Juanito swung around, astounded, to look at Farkas.
“I will not listen to this,” the woman said. “You will go away from me this instant or I summon the patrol.”
Farkas said, “We have a project, Dr. Wu. My engineering group, a division of a corporation whose name I’m sure you know. An experimental spacedrive, the first interstellar voyage, faster-than-light travel. We’re three years away from a launch.”
The woman rose. “This madness does not interest me.”
“The faster-than-light field distorts vision,” Farkas went on. He didn’t appear to notice that she was standing and looked about ready to bolt. “It disrupts vision entirely, in fact. Perception becomes totally abnormal. A crew with normal vision wouldn’t be able to function in any way. But it turns out that someone with blindsight can adapt fairly easily to the peculiar changes that the field induces.”
“I have no interest in hearing about—”
“It’s been tested, actually. With me as the subject. But I can’t make the voyage alone. We have a crew of five and they’ve volunteered for tectogenetic retrofits to give them what I have. We don’t know anyone else who has your experience in that area. We’d like you to come out of retirement, Dr. Wu. We’ll set up a complete lab for you on a nearby satellite world, whatever equipment you need. And pay you very well. And insure your safety all the time you’re gone from Valparaiso. What do you say?”
The red-haired woman was trembling and slowly backing away.
“No,” she said. “It was such a long time ago. Whatever skills I had, I have forgotten, I have buried.”
So Farkas was right all along, Juanito thought.
“You can give yourself a refresher course. I don’t think it’s possible really to forget a gift like yours, do you?” Farkas said.
“No. Please. Let me be.”
Juanito was amazed at how cockeyed his whole handle on the situation had been from the start.
Farkas didn’t seem at all angry with the gene surgeon. He hadn’t come here for vengeance, Juanito realized. Just to cut a deal.
“Where’s he going?” Farkas said suddenly. “Don’t let him get away, Juanito.”
The woman—Wu—was moving faster now, not quite running but sidling away at a steady pace, back into the enclosed part of the cafe. Farkas gestured sharply and Juanito began to follow. The spike he was carrying could deliver a stun-level jolt at fifteen paces. But he couldn’t just spike her down in this crowd, not if she had sanctuary protection, not in El Mirador of all places.
There’d be fifty sanctuarios on top of him in a minute. They’d grab him and club him and sell his foreskin to the Generalissimo’s men for two and a half callies.
The cafe was crowded and dark. Juanito caught sight of her somewhere near the back, near the restrooms. Go on, he thought. Go into the ladies’ room. I’ll follow you right in there. I don’t give a damn about that.
But she went past the restrooms and ducked into an alcove near the kitchen instead. Two waiters laden with trays came by, scowling at Juanito to get out of the way. It took him a moment to pass around them, and by then he could no longer see the red-haired woman. He knew he was going to have big trouble with Farkas if he lost her in here. Farkas was going to have a fit. Farkas would try to stiff him on this week’s pay, most likely. Two thousand callies down the drain, not even counting the extra charges.
Then a hand reached out of the shadows and seized his wrist with surprising ferocity. He was dragged a little way into a claustrophobic games room dense with crackling green haze coming from some bizarre machine on the far wall. The red-haired woman glared at him, wild-eyed. “He wants to kill me, doesn’t he? That’s all bullshit about having me do retrofit operations, right?”
“I think he means it,” Juanito said.
“Nobody would volunteer to have his eyes replaced with blindsight.”
“How would I know? People do all sorts of crazy things. But if he wanted to kill you I think he’d have operated differently when we tracked you down.”
“He’ll get me off Valparaiso and kill me somewhere else.”
“I don’t know,” Juanito said. “I was just doing a job.”
“How much did he pay you to do the trace?” Savagely. “How much? I know you’ve got a spike in your pocket. Just leave it there and answer me. How much?”
“Three thousand callies a week,” Juanito muttered, padding things a little.
“I’ll give you five to help me get rid of him.”
Juanito hesitated. Sell Farkas out? He didn’t know if he could turn himself around that fast. Was it the professional thing to do, to take a higher bid?
“Eight,” he said, after a moment.
Why the hell not? He didn’t owe Farkas any loyalty. This was a sanctuary world; the compassion of El Supremo entitled Wu to protection here. It was every citizen’s duty. And eight thousand callies was a big bundle.
“Six five,” Wu said.
“Eight. Handshake right now. You have your glove?”
The woman who was Wu made a muttering sound and pulled out her flex terminal. “Account 1133,” Juanito said, and they made the transfer of funds. “How do you want to do this?” Juanito asked.
“There is a passageway into the outer shell just behind this cafe. You will catch sight of me slipping in there and the two of you will follow me. When we are all inside and he is coming toward me, you get behind him and take him down with your spike. And we leave him buried in there.” There was a frightening gleam in Wu’s eyes. It was almost as if the cunning retrofit body was melting away and the real Wu beneath was emerging, moment by moment. “You understand?” Wu said. A fierce, blazing look. “I have bought you, boy. I expect you to stay bought when we are in the shell. Do you understand me? Do you? Good.”
It was like a huge crawlspace entirely surrounding the globe that was El Mirador. Around the periphery of the double shell was a deep layer of lunar slag held in place by centrifugal forces, the tailings left over after the extraction of the gases and minerals that the satellite world had needed in its construction. On top of that was a low open area for the use of maintenance workers, lit by a trickle of light from a faint line of incandescent bulbs; and overhead was the inner skin of El Mirador itself, shielded by the slagpile from any surprises that might come ricocheting in from the void. Juanito was able to move almost upright within the shell, but Farkas, following along behind, had to bend double, scuttling like a crab.
“Can you see him yet?” Farkas asked.
“Somewhere up ahead, I think. It’s pretty dark in here.”
“Is it?”
Juanito saw Wu edging sideways, moving slowly around behind Farkas now. In the dimness Wu was barely visible, the shadow of a shadow. He had scooped up two handfuls of tailings. Evidently he was going to fling them at Farkas to attract his attention, and when Farkas turned toward Wu it would be Juanito’s moment to nail him with the spike.
Juanito stepped back to a position near Farkas’ left elbow. He slipped his hand into his pocket and touched the cool sleek little weapon. The intensity stud was down at the lower end, shock level, and without taking the spike from his pocket he moved the setting up to lethal. Wu nodded. Juanito began to draw the spike.
Suddenly Farkas roared like a wild creature. Juanito grunted in shock, stupefied by that terrible sound. This is all going to go wrong, he realized. A moment later Farkas whirled and seized him around the waist and swung him as if he was a throwing-hammer, hurling him through the air and sending him crashing with tremendous impact into Wu’s midsection. Wu crumpled, gagging and puking, with Juanito sprawled stunned on top of him. Then the lights went out—Farkas must have reached up and yanked the conduit loose—and then Juanito found himself lying with his face jammed down into the rough floor of tailings. Farkas was holding him down with a hand clamped around the back of his neck and a knee pressing hard against his spine. Wu lay alongside him, pinned the same way.