"Any cabbie in Oberon can take you there," the OPC added, thoughtfully.
"Ah. That's great," I said. I studied the slip of paper as if the answers to all my questions might be buried in it. "How do I know if this is... I mean, you'd love to lock me up, I don't expect you like me very much, so how do I know this is..."
"Honest? Square? Pukka? Veritas? The straight shit? Ask the fellow who was by here yesterday, left me this lamp. Said he'd given up on humans, and I could have the damn thing. Or consider that, (a), you would have found the account eventually so I'm only saving you a little time, and (b), that yes, I really don't like you very much—though I continue to be an admirer of your work—and anything that will speed your departure from this place without breaking any more of my laws sounds good to me."
"Your laws?"
"Who else do they belong to? You people write them, I have to live with them."
Well, I could cross that bridge when I came to it. Provisionally, I thought he might be telling the truth. Why would he... uh-oh. "So I go there, and the cops are waiting? Is that it?"
"Heavy sigh. No, Sparky. And you've not violated any banking laws by using an alias, because there is no provable criminal intent. You're free to use any alias you please, as marquee writers all over the system can attest. If you like, I can print out the portion of the penal code that prevents me from setting you up on an entrapment beef. And relating this conversation to your lawyer would certainly result in a dismissal. It is on public record, should it be needed to prove your innocence. Otherwise, of course, all our conversations are strictly under the rose."
I figured I'd call a by-the-minute legal service to check it out, but I was pretty sure he was telling me the truth.
"You said," the OPC went on, "that you couldn't imagine what I might bring up that you would wish to hear."
"Okay. I was wrong."
"You may be wrong again. You may not like the next thing I have to say, but I guarantee you'll be interested."
"Do I have to beg? Go on, what's the bad news?"
"Have you heard of a man, carrying a forged but extremely convincing Plutonian passport, by the name of Isambard Comfort?"
I let a moment pass. "Isambard... what an odd name."
"There, there, you see?" the OPC—I swear, on my honor—chortled. "That's what I mean when I speak about great acting. I could see that name came as a terrible shock to you, but that's because I can see in the infrared, so I know your cheeks and forehead grew warm, and my ears could hear your accelerated heartbeat. But onstage? No one would have known. Bravo, Sparky! If only you had stayed away from a life of crime."
It's true, sometimes one's greatest performances are made when there's no one around to appreciate them. Or when no one has the slightest idea you are putting on a performance. However, I never ignore a good review. "Thank you," I said.
"Oh, it was my pleasure, believe me. In my position one becomes quite a student of the human condition, as you might imagine."
I'd never thought of that. For a moment it almost distracted me. "I suppose you see some unusual drama, at that," I said.
"Not as much as you might suppose. Mostly I see the same depressing scenarios played out endlessly. I—"
"I just thought," I went on, "what a wealth of stories you must have. Why, if you wrote them down—"
"I have no doubt I could write a best-seller. Rueful shrug. But to write about them I would have to violate the privacy of the people whose lives I observe."
"Why couldn't you just change the names, and... okay. Wait a minute. We can talk all this over later, if we have time. Believe me, I want to get out of here as badly as you want me to leave. What's this about my old buddy Izzy Comfort?"
"Yes. That might be rather urgent. He's been asking around about you. I'm afraid he may be up to no good. Is it true, as I suspect, that he is a member of the Charonese Mafia?"
"He never actually showed me a membership card. But I thought it was a safe assumption." I was up, had my suitcase out, and was tossing items into it as fast as I could. I had used reasonable caution when I came to the Othello and rented this suite, and reasonable caution for me was measures that would look slightly paranoid to a normal person, a person who had not been on the run for most of his life. But reasonable caution was not good enough for our boy Izzy. Not nearly good enough. He would find this room; the only question was when. And the answer to that had to be, anytime after I've checked out.
Nothing I needed in the bathroom. Nothing in the closet. Nothing I could see out here.
"To what do I owe this kindness?" I asked, headed for the bedroom.
"A small loophole in the privacy laws. When I see a situation developing that I feel probably will lead to murder, I can take certain small, very restricted steps to prevent it."
"How close is he, do you know?"
"That's one of the restrictions. I can't tell you where he is, other than that he is on the wheel."
"Is he alone? Is he armed?"
"That's another, and another."
I've learned not to spend time crying about the things you can't have. If he couldn't tell me, he couldn't tell me. I was grateful for the information he'd given me, though I wasn't about to tell him that.
Sitting on a low table in the living room was an inflatable B.J. the Snark, winking his red laser eye at me. I decided to leave it for Poly. Something to remember me by. I glanced into the bedroom. She was still sleeping soundly. I saw no need to wake her.
"Well..." I wondered what to say to the OPC. Nothing he had said or done was really personal. He would have done it for anyone, or to anyone, in my position. But he had said he liked my work, which always gives me at least a small warm feeling.
"Don't let the door hit you in the butt on your way out," the OPC said.
"Yeah. Thanks."
I entered the hall cautiously; it was empty. Waiting for the elevator to arrive was a very bad time. I had visions of the door popping open and being face-to-face with the little redheaded son of a bitch. But the car was empty. The Othello is shaped like a palm tree when seen from the side. That is, each story is set slaunchwise on the one below until about the fifteenth, then they start leaning back in the other direction. It produces that lovely curve some palm trees have, in pictures from Polynesia. Big green flags at the top look like leaves, and round, brown elevator cars move up and down the trunk like coconuts. Seen from the front, it looks like an incredible breaking wave of glass and metal. Go out the front door, look up, and you'll see floors thirty-five through forty-five hanging over you, way way up there.
The building was currently headed forward, in no great hurry, so I did the same, looking out for anyone who might be tailing me. You tell directions in Oberon from a baseline that will run all around the circle when it's done, midway from each edge. It's called Main Street, logically enough, though it's not really a street, it's more of an architectural promenade, an endless procession of behemoth nightmares. Facing with the spin, forward is in front of you, backward is behind you. Distances are measured in hours, minutes, and seconds, based on a twelve-hour clock. One hour was 261 miles long. That makes one second equal to 383 feet, or 117 meters, what they called the Oberon City Block.
I had walked about ten of these OCBs when I gradually slowed, slowed still further, and came to a halt. Something was wrong with this picture. What was it?
There was a small park to my left. I found a bench and sat on it, and watched the Othello Hotel gradually catching up with me.
Had I left anything? I patted my pockets, found everything I ought to have found. I looked at my suitcase. Two segments of the Pantechnicon are detachable, and look like regular suitcases. This small one, not much more than a change of clothes and clean underwear; the overnighter. The other was more suitable for stays of up to a week. Wonderful and handy as my super-trunk is, it is unwieldy to keep it always at your side. I had left it safe at the freight office at the Noon Elevator Up Terminal, the one down here on the rim. I could put my hand on it in ten minutes, if the need arose.