The technician standing by the bedside recoiled and looked at Tatty for support. She stepped forward.
“I gave the directive,” she said. These people were only following orders.”
Mondrian had been trying to sit up. Now he sank back on the pillow. “You? You have no authority here. Why would people even listen to you?”
“No problem. I gave the orders in writing, and I used the seal of your own office.” Tatty sat down on the edge of the bed. “If you expect me to say I’m sorry, forget it. And if you claim I did the wrong thing, I’ll have you sent back for more scans of your head.”
The medical technician stared at her in horror, then up to the ceiling as though expecting a lightning bolt.
“Don’t fret and fume, Esro,” went on Tatty calmly. “The medical opinions were unanimous. You could have died. Your chances of full recovery went up dramatically if you remained in bed and under full sedation for a week. So that’s what I authorized. The week’s up, and you’re doing well.”
Mondrian shook his head, then gasped at the pain it produced. “A week! My God, Tatty, you make me unconscious for a whole week, and act as though it’s nothing. In a week the whole system could go to hell.”
“It could. But it didn’t. Commander Brachis took care of everything in your absence.”
“Brachis! You think that’s going to make me feel better?” Mondrian made another attempt to sit upright. “He had a free hand to do what he liked with my operations and my staff, and you encouraged it?”
“Correct. He knew you would be worried by that, and he told me to give you a message. He assumes that the arrangement is on that you talked about before the attempt to kill you, and he will try to gain the ear of Ambassador MacDougal as you suggested. His main worry is that you won’t remember anything about the conversation. The doctors warned of amnesia.”
“I remember everything. Too much!” Mondrian put his hand to a forehead still coated with synthetic skin. “How did he escape injury? I know he was shielding you and Godiva.”
“He was injured, too. But his wounds could all be treated with local anesthetics. He refused painkillers, said they’d blur his mind. He must be made of iron.”
“Iron and ice. Or he used to be. Now he’s besotted with Godiva. I don’t know what he’s like any more. How is she?”
“Calm as ever. Didn’t get a scratch. Don’t ask me how — everybody else was peppered with metal fragments.” Tatty adjusted the line of the bandage around Mondrian’s head. “You know the Godiva Bird, she just floats over everything and comes out fine.”
Mondrian leaned back on his pillow under pressure from Tatty’s hand. “You didn’t detect any changes in her, then — before the bomb went off?”
“Before the bomb?” Tatty frowned down at him.
“Yes. I’m a bit fuzzy about those final few minutes, but something certainly seemed odd about her. You knew Godiva better than I did down on Earth, and you were very surprised when she came up here with Luther Brachis. So I wondered, when you were with her before dinner and Brachis and I were talking, if she seemed … well, different at all.”
Tatty sat thoughtful, while Mondrian lay back and stared at her through half-open eyes.
“I think I know what you mean,” she said at last. “She looks the same, and mostly she acts the same, but there’s at least one difference. Whenever I met Godiva down on Earth she was always very conscious of money. Not stingy, exactly, but she talked all the time about her need to earn more. She must have had a fortune stashed away somewhere, because she was the highest-priced escort on the planet and yet she always lived cheaply — simple food, simple clothes. She couldn’t have been spending anywhere near her income, and still she always seemed to want more. The other night, though, she never mentioned money for a moment. That’s a change, if anything is.”
“I agree. And here’s something for you to think about. According to Luther Brachis, Godiva didn’t have a cent when he brought her up from Earth — no money, no possessions other than her clothes.” Mondrian turned to the medical technician, who had been listening with open interest. “Don’t you have any other patients? How soon can I get out of here?”
“Two more days. And visitors have to be restricted to one hour a day.’
“That won’t do.” Mondrian pushed back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. “I have work to do. Bring me my uniform — at once.”
The technician looked to Tatty, found no encouragement there, and shook his head. “I am sorry, sir. I lack the authority to release you.”
“Fine. Go get somebody who does.”
As the technician scurried away Mondrian turned back to Tatty. “I suppose I’m going to have a fight with you, too.”
“Not at all.” As Mondrian rose from the bed, Tatty’s manner changed. She smiled coldly at him. “I looked after you when you were too sick to make your own decisions. I’d do the same for anyone. Now you are clearly getting better, and you can go to hell in your own fashion. I’m leaving Ceres. I already have my exit approval.”
“Using my office seal? Where are you going.”
“Home. Back to Earth. I’ve had all I can stand of Horus and Ceres.” Tatty stood up. “I suppose you ought to thank me for looking after you while you were unconscious, but I know better than to expect that. Anyway, it’s not appropriate. It was all my fault in the first place.’ “The bombing? What are you talking about?”
“That’s the other reason I wanted to be here when you woke up — to tell you that I was responsible for the attempt to assassinate you.”
“Tatty, you’re out of your mind. You didn’t do the bombing any more than I did. We were both victims of it. You were injured, too — I can see the scars still on your arm.”
“I didn’t do the bombing — but I caused it to be done.”
Mondrian reached out to take Tatty’s arm, pulling her back to the bedside. His grip was much stronger than she expected.
“Princess, you can’t make a wild statement like that and say nothing more. Are you saying you arranged for that bomb?”
“No.”
“So what are you saying? That you know who tried to kill us?”
“No one tried to kill us. It was Chan Dalton, and he tried to kill you. The rest of us just happened to be there.”
“Tatty, you’re gibbering. What are you getting at?”
She hesitated and evaded, but under constant prodding from Mondrian she told the whole story; of the long days on Horus, of her loneliness, of her growing despair with Chan and hatred for Mondrian; finally, of her use of Mondrian’s picture as an object for Chan to hate.
Mondrian listened quietly and sympathetically. At the conclusion he sprawled full-length on the bed and shook his head.
“Wrong, Princess. Totally wrong.”
“Prove it.”
“I can’t — but I’ll wager on it. Look at a few facts. First, whoever that waiter was, he wasn’t Chan Dalton.”
“He wasn’t a real waiter. At the restaurant they don’t know who he was.”
“Well, he was certainly dressed like the waiters at that restaurant. But waiter or not, my point is that he wasn’t Chan. Which means that Chan would have had to bribe him. Now, did you tell Chan beforehand where we were going to have dinner?”
“No. He didn’t know in advance — he says he just mindlessly followed us there.”
“So you’re telling me that Chan, who didn’t know where we were going, could in just a few minutes persuade a man dressed like a waiter to deliver a bomb to our table. That sort of thing requires careful preparation and planning. Where would Chan even find a bomb? He’s a recent arrival on Ceres, and he hardly knows anyone. He may look like a twenty-year-old, but in terms of adult contact with the world he s only a few weeks old.”