I came back into Bradbury from the north, slipping in as the tail-end cat in an ore train down from Arlington Burl’s Enyo and Eris mines. Dusty and dented, we pulled into a dump yard and I slipped away without anyone paying much attention.
The legless dispatcher handed me a Null-Edit tape and a tightbeam message and shoved a reader toward me without a word. I went into my “office” and hunkered down on the toilet to see what Huo had to say.
If I hadn’t been alerted I wouldn’t have been suspicious. There Huo was, sitting at his desk at the General Anomaly office, looking cool and confident, but slightly troubled.
“Sir, I received your tightbeam and hurried to shoot one back for confidential taping.” He looked as earnest and as reliable as ever. “But, sir, we have to have more information. Who is trying to kill you? Are these trained personnel or local recruits? Did you recognize any of them?”
He looked at some red-backed reports quickly, and glanced at someone off pickup. “Mr. Thorne, we are investigating this as rapidly as we can. If you keep yourself handy we will get a complete report to you as soon as possible.”
Stay still, Thorne, I can shoot better that way. Moving targets are no fair.
“All other business is going well, sir, everything normal.”
Stay calm, don’t get worried, sit there until the target we painted on you gets dry.
“I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, sir.” He started to click off, but stopped. A frown of concern creased his brow. “And, sir, watch yourself.”
You bet I will, Huo-boy.
Was I being overly suspicious? Was the problem a fantasy of Bowie’s? Why, after all these years, should I doubt Huo? But Bowie was neither a drinker nor a psycho, and I had known his courage and loyalty for a long time.
I simply could not take a chance. I had to go back to Earth, and fast.
I ripped open the seal on the tightbeam message. It was from Sandler, and my heart sank. Expensive joke or poor swindle. Thorne here and in good health. Too busy to play games. Reporting your nonsense to Publitex. Sandler, Gen. Anomaly.
Either they had gotten to him, or the double was superb. I was suddenly sorry I had not worked out some sort of personal code with Lowell, but it was too late to do anything by long distance. I returned the reader and cached the tape and the message flimsy in case I needed them later, in court. But somehow I doubted that this sort of thing would be settled in any court.
I borrowed the dispatcher’s city communicator and called the shuttle office. “What’s the first ship back to Earth?”
“The Elizabeth II is going back in, oh, ten hours.”
“I have return passage for one, any class. Please verify. The name is Braddock, from Publitex.”
There was a long pause and when he spoke the voice was different. “Uh, listen, I have a message here, fella. Your ticket has been nulled. No credit. Sorry. I guess your company has cut off your air.”
Yes, I was certain they had. It was a cheap ploy, but it was momentarily effective. And a moment might be all they needed. I was so used to my Unicard that for a moment I was at a loss to figure out how to buy my passage. Then several alternatives occurred to me, from selling the goods I had brought to having someone else buy a ticket. I started back to the sandcat. I intended to tape a block of explanation and goodbye to Nova, look up someone to buy my goods, head for the Spaceport, and go.
At the Guild office I ran into Johann, who looked at me funny.
“Just the man I wanted to see,” I said, pulling him aside. “What do you offer me for the stuff I brought in?”
His eyes narrowed and he looked uncomfortable and found it hard to speak. “I need passage money,” I said. “Quick. I’ve got troubles, Johann. All I need is enough to get back.”
“You have nothing to sell, Braddock. They slapped an embargo on all your goods and sealed every container. There was some kind of notice from Earth and the Marine captain is looking for you. They say you’re a thief. Some kind of computer switch they say.”
I looked at him hard. “Do you think I’m a thief?”
“No. But they’re looking anyway.”
I was neatly boxed. I had no tangibles to transform into a passage ticket. But I might have an intangible. “Johann . . . have you ever heard of Brian Thorne?”
He looked at me narrowly. “He after you?”
“No. I’m him. I’m Brian Thorne.”
Johann looked around the bar and his eyes wouldn’t meet mine.
“Got any proof?” I shook my head.
“I didn’t think I’d need any.”
Johann looked into the middle distance and spoke slowly. “I don’t say you are, and I don’t say you aren’t, but I heard talk. The Robert Oppenheimer got in yesterday and there’s a lot of gossip going around.”
He paused, looking me over, and I indicated that he should go on.
“The talk is . . . that Brian Thorne has gone busted. It was only mentioned because he was the push behind the archaeological digs around here.” He was watching me for reaction, but I ignored him. So Huo had done more than gouge a few million. He had managed to shift everything. And Sandler either helped or was massively deceived. Probably the latter. They must have a good double, someone who had been in training for years.
Suddenly the full impact of it hit, emotionally as well as intellectually. I was busted, broke, and worse. I had killers after me and I was boxed up on a world almost without friends.
I turned back into an awareness of Johann’s inspection. I shrugged. “I’m Thorne. Braddock is just a getaway name, when I want privacy.” He shrugged back, indicating a neutral opinion. “I don’t blame you,” I said. “But I need to get back to Earth. Someone . . . several someones . . . are hunting me.”
Johann took another long look and shrugged. “I’d stake you, but I don’t think I have the cash. There’s something wrong with the net, too; we can receive but we can’t see, to send past the satellite. They ought to have it fixed in a day or so. I could get a message through to my bank and have the passage paid for at that end, but . . .”
“Never mind. Thank you. I’ll go see the Sunstrums.” He nodded agreement. I went out of the bar and was heading toward the sandcat lot when they tried again.
This time I was alert and ready. I took my time making an approach to the sandcat. I stood between two big fertilizer drums and studied the hiding places within sight of the quickest transportation back to the landing field. Everything seemed to be normal. Or as normal as I imagined it should be. There were two dusty drivers checking shocks on the second ore transporter and one lone miner doing some welding on a batter stripper with the Arlington Burl logo.
I edged out and walked quickly and purposefully toward the cat. I was reaching up toward the latch when the door sizzled and the paint boiled and popped.