"Is something wrong?"
"Just clumsy. You startled me." He had never been comfortable with women. Especially those who attracted him so strongly, so suddenly.
It had been years since a woman had aroused him instantaneously. He considered himself with amazement.
The tough program did not keep his stomach from knotting, or his hands from shivering. It was silly. Adolescent. And he could not help himself.
He knew that he would bitterly recriminate himself for his weakness later. He always did.
He fumbled with the papers again.
She smiled. "Better let me do that." She knelt, shuffled his notes together.
Mona Lisa, he thought as he peered down her deeply cut blouse. Her mouth is exactly the same. And her face has the same shape. But freckled.
She wore no makeup. And didn't use anything but shampoo on her hair. She wore it brushed straight down. It hung wild and free, and had a hint of natural curl.
She's turned me into gelatin, he thought. He wanted to say something. Anything. He could think of nothing that did not sound juvenile, or insipid. But he wanted to know her. Wanted her.
"You work here?" he gobbled. His throat was tight and dry. He expected her to laugh.
He knew she was no employee. He had spent two days in Records already. She was the first person he had encountered, excepting the ratty old nurse who had explained the system, and who stole through now and then to make sure he did not leave obscene graffiti or drop a grenade down the toilet.
While he was keeping the cover, Mouse was alley-prowling, searching for the key that would open the operation. Prepared sound tapes made it seem he was hard at work in their suite.
"No. I came in to do some research. How about you?"
"Research. A project for Ubichi Corporation. Oh. Gundaker Niven. Doctor. Social Psychology, not Medicine."
"Really?" She smiled. It made her that much more desirable. "I guess you've heard it before. You don't look it."
"Yeah." He did not have to force much sour into his reply. He was a born homeworlder. That much of the cover was easy to keep. "You're from Old Earth, everyone thinks... "
The social handicap of an Old Earth birth, properly exploited, could be converted to a powerful asset. For no logical reason Outworlders felt guilty about what had become of the motherworld. Yet Earth's natives had made it the hell it was.
Escape was available to the willing. The willing were few. People with adventure in their genes had gotten out in the first centuries of space travel, around World Commonweal's Fail Point, during First Expansion, and other early migrations. Modern departures came primarily through the Colonial Draft, as Earth's planetary government sold huge blocks of conscripted labor in return for forgiveness of indebtedness. Those few natives who wanted out usually chose military service.
Niven did not suspect that she might be Sangaree. He thought he had scored the Old Earth point.
"You must be an exceptional man... Excuse me. That's rude."
"That's prejudice."
She handed him his notes, huffed, "I said I was sorry."
"Forgiven. I don't expect an outsider to understand Old Earth. I don't understand it myself. Won't you introduce yourself?"
"Oh. Yes. Marya Strehltsweiter. I'm a chemopsychiatrist. I'm doing my internship here. I'm originally from The Big Rock Candy Mountain." For an instant she fell back inside herself. "I have one more year to go."
"I've been there," Niven said. "It's magnificent." Oops, he thought. That was a screw-up. Dr. Gundaker Niven had never visited The Big Rock Candy Mountain.
"I miss it. I thought The Broken Wings would be exotic and romantic. Because of the name. You know what I mean? And I thought I'd get a chance to know myself. I never had time at home."
Niven frowned his response. He wanted to keep her talking, to hold her, but did not know what to say.
"The old story. I got pregnant young, got married, dropped out of school. Had to find work when he took off... Did that and went back to school both... " She smiled conspiratorially, winked, "It didn't do any good to get away. The pain came with me."
"Friend of mine told me you can't run away. Because the things you want to get away from are always inside you."
"An Old Earther said that?"
"We're not Neanderthals."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. You're right. It's down the chute. If it weren't for Luna Command and Corporation Center it would be back in the Dark Ages. I've had it. Want to duck out for lunch?" He surprised himself. He was seldom that bold.
"Why not? Sure. It's a chance to talk to somebody who hasn't spent their whole life in this sewage plant. You know what I mean?"
"I can guess."
"You on expense account? Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to be mercenary. But it seems like forever since I ate in a decent place."
"We'll find one." Anything, lady. Just don't fade away before I get organized and start talking my talk.
"Where the hell have you been?" Mouse demanded. Niven had wandered in after midnight. "I was getting scared they'd burned you."
"Sorry, Mom. Won't happen again."
"Shee-it. Doc found him a girlfriend."
"Hey! You don't have a copyright on... "
"All right. I know. Be cool. But give me a yell next time. Just so I don't get hemorrhoids from worrying. I got it."
"What? The clap?"
"Why we're here. It's stardust."
"We knew that. Why else this silly-ass double cover?"
"Not little stardust. Not small-time stardust. Stardust big enough to rate a Family proctor in an outback Residency."
"You mean the fat broad?"
"Yeah. She was here because Angel City depots distribution traffic for this whole end of The Arm. I'm talking a billion stellars' worth a month."
"You're talking out your butt. There isn't enough ship traffic to handle that kind of smuggling."
"Yes there is. If you don't really smuggle it. If you send it out from a legit source labeled as something legit. If you own the Customs people and the ships and crews and shippers... "
"Start over. You skipped chapter one."
"What's Stink City known for? Besides the smell?"
"Organic pharmaceuticals."
"Point for the bright boy. All the good organics they dredge out of the muck outside. The main reason Angel City is here. The Sangaree have gotten control of the whole industry. And most of the local officials.
"They parachute the raw stardust into the swamp. The dredgers bring it in. The field traffic controllers are paid to ignore strange blips on their detection systems. The stuff gets refined here, in the best labs, then they ship it out along with the finest label organics. Their people at the other end intercept it and get it into the regular stardust channels."
"How did you dig that out?"
"Ran into a man who knew. I convinced him he should tell me. Now, figuring how the Old Man works, he probably guessed most of it before he sent us out. So what does he want? The source. Us to find out where the stuff comes from before it gets here."
Niven frowned over the drink he had mixed while talking. "It is big, then. So huge it would take a cartel of Families... And you tried to tell me the Sangaree outfit here was... "
"The biggest, Doc. We just might be on the trail of the First Families themselves. And I know what I said. I was wrong."
"I'm thinking about retiring. We're really in it, and that's the only way out."
The Sangaree were a race few in number. They had no government in the human sense. Their major form of organization was the Family, which could be described as a corporation or boundaryless nation led by persons who were related. So-called "possessionless" Sangaree formed the working class.
The Family was strongly elitist and laissez-faire capitalist. Sangaree cut one another's throats almost as gleefully as they chopped up the "animal" races.