“How about military prison?” said Sparrowhawk. “You’ve run up a rather spectacular record of corruption…”
“Which is different from the rest of the Legion how?” said Harry, with the demeanor of an utterly reasonable man. “Alls I say is, you take care of me, I take care of you. Here’s what I got in mind…”
They talked for another hour, but at the end they had an agreement.
It was a beautiful morning. The air was clear and pristine; the temperature on the warmer side of moderate; and the sounds of birds (or something with very birdlike vocal equipment) wafted upon the gentle breeze.
Do-Wop stepped out onto the immaculately kept lawn in front of the hotel and sneezed loudly-twice. “Jeez, this dump makes me itch all over,” he said, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his uniform. “Can’t they do somethin‘ ’bout the air?”
“I think they already took care of that,” said Sushi. “Or didn’t you read the Mandatory Visitor and Immigration Notices they handed out on the shuttle down?”
“Who had time for that?” said Do-Wop. “I had twelve replays on the padouki console, best run in years.”
“Well, good for you. But all those replays kept you from finding out that because of the environmental regulations, the air here is the healthiest in the galaxy,” said Sushi, shrugging. “Or so the Hixians claim. Maybe you’re just allergic to uncontaminated air…”
Do-Wop interrupted him with another sneeze. “If this is healthy, gimme some industrial fumes,” he growled. “Where we goin‘ today, anyhow?”
“The captain’s staying in a little place a couple of miles away,” said Sushi, pointing in the general direction. “He must think Beeker’s somewhere in the neighborhood, so we have to work on the same assumption…“
“Why?” interrupted Do-Wop. “What if the captain’s wrong, and Beeker’s halfway around the planet?”
Sushi rolled his eyes. “If he’s wrong, we’ve got the whole planet to search-and no idea where to start. If he’s right, we’ve at least got a plan. Which way do you want to play it?”
“Depends,” said Do-Wop, wiping his nose on his sleeve again. “Is there somewheres else we could go look, where maybe the air’s a bit unhealthier?”
“Gee, great attitude from a guy who’s met Barky, the Environmental Dog,” said Sushi. “If you’d read the Notices, you’d have found out that the whole planet is a pollution-free zone, which means there isn’t going to be a whole lot of difference in the air wherever you go. So the best thing for you is probably to work your butt off trying to help the captain find Beeker, so we can get off this planet and back to Zenobia before your nose falls off.”
“That’d be a great idea except for the part about work,” said Do-Wop. “It don’t look like I’ve got a whole lot of other choices, though. So how are we gonna find ol‘ Beeker?”
“Good question, considering we already haven’t managed to find him on two other worlds,” said Sushi. “I guess the best place to start is to ask ourselves where we’d be on this planet if we were Beeker?”
“I already know that,” said Do-Wop. “I’d be on some other planet, where there’s some life. This place is way too laid-back for any city boy.”
“If that’s the way you feel, you ought to be even more anxious to get the job done and head for home,” said Sushi. “Come on, there’s supposed to be a row of touristy shops in the center of town. Let’s take a stroll down there and see if we spot our guy-or our Nightingale.”
“Aw right, aw right,” said Do-Wop. “I can’t feature Beeker doin‘ touristy stuff, though. You think the dude even owns a T-shirt?”
“For all I know, he’s got a hundred of ‘em,” said Sushi, as the two legionnaires started off toward town at a leisurely pace. “Who knows what he wears underneath that starched shirt of his?”
Do-Wop frowned, then answered, “For all I know, it’s purple antirobot cammy.”
Having exhausted the subject of Beeker’s wardrobe, Do-Wop and Sushi trudged along, staring at the pathway leading into town. Like most paths they’d seen on Hix’s World, it was paved with native flagstones, carefully chosen to harmonize with the scenery. It rarely held to an absolutely straight line, preferring gentle curves that followed the natural contours of the local terrain. A split-rail fence paralleled it on one side. It was thoroughly lovely, in a self-righteously rustic way.
Around the curve just ahead of them, there came a woman riding a bicycle. She saw the two pedestrians, and reached out to squeeze the bulb of an old-fashioned air horn mounted to the handlebars. Sushi and Do-Wop looked up and automatically moved to the side to let her by. It was only after she was past them and rolling around the next curve in the path that Sushi turned around and stared after her. “Hey, did you see that? That was Nightingale!”
“No shit?” said Do-Wop, wheeling around. “Hey, let’s go get her!”
But she had more than enough of a head start to outrun them both.
12
Journal #829-
After the rust and incipient riot of Rot ‘n ’art, Hix’s World came as a breath of fresh air. Quite literally-air quality standards were written directly into the Settlers’ Bill of Rights-in effect, the planetary constitution-by the members of the first colonization. Any device or organism known to emit any of 253 listed noxious gases or any of 728 listed noxious particles in atmospheric suspension was subject to confiscation without appeal. Noise regulations were equally stringent; certain musical instruments were officially contraband, unless accompanied by a certificate of performance proficiency from a recognized institution of musical education. Any performer not so certified was subject to expulsion from the planet.
What was remarkable about Hix’s World wasn’t the existence of the regulations-after all, any competent lawyer can probably think of dozens of equally stringent legal provisions around the Alliance. Nor was the total ruthlessness with which they were enforced especially odd; again, almost every society has at some time pursued a “zero tolerance ” policy regarding some practice it frowns upon. No, what set Hix’s World apart was the lack of dissent from the standards its original settlers had imposed upon the populace. Some ten generations after the settlement, the only changes in the environmental standards of Hix’s World have been their extension to irritants unknown at the time of founding.
Surprisingly, the result of all this thicket of regulation is one of the most tranquil worlds on which I have ever set foot.
“All right, we know she’s here,” said Sushi. “So Beeker has to be here, too.” He and Do-Wop sat on the low stone wall to one side of the footpath on which they’d been going into town when Nightingale-or someone who looked a great deal like her-rode past them on a bicycle. They’d dashed off in pursuit of her, but she’d had far too long a head start for them to catch her-though they’d certainly tried. And, whether she simply didn’t hear them or deliberately ignored them, their attempts to get the cyclist to stop had failed.
Do-Wop scowled. “Maybe you’re right, Soosh. But the way she was riding that thing, there’s no tellin‘ where she’s going. Could be miles from here.”
“Could be,” said Sushi. “But she was coming from Crumpton, which either means she’s staying there-and will be back, probably later today. Or it could be she’s staying someplace else close by and was headed there. In which case we’ve got a larger area to search…”
“I bet she’s still in town,” said Do-Wop, pointing in the direction in which Nightingale had gone. “Too early in the day for her to ride in, go shopping, and be done already.”
Sushi shook his head. “It’s after ten o’clock, you know-you may like to sleep all morning, but not everybody else does. She could’ve gotten up early…“