Read Online Asgard's Secret by Brian Stableford - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Stableford
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the truth,
your expectation of getting down into the lower levels in your own time and on
your own terms is under threat. I only hope you care enough to try to figure
out what the hell is going on—and to do something about it before my time runs
out."
I was confident of
the first part of that hope. The Tetrax had to care enough about what Saul
Lyndrach might have found to worry about Amara Guur getting his hands on it—
but I was all too well aware that it wasn't at all the same thing as caring
what might happen to me. If the Tetrax concluded that the sensible thing to do
was to let Amara Guur do their spadework for them, they probably wouldn't be in
the least interested in subverting his plans—which meant that from my point of
view, they might as easily be reckoned deadly enemies as potential allies.
I really did need a
miracle.
I tried to call
Saul Lyndrach, and wasn't overly surprised when I failed.
Then I phoned
74-Scarion at Immigration Control and asked whether he had any information on
Myrlin's whereabouts. 74-Scarion admitted some slight concern, but assured me
that the newcomer's disappearance was a minor matter—a mere technicality,
unworthy of serious investigation. I didn't
know whether to believe him or not.
Then I rang
Aleksandr Sovorov, and said: "You've got to get me out of this, Alex.
There's no one else I can turn to."
"I'm sorry,
Rousseau," he said, "but I don't see the necessity."
He didn't know that
he was quoting Voltaire, but that didn't make me feel any less ignominious a
beggar.
"I didn't do
it, Alex," I told him.
"Actually,"
he admitted, "I never thought you had. But if you couldn't prove it to the
court, I don't see what I can do."
"Come on,
Alex. The C.R.E. must be interested in the fact that Amara Guur's planning a
looting expedition. He thinks he knows a way into the lower levels."
"Rousseau,"
he said, obviously forgetting the fact that I'd instructed him to call me
mister as well as the fact that he'd earlier felt free to call me Michael,
" everybody thinks he knows a way into the lower levels. Do you know how many people come
to us with tales like Lyndrach's?"
"No," I said,
feeling some slight relief at having made progress enough with the mystery to
be certain that Saul had gone to the C.R.E. with whatever he'd found, "but I do know what happens
when their applications get booted into touch by your stupid committees. Somebody believed him, Alex—or thought his claim was worth taking
seriously enough to rat him out to the vormyran mafia."
"We can't
investigate every silly rumour that comes our way," he said. "The
sillier they sound, the less inclined we are to take them seriously."
"Exactly how
silly did this one sound?" I asked.
"I can't talk
to you about C.R.E. business," he told me. "You're a convicted
murderer calling from a prison cell, for heaven's sake."
"Just get me
out, Alex. I'll take any reasonable offer, to stay out of Amara Guur's
clutches."
"I'd really
like to help," he assured me, "but my hands are tied."
"And your fat
arse is bolted to your well-upholstered chair," I retorted. "There
are two hundred humans on Asgard, Alex—some of them have got to be capable of
caring about Saul, if not about me. If you can find him before my time's up—or
Myrlin the jolly giant—you might be able to get something going. If the Tetrax
can't find them, somebody must be hiding them, and that somebody is far more
likely to be human than alien. You have to find them, and persuade them to tell
the Tetrax what's going on."
"Do you think
I'm some kind of miracle-worker?" he complained.
"Nothing less
will do," I assured him. "A miracle-worker is what I need."
"Well, I'm
not," he informed me, unnecessarily. "I'll ask around, but I'm
warning you, Rousseau—if this business ends up harming my position in the
C.R.E., I'm going to be extremely annoyed."
"Well, if I don't
end up dead, I'll just have to carry that on my conscience."
"You're not
much of a diplomat, are you?" he
your expectation of getting down into the lower levels in your own time and on
your own terms is under threat. I only hope you care enough to try to figure
out what the hell is going on—and to do something about it before my time runs
out."
I was confident of
the first part of that hope. The Tetrax had to care enough about what Saul
Lyndrach might have found to worry about Amara Guur getting his hands on it—
but I was all too well aware that it wasn't at all the same thing as caring
what might happen to me. If the Tetrax concluded that the sensible thing to do
was to let Amara Guur do their spadework for them, they probably wouldn't be in
the least interested in subverting his plans—which meant that from my point of
view, they might as easily be reckoned deadly enemies as potential allies.
I really did need a
miracle.
I tried to call
Saul Lyndrach, and wasn't overly surprised when I failed.
Then I phoned
74-Scarion at Immigration Control and asked whether he had any information on
Myrlin's whereabouts. 74-Scarion admitted some slight concern, but assured me
that the newcomer's disappearance was a minor matter—a mere technicality,
unworthy of serious investigation. I didn't
know whether to believe him or not.
Then I rang
Aleksandr Sovorov, and said: "You've got to get me out of this, Alex.
There's no one else I can turn to."
"I'm sorry,
Rousseau," he said, "but I don't see the necessity."
He didn't know that
he was quoting Voltaire, but that didn't make me feel any less ignominious a
beggar.
"I didn't do
it, Alex," I told him.
"Actually,"
he admitted, "I never thought you had. But if you couldn't prove it to the
court, I don't see what I can do."
"Come on,
Alex. The C.R.E. must be interested in the fact that Amara Guur's planning a
looting expedition. He thinks he knows a way into the lower levels."
"Rousseau,"
he said, obviously forgetting the fact that I'd instructed him to call me
mister as well as the fact that he'd earlier felt free to call me Michael,
" everybody thinks he knows a way into the lower levels. Do you know how many people come
to us with tales like Lyndrach's?"
"No," I said,
feeling some slight relief at having made progress enough with the mystery to
be certain that Saul had gone to the C.R.E. with whatever he'd found, "but I do know what happens
when their applications get booted into touch by your stupid committees. Somebody believed him, Alex—or thought his claim was worth taking
seriously enough to rat him out to the vormyran mafia."
"We can't
investigate every silly rumour that comes our way," he said. "The
sillier they sound, the less inclined we are to take them seriously."
"Exactly how
silly did this one sound?" I asked.
"I can't talk
to you about C.R.E. business," he told me. "You're a convicted
murderer calling from a prison cell, for heaven's sake."
"Just get me
out, Alex. I'll take any reasonable offer, to stay out of Amara Guur's
clutches."
"I'd really
like to help," he assured me, "but my hands are tied."
"And your fat
arse is bolted to your well-upholstered chair," I retorted. "There
are two hundred humans on Asgard, Alex—some of them have got to be capable of
caring about Saul, if not about me. If you can find him before my time's up—or
Myrlin the jolly giant—you might be able to get something going. If the Tetrax
can't find them, somebody must be hiding them, and that somebody is far more
likely to be human than alien. You have to find them, and persuade them to tell
the Tetrax what's going on."
"Do you think
I'm some kind of miracle-worker?" he complained.
"Nothing less
will do," I assured him. "A miracle-worker is what I need."
"Well, I'm
not," he informed me, unnecessarily. "I'll ask around, but I'm
warning you, Rousseau—if this business ends up harming my position in the
C.R.E., I'm going to be extremely annoyed."
"Well, if I don't
end up dead, I'll just have to carry that on my conscience."
"You're not
much of a diplomat, are you?" he
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