He truly didn’t like this man, Reaux decided. He hadn’t been sure, but he was rapidly solidifying his opinion that Gide’s presence was not friendly to him. He remotely feared he might be the object of an Earth-originated political sandbagging—in which case, Gide would certainly find fault with minute details, and even try to meet with Lyle Nazrani or God knew what other thorn in his side, second and third generation as they were, and ordinarily not acceptable sources.
But he wasn’t without his defenses. He decided to challenge the threat head-on, foolish or not. He asked, again in his native language: “What actually brings you here, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Classified.”
“If I can possibly be of assistance in your mission, I’ll be happy to put my security personnel at your disposal.”
“I’m sure you will.” Conversation thudded to a stop.
The car, thank God, likewise reached its level and sector, and stopped. As it opened its doors, more security waited for them, in a large corridor, a towering ten-deck vista distinguished by interior landscaping, balconies graced with flowers and vines that spilled luxuriously over the edges. It was an Earther district. It was one of two such residential zones— notthe one where he had his own apartment. He’d wanted distance between himself and Gide, no hint of personal invitations. Given Kathy’s current state of rebellion, and given the hair, which by Kathy’s attitude, could be green tomorrow, he was very glad to have his teenaged daughter half a kilometer removed from the Earth envoy, no commotions on the doorstep, no teenaged swains below Kathy’s balcony putting on a show for the neighbors.
And he was equally determined now that he wouldn’t bring Gide near Judy, near his belongings, to criticize what he saw, doubtless ever so inferior a circumstance than Mr. Gide was accustomed to. Damnedif he’d invite this monstrosity into his home.
“Pleasant,” Gide said, however, viewing the architectural, floral marvel of Concord Street. “Pleasant enough.”
“You’ll note recognizable species,” Reaux said, addressing Earthly prejudices, head-on, doggedly pushing the local virtues, and the truths Earth rejected. “All the species genetically pure. Three hundred years of tests, not only here for aesthetic value, but as an ongoing biological experiment, on the one station of course potentially most exposed to unfortunate elements. The plants remain quite clean. The human population and test animals, likewise.”
“Very impressive display.”
“Thank you.” Finally. A reasonable reaction out of the man. Maybe Gide had a human heart. Maybe he’d felt stupid, about ending up at Customs. Maybe it was the middle of his sleep cycle. “This way, Mr. Ambassador, if you will.”
They entered a gardened close, past hundred-year-old trees and blooming shrubs, a tropic paradise. Reaux had particularly hoped this display would soothe and please their visitor.
“And in less clean areas of this station?” Gide asked. “No problems there?”
“No runaways on the entire station, nor in its two predecessors, ever.” Technically answered, but correct. “We’re quite fanatic about our checks and inspections, Mr. Ambassador. We’ve had a few incidents in years past, but nothing has ever gotten past our defenses. And here we are…” They’d reached the door of the sole apartment that owned this tropical nook. “A trilevel apartment, sole dwelling in this close. I hope you’ll find it comfortable. Broad doorways throughout. Security you can set to your own codes. It’s a Berger system—I trust you’re familiar…”
“Adequately. Not the best system, but I’m sure adequate against what your local threats can muster.”
Reaux set his jaw and smiled resolutely as security personnel remotely opened the door. Gide could set the lock to his own voice—not that the system was in any way likely to mistake his physical appearance. He fervently hoped the mistaken foray to the Customs Plaza would discourage further adventures.
Gide glided in. Again that curious turn of the sphinx’s head, this way and that.
An upward look, then, to the towering internal balcony of the apartment, with its artificial skylight, the illusion of Earth’s blue sky and cloud, with plants cascading off the upstairs balcony rail. Little difference between the garden outside and this one inside, in abundance of flowers.
“Unique among stations I’ve visited,” Gide said. “Excellent.”
“I’m very gratified.” He actually was—and despised his own gut reaction. He hoped Gide might quit the games and get down to business now. He glanced at the security agents, shifted his eyes toward the door. They sensibly took their cue and retreated outside.
The door shut.
“Security will be within your call, sir. Should you wish anything, at any hour, they will bring it.”
“I’ve come onto this station to see what’s here. If I only wished to be locked in a room, I could have spared the expense and the trouble of this rolling containment. I shall come and go as I please.”
“Of course. Absolutely as you please.” Stubborn. So bringing station transport to a halt once in a day wasn’t enough. Dortland’s men would follow discreetly, however, if Gide left the apartment.
The sphinx turned 360 degrees, glided forward to examine a precious vase.
Extruded a fuming blue-violet hand and picked it up.
Astonishing. The simulacrum wasn’t just an appearance. It had hands, eyes that, yes, by that look aloft, must actually see. The hands could touch. Could they feel? Had they strength to crush that vase as well as cradle it?
“Local pottery?”
Distinctive zigzag pattern, a fine blue glaze. “Imported. Based on transmission from Aldestra surface.” It only appeared to be native clay, one of the Ruined Worlds, art objects being all the rage these days, traded between Orb, Apex, and Concord. Ferociously expensive, part of an estate, like this whole apartment. One hoped Gide wouldn’t drop it. Or take it for an insult that the thing was here.
A native-world item in Gide’s apartment, however harmlessly a replication. Security setup had had an utter lapse of common sense.
“Interesting.” Gide set it carefully down on the table. His grip had left frosted prints on its surface, condensation of moisture in the air.
That grip…could do that. Could burn skin.
“From Aldestra surface,” Gide said mildly, “but a copy?”
“The analytic portion of the technology was soft-landed. No actual material moved from the gravity well. Only the holographic information. It’s completely synthesized, including the clay. And scanned for any biologic inclusion.”
“And locals on Aldestra surface know how to run the apparatus.”
Aldestra wasn’t reputed for civilization. “They don’t need to. They put in what we image we want. They get something in return.”
“You trade in such things.”
Reaux gathered his courage and took a deliberate chance, plenty to lose, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, he decided. “Aldestra Station has extensive trade in native art. Perfectly clean and proved clean over a long period of time.”
“Curious notion. Curiousnotion. A whole human universe stranded on those planets. Their intellectual invention, largely independent of the cultural stream from Earth, must be very diverse from the norm. Yet the thing has the look of native terrestrial artifacts.”
Scary, dancing down the brink of anathema. “A pot is a pot, I suppose. Made on a wheel, it’s round.”
“Is it?”
“Made on a wheel? So I’m informed. There’s a good deal to recommend their efforts. Their artisticdiversity.”
“And their genetic diversity?” Pointed question.
“Absolutely never gets off the planet. As nothing gets off Marak’s World, below us.”
“Certainly this art object is a climb up the ladder for Aldestra. But genetically, do we think, is this new culture, this new genetic model—a climb up the ladder for the human race?”