"You say Ron Tolliver has been shot?" he said at last.
"I didn't see it. I heard the Chief Proctor say so. Correction:
I heard a man who sounded like Franco, and the Manager treated him as such."
"Good enough. Hear hoofbeats; expect horses, not zebras. But I heard nothing about it on my way here, and I noticed no signs of excitement in this restaurant-and the assassination or attempted assassination of the second largest holder of partnership shares in this sovereignty should cause excitement. I was at the bar for a few minutes before you arrived. No word of it. Yet a bar is notoriously the place news hits first; there is always a screen turned on to the news channel. Hmm... could the Manager be covering it up?"
'That lying snake is capable of anything."
"I was not speaking of his moral character, concerning which my judgment matches yours, but solely of physical possibility. One does not cover up a shooting too easily. Blood. Noise. A victim dead or wounded. And you spoke of witnesses-or Franco did. Still, Judge Sethos controls the only newspaper, and the terminals, and the proctors. Yes, if he wished to make the effort, he could surely keep it hush-hush for a considerable period. We shall see-and that is one more item on which I will report to you after you reach Luna City."
"We may not be in Luna City. I'll have to phone you."
"Colonel, is that advisable? Unless our presence together during that few seconds at the bar here was noted by some interested party who knows both of us, it is possible that we have succeeded in keeping our alliance secret. It is indeed fortunate that you and I have never been associated in any fashion in the past; there is no probable way to trace me to you, or you to me. You can phone me, certainly... but one must assume that my terminal is tapped, or my studio is bugged, or both-and both have happened in the past. I suggest, rather, the mails... for other than direst emergency."
"But mail can be opened. By the way, I'm Dr. Ames, not Colonel Campbell, please. And oh yes!-this young man with us. He knows me as 'Senator' and Mrs. Ames as 'Mistress Hardesty' from that dustup I told you about."
"I'll remember. In the course of a long life one plays many roles. Would you believe that I was once known as 'Lance Corporal Finnegan, Imperial Marines'?"
"I can easily believe it."
"Which just goes to show you, as I never was. But I've worked much stranger jobs. Mail can be opened, true-but if I deliver a letter to a Luna City shuttle just before it leaves our spaceport, it is most unlikely that it will ever reach the hands of anyone interested in opening it. In the reverse direction a letter sent to Henrietta van Loon, care of Madame Pompadour, 20012 Petticoat Lane, will reach me with only minimal delay. An old, established madam has years of dealing gently with
other people's secrets. One must trust, I find. The art lies in knowing whom to trust."
"Doc, I find that I trust you."
He chuckled. "My dear sir, I would most happily sell you your own hat were you to leave it on my counter. But you are correct in essence. As I have accepted you as my client you can trust me totally. Being a double agent would invite ulcers ... and I am a gourmand who will do nothing that could interfere with my pleasures as a trencherman."
He looked thoughtful and added, "May I see that wallet again? Enrico Schultz."
I handed it to him. He took out the ID. "You say this is a good likeness?"
"Excellent, I think."
"Dr. Ames, you will realize that the name 'Schultz' at once catches my attention. What you may not guess is that the varied nature of my enterprises makes it desirable for me to note each new arrival in this habitat. I read the Herald each day, skimming everything but noting most carefully anything of a personal nature. I can state unequivocally that this man did not enter Golden Rule habitat under the name 'Schultz.' Any other name might have slipped my mind. But my own surname? Impossible."
"He appears to have given that name on arriving here."
"'-appears to have-' You speak precisely." Schultz looked at the ID. "In twenty minutes in my studio-no, allow me a half hour-I could produce an ID with this face on it-and of as good quality-that would assert that his name was 'Albert Einstein.'"
"You're saying we can't trace him by that ID."
"Hold on; I didn't say that. You tell me this is a good likeness. A good likeness is a better clue than is a printed name. Many people must have seen this man. Several must know who he is. A smaller number know why he was killed. If he was. You left that carefully open."
"Well... primarily because of that incredible Mexican Hat Dance that took place immediately after he was shot. If he was. Instead of confusion, those four behaved as if they had rehearsed it."
"Well. I shall pursue the matter, both with carrot and with stick. If a man has a guilty conscience, or a greedy nature- and most men have both-ways can be found to extract what he knows. Well, sir, we seem to have covered it. But let's be sure, since it is unlikely that we shall be able to consult again. You will press ahead with the Walker Evans aspect, while I investigate the other queries on your list. Each will advise the other of developments, especially those leading into or out of the Golden Rule. Anything more? Ah, yes, that coded message- Did you intend to pursue it?"
"Do you have any ideas on it?"
"I suggest that you keep it and take it to the Mackay main office in Luna City. If they can identify the code, it is then just a matter of paying a fee, licit or illicit, to translate it. Its meaning will tell you whether or not I need it here. If Mackay cannot help, then you might take it to Dr. Jakob Raskob at Galileo University. He is a cryptographer in the department of computer science... and if he can't figure out what to do about it, I can suggest nothing better than prayer. May I keep this picture of my cousin Enrico?"
"Yes, surely. But mail me a copy, please; I may need it in pursuing the Walker Evans angle-on second thought, certain to. Doctor, we have one more need I have not mentioned."
"So?"
"The young man with us. He's a ghost. Reverend; he walks by night. And he's naked. We want to cover him. Can you think of anyone who can handle it-and right away? We would like to catch the next shuttle."
"One moment, sir! Am I to infer that your porter, the young man with your baggage, is the ruffian who pretended to be a proctor?"
"Didn't I make that clear?"
"Perhaps I was obtuse. Very well, I accept the fact... while admitting astonishment. You want me to supply him with papers? So that he can move around in Golden Rule without fear of proctors?"
"Not exactly. I want a bit more than that. A passport. To get him out of Golden Rule and into Luna Free State."
Dr. Schultz pulled his lower lip. "What will he do there? No, I withdraw that question-your business, not mine. Or his business."
Gwen said, "I'm going to spank him into shape. Father Schultz. He needs to leam to keep his nails clean and not to dangle his participles. And he needs some backbone. I'm going to equip him with one."
Schultz looked thoughtfully at Gwen. "Yes, I think you have enough for two. Madam, may I say that, while I do not yeam to emulate you, I do strongly admire you?"
"I hate to see anything go to waste. Bill is about twenty-five, I think, but he acts and talks as if he were ten or twelve. Yet he is not stupid." She grinned. "Ah'll lam him if'n I have to bust his pesky haid!"
"More power to you." Schultz added gently, "But suppose he does turn out to be simply stupid? Lacking the capacity to grow up?"
Gwen sighed. "Then I guess I would cry a bit and find him some protected place, where he could work at what he can do and be whatever he is, in dignity and in comfort. Reverend, I could not send him back down to the dirt and the hunger and the fear-and the rats. Living like that is worse than dying."