trail of his boss at the ‘port, but this was far more than
he’d hoped for.
"Okay, but this is between you and me."
He poured two beers and told Chandra about Weiss and the ships from
Verkerk’s World, Vega II.
Chandra looked up from his beer when Vaughan
stopped talking. "Could he be smuggling something to Earth?"
"More like someone —someone
he doesn’t want me reading."
"Wouldn’t this someone just leave the
ship wearing a mind-shield?"
Vaughan shook his head. "I have the authority
to take every traveller with a shield into custody and demand its
removal. Weiss wouldn’t want me doing that."
"Right." Chandra said. "But why
didn’t you just read Weiss’s mind?"
"Come on, think about it."
"He’s shielded, right?"
"As ‘port Director it’s within
his remit to demand that he’s shielded at all times. Who knows
what sensitive information us teleheads could get our hands on,
otherwise. Damned convenient for Weiss, though."
Chandra nodded. He looked eager, the ambitious law
enforcement officer faced with injustice. "So we’ve got
this guy going under a false identity running the ‘port and
letting ships in without the usual checks. Where do you go from
here?"
Vaughan refilled the cop’s glass from his
own bottle and called for two more. "There’s another ship
from Verkerk’s World due in at midnight tomorrow. I’m on
duty, though no doubt Weiss will find some excuse to get me out of
the way. Of course, if he wasn’t at the ‘port..."
"Wouldn’t he make sure the ship was
manned with guards under orders not to let you near?"
"He might, but that’s no problem. It’s
Weiss I need out of the way, just for a few hours—say, from ten
tomorrow evening until two in the morning."
He stared across the table at Chandra. "You
have enough on him to take him in for questioning, Jimmy. So haul him
in, don’t make a big deal of it straight away—maybe don’t
even let him know you know about his false identity. I don’t
want him spooked yet. I don’t want him calling off whatever
he’s doing here. Make it look routine, so he doesn’t
suspect we’re on to him."
Chandra was nodding slowly, mulling over Vaughan’s
words. "I could do that easily enough. I could pull him in on
his forged flier licence, say we’re having a sweep. It’s
routine; he won’t suspect a thing. I’ll book him for
driving with invalid papers and let him go at dawn."
"I’ll do my best to get aboard the
ship. I’ll let you know if I find anything."
They shared another beer, but Vaughan’s
silence must have spooked the cop. He quickly drained his glass and
said he’d be in touch.
Vaughan watched Chandra hurry from the restaurant.
He glanced at his handset. It was almost time to be setting off for
the ghats.
SIX : THE PRICE OF INTIMACY
Vaughan made the edge in five minutes and shared a
downchute cage with a dozen Taipusan cultists, a Hindu sect that
practised self-mortification as a means of purifying the soul. They
were naked and emaciated, old men with stick-limbs and long hair
matted into stiffened hanks. They had anointed their limbs and torsos
with grey ash and painted their foreheads with Hindi script. Six of
the group had arms or legs missing. One sadhu, reposing in a plastic
tray on castors, was a limbless torso, his huge member slung across
his abdomen. They were making their way to the burning ghats to eat
the flesh of the Hindu dead.
Vaughan turned his back on them and stared through
the mesh gate as the cage descended. He was aware of their minds
behind him. The collected energy of their thoughts hummed at a low
threshold, a deep, vibrant note sustained serenely without
fluctuation.
Through the mesh, which cut the scene into a grid
pattern, he watched the ghats come into sight. The dark margin of
he’d hoped for.
"Okay, but this is between you and me."
He poured two beers and told Chandra about Weiss and the ships from
Verkerk’s World, Vega II.
Chandra looked up from his beer when Vaughan
stopped talking. "Could he be smuggling something to Earth?"
"More like someone —someone
he doesn’t want me reading."
"Wouldn’t this someone just leave the
ship wearing a mind-shield?"
Vaughan shook his head. "I have the authority
to take every traveller with a shield into custody and demand its
removal. Weiss wouldn’t want me doing that."
"Right." Chandra said. "But why
didn’t you just read Weiss’s mind?"
"Come on, think about it."
"He’s shielded, right?"
"As ‘port Director it’s within
his remit to demand that he’s shielded at all times. Who knows
what sensitive information us teleheads could get our hands on,
otherwise. Damned convenient for Weiss, though."
Chandra nodded. He looked eager, the ambitious law
enforcement officer faced with injustice. "So we’ve got
this guy going under a false identity running the ‘port and
letting ships in without the usual checks. Where do you go from
here?"
Vaughan refilled the cop’s glass from his
own bottle and called for two more. "There’s another ship
from Verkerk’s World due in at midnight tomorrow. I’m on
duty, though no doubt Weiss will find some excuse to get me out of
the way. Of course, if he wasn’t at the ‘port..."
"Wouldn’t he make sure the ship was
manned with guards under orders not to let you near?"
"He might, but that’s no problem. It’s
Weiss I need out of the way, just for a few hours—say, from ten
tomorrow evening until two in the morning."
He stared across the table at Chandra. "You
have enough on him to take him in for questioning, Jimmy. So haul him
in, don’t make a big deal of it straight away—maybe don’t
even let him know you know about his false identity. I don’t
want him spooked yet. I don’t want him calling off whatever
he’s doing here. Make it look routine, so he doesn’t
suspect we’re on to him."
Chandra was nodding slowly, mulling over Vaughan’s
words. "I could do that easily enough. I could pull him in on
his forged flier licence, say we’re having a sweep. It’s
routine; he won’t suspect a thing. I’ll book him for
driving with invalid papers and let him go at dawn."
"I’ll do my best to get aboard the
ship. I’ll let you know if I find anything."
They shared another beer, but Vaughan’s
silence must have spooked the cop. He quickly drained his glass and
said he’d be in touch.
Vaughan watched Chandra hurry from the restaurant.
He glanced at his handset. It was almost time to be setting off for
the ghats.
SIX : THE PRICE OF INTIMACY
Vaughan made the edge in five minutes and shared a
downchute cage with a dozen Taipusan cultists, a Hindu sect that
practised self-mortification as a means of purifying the soul. They
were naked and emaciated, old men with stick-limbs and long hair
matted into stiffened hanks. They had anointed their limbs and torsos
with grey ash and painted their foreheads with Hindi script. Six of
the group had arms or legs missing. One sadhu, reposing in a plastic
tray on castors, was a limbless torso, his huge member slung across
his abdomen. They were making their way to the burning ghats to eat
the flesh of the Hindu dead.
Vaughan turned his back on them and stared through
the mesh gate as the cage descended. He was aware of their minds
behind him. The collected energy of their thoughts hummed at a low
threshold, a deep, vibrant note sustained serenely without
fluctuation.
Through the mesh, which cut the scene into a grid
pattern, he watched the ghats come into sight. The dark margin of
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