church on Jim-sun, and Lapthorn and I were the number one suspects. (They did eventually catch up with the real culprits.) As I said, the room was crowded, but the way before me cleared as I crossed the room. I never had to say ”excuse me” once. It's nice when people show you a little consideration, even if you do feel called upon to suspect their motives.

I kibitzed for a while, holding my half-empty gla.s.s in my hand without bothering to sip it to the dregs.

n.o.body was going to offer to buy me another one, and it was expensive stuff. Caradoc made its employees pay for their vices.

They were playing Doc Pepper, which was a good sign, because Doc Pepper is a game with a reasonable modic.u.m of skill attached to it. It testified to the amount of time these boys had to spare, because usually labour camps specialise in games where the money moves faster and the rules are simpler. Company men like to gamble rather than play games, unless they have enough time on their hands that betting pure and simple becomes a bit of a drag, in which case the purists among them will always turn to something with more bark than bite.

They seemed to be pretty orthodox players, which was a pity. It's always easier to take money off people who believe in luck. They didn't offer to let me join in. They didn't even make a nasty comment about kibitsers. They just carried on, looking up at me occasionally with pa.s.sive expressions.

My eyes wandered toward the door. It was ajar, and there was a face peeping through it. It was pretty dark outside by now, and the face was just a blur. At first I thought it was a woman-a company wh.o.r.e-but then I realised that it was just a little bit too grey. It was an alien. A native. I didn't know much about the natives except that they were humanoid, curious, gullible, and all female. Judging by the silence which fell as other people began to notice the strange presence and eyes fixed themselves upon the crack, none of the Caradoc men knew much more. Somebody leaned over and pushed the door open gently. The native stared in with obvious curiosity. The Caradoc crew stared back, with equally obvious curiosity. I'd thought my entrance was a good one, but it paled into insignificance alongside this new encounter.

”Come on in,” called somebody from the far corner, in a tone of heavily sarcastic welcome. The silence dissolved.

”Step right this way.”

”What'll you have?”

”Wipe your feet.”

The last remark brought forth a laugh. The laugh died as the alien moved forward slowly, coming into the full glare of the electric lights.

Her skin was covered in light grey fur. Her face reminded me of an owl, with huge, large-lidded eyes.

The eyelids moved slowly up and down, so that one moment the whole of the eyes were exposed, the next only a half or three-quarters. She had a sort of mane of lighter fur or hair descending down her back from the crown of her head, starting off in between her small, pointed ears. Her arms were thin and short, and she walked with her legs permanently crooked. She was naked, but thick hair covered her loins.

The man who'd pushed the door open now closed it behind her. He didn't have to move in front of it.