"Why sneak?"
"Ned Spinner. Remember?"
"Oh, right. Your classy owner."
"We clones have a saying: You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your owner. With luck, I'll be far into subspace before he misses me tomorrow night."
"You can't buy a ticket. Clones don't have credit."
Her smile was humorless. "How long do you think it'll take me to barter someone into buying me one?"
"No Realpeople will buy a shuttle ticket for a clone. It'd be like leaving your name and address at the scene of a felony."
"I have my-hey! You've still got my greencard." She stuck out her hand. "Give it back right now!"
"Don't have it with me."
"What?" If she hadn't been belted into her seat, I believe she would have leaped on me.
"Don't worry — it's safe. I told you" — thinking fast as I could now-"I left it with someone to see if it could lead us to Barkham. Didn't think we'd find him up here."
That seemed to mollify her a bit, but not much.
"I want that card back, Mr. Dreyer, and I want it soon."
"Don't worry. I'll get it back to you before the first shuttle tomorrow morning."
But I was going to put it to good use before then.
"You'd better. Because I don't intend to be anybody's property after tomorrow. I'll drop the — c from my name and be a free citizen of the outworlds. And nobody had better try to stop me."
She looked at me defiantly, as if daring me to protest.
"Fine with me," I told her. "Means one less clone on Earth."
She leaned back in her chair. "Maybe I'll run into your wife out there. Should I say hello for you?"
Didn't reply. Just stared straight ahead and whistled through my clenched teeth.
— 11-
Dropped her off in Dydeetown.
Don't know why they call it a town. It's just an old, old building on a short strip along the East River. Not a very imaginative building — big rectangular slab with lots of windows. Striking at night with all the red lights in the windows. Could have dressed it with a holo envelope, but people liked it the way it was. A landmark.
Learned a lot about Dydeetown during my last search. Found out it was named Aphrodite Village before my time. Guess that somehow degenerated into what we called it today. And long before that it had been called "the U.N," whatever that means.
Headed due east along the length of Long Island for the shuttleport that took up most of its eastern end. Glided into the third level of the short-term lot and went directly for the Safe Storage Service.
I’d done a lot of thinking during that long silent flight back, and had Barkham's scheme pretty well figured out now. A neat scheme, one he would have got away with if he hadn't been so greedy.
Or was it greed? Elmero had mentioned Barkham's reputation for burning everybody just for the fun of it. Almost a matter of principle with him. Maybe he hadn't been able to resist one burn too many.
Figured it ran something like this: As Yokomata's Number One Man and the guy in charge of the Zem sale, Barkham had free rein in setting up the deal. He took his time, allowing The Man From Mars to take possession of the Zem where the smuggler would be comfortably anonymous — the Maine coast, for instance. Meanwhile, Barkham had rented space in the Safe Storage Service at L–I Port and was pseudonymously courting a Dydeetown girl who could make the drop for him in Maine and then be forgotten. The Man From Mars would test the Zem concentrate, find out it was the real thing, then authorize transfer of payment to Barkham's unit in the shuttleport Safe Storage Service.
The only possible hitch after that would be picking up the payment from the Safe Storage Service — someone might be watching for him. My guess was that Barkham planned to have his Dydeetown girl pick it up and bring it to him. And then he'd leave her behind in the shuttleport holding her useless greencard as she was led away by the yellowjackets for trying to emigrate under a false identity.
And it would have worked too if he'd been satisfied with limiting his dirty doings to Yokomata and the clone. But no, he had to try and pull one off on The Man From Mars as well. The millions in gold — assumed it was gold — coming his way weren't enough. Had to spice it up by short-counting The Man From Mars. Were me trying something like that, I'd situate the blank vials in a circle around the center of the box, figuring anyone doing random sampling would select from the very center or the periphery.
Had to hand it to Barkham: He must have been either crazy or ultra-driven or the cojoniest dregger there ever was. On top of everything else, he had the audacity to try to sell the pilfered vials to Yokomata's biggest competitor — an added insult to his boss.
But somehow it went all wrong. The Man From Mars found out he'd been cheated; he caught up with Barkham, retrieved the missing vials, dealt with the cheater in his own inimitable way, and headed home. Why not? Had his Zem, and probably figured Yokomata had the payment.
But Yokomata didn't have the payment, and had no idea where to look.
I did. And I had the key to Barkham's unit — right inside Jean's phony, too-thick greencard. Why Barkham hid it there I'll never know. Maybe to keep it off his person and safe — he knew Jean would treasure it — or maybe the irony of it appealed to the same kinks in his synapses that made him want to cheat everybody he knew.
Didn't know and didn't care. The card was mine and that was all that mattered at the moment.
Stepped up to the counter of the Safe Storage Service. The card slipped easily into the slot. Waited for the contents of the designated storage unit to arrive. A standard packing case about the size of my head popped out of a chute a meter or so to my left. Anticipating the extraordinary weight, I picked it up without showing the strain, tucked it under my arm, and headed back to the short term lot.
The weight was pretty much what I'd expected: about 20 kilos. Just about the same weight Lynnie had been when Maggs took her away. Wondered if Maggs had carried her along this same path to the shuttle ramp, telling her about the exciting ride ahead and why her Daddy wasn't there.
Shifted the weight in my arms. Yeah, my five-year-old Lynnie had weighed just this much when she was taken from me. Started thinking of how it used to feel to hold her, and then thought of all the times I hadn't held her when I could have and should have, all the missed opportunities, all the too-busy, shouldered-aside chances to show her how much she was loved by and how much she meant to the emotionally inarticulate fool who pretended to be a father and a husband, chances that would never come again. Never, ever, never — Stopped and waited for my vision to dear. Didn't know what was wrong with me. Thought I'd shut Lynnie away in my mental closet, the one with the foolproof lock that only failed sometimes in the wee hours of the morning when it popped open and let out all the things I hide away to make everyday life bearable.
Tucked all the loose ends back in — I'm good at that — and hurried on.
Soon as I had the flitter airborne again, I opened the package. Lots of little black statuettes of Joey Jose, my favorite comedian, each about eight centimeters high, forty of them arranged in two double-decker rows of ten. By their weight I knew they were gold. Calculated that forty half-kilo pieces of gold came to a bit over two million Solar credits.
Swallowed hard. A lot of credit. More than I'd ever thought I'd hold in my lap.
Where to go? That was the question. Who did this belong to? By rights, the Styx Corporation had first call since it was the producer of the stolen Zem concentrate. But couldn't go to them — too many difficult questions to answer. Could play the old finders-keepers game but that didn't seem too smart. Yokomata would come calling if I suddenly got rich. Best to turn it over to her and have done with the whole affair. At least I'd collect the 50K bounty and maybe even a bonus for returning the gold too.