Ruiz reviewed his visit to the League factor who had hired him this time. The factor was an old woman with the long face and delicate bones of a Cygnan, named Alldiusen Miktyas.
“Come in, come in,” she had said, bowing and rubbing her wrists in the Cygnan manner. “Always a delight, Citizen Aw. So happy you are available.”
Ruiz nodded carefully, and chose a chair well back from Miktyas’s desk.
“Smoke? Powder? Wet?” Miktyas indicated the bar that ran across the back other office, beneath a large holostill of the Meadows of Morrow.
Ruiz shook his head. “No, thank you. You offer a contract?”
Miktyas smiled widely, revealing small blue teeth. “Indeed, and I’m pleased to see that you have lost none of your refreshing directness. So, to business! We suffer from illegal harvesters, in a prime lowtech world we own in the center-ward fringe of the Manichaean region. You know of Pharaoh?”
Ruiz rubbed his chin and thought. “A desert Hardworld? Some sort of performers? Conjurors?”
Miktyas clapped her hands together, making a small flaccid sound. “Truly, you’re well informed. Yes! We would send you there, to gather information, and if possible, terminate the illegal harvesting, though our contract would be fulfilled if you can identify and locate the criminals, to be dealt with by the Legal Arm of our beloved employer. But there’s a healthy bonus for termination, as always.” The factor winked and laughed, her horsey face quivering with forced jollity.
Ruiz felt a bit ill, as he always did when accepting employment with the Art League. But he maintained an expression of polite interest. “What information is available?”
The factor shut off her laugh in midchortle. A gravely earnest expression descended over her features, as though a shade had been drawn down. “Well. Very little. This is why we are prepared to raise your usual rate.” The factor swiveled a screen so that Ruiz could see, touched it with skinny fingers. A swarm of amber characters flowed across it, listing the payment schedule for a hundred contingencies. Ruiz leaned forward, looked carefully at the screen. He was somewhat taken aback by the hugeness of the compensation, and a blip of suspicion crossed the horizon of his mind.
“Many of your contingencies deal with posthumous compensation,” he said, in a neutral voice.
The factor sighed heavily. “Such is the nature of your work, Citizen Aw. Not so?”
“It’s so,” Ruiz agreed.
“Should the worst occur, your heirs will be well cared for.”
Ruiz saw no reason to mention that he had no heirs. “Am I the first to study the problem? No? Then what information have your operatives gathered?”
“As I said, very little. The poachers seem to have an efficient counterintelligence organization; our people disappeared without useful trace. Naturally, you’re not to discount the possibility that they’ve infiltrated Pharaoh Upstation, or the League infrastructure on Pharaoh.”
“Naturally,” Ruiz said dryly. He considered at some length, until Miktyas squirmed impatiently.
“And so,” Miktyas said. “Your opinion?”
Ruiz leaned back. “Is there no information at all? What help can you provide?”
“We have excellent backgrounding, language learning, cartographic conditioning — the usual. We can provide you with dossiers on the illegally harvested troupes, but this information is limited. The poachers make very clean snatches. We have an extensive network of League observers in place on Pharaoh, who will assist you in any way you desire. Your budget is essentially unlimited. We’re very disturbed by this problem; we want swift and decisive action.”
Ruiz considered. “What will you require of me?”
The factor rubbed her wrists, making a dry reptilian sound. “Enhanced degree of mission-imperative, of course. A terminal contingency net — our finest Gencha work.”
Ruiz felt a lurch in his stomach, though he’d expected the death net. No one would pay that much without a guarantee of some return on their investment.
“Is that absolutely necessary? The death net?”
The factor’s face curdled with disapproval. “Must you so refer to it? The TCN is only and merely a contingency mechanism. We hope, of course, that you return in perfect health, but yours is a risky trade, and if you meet with disaster, we want to know why. We’ll be much likelier to avenge your murder, with the net transmitting the circumstances of your demise. Don’t you want that?”
Ruiz sighed. “Oh, sure. Sure. When?”
Miktyas leaned forward, her eyes alight with urgency. “Now. Today. We have the Gench practitioner waiting in the lab; it’s ready to do the installation. What do you say?”
Ruiz sat silent for a long time, considering, looking inside his heart.
Finally he said, “Why not?”
Miktyas conducted Ruiz down a dozen levels, deep into the League medical section.
The laboratory was dimly lit by red glowstrips, in deference to the nocturnal being who worked there. The Gench took no notice of their approach. It sat motionless, except for its three tiny eyespots, which appeared to circulate over its skull in random patterns. In actuality, the hairlike sensors on the creature’s scalp were simply activating and deactivating in sequences that gave the illusion of movement.
Ruiz’s gorge rose. In the humid air of the laboratory, the rotting earthworm stink of the Gench was stifling. Tufts of frizzy umber fiber sprouted from its baggy, three-legged body. The tufts clenched into hard little buttons, and then relaxed, as the factor stood before the alien.
“Your customer, good Gench,” Miktyas said, patting Ruiz’s arm. “You have the specifications?”
The Gench shifted on its stool, and its eyespots collected into a clump at the front of its skull. A vertical neck slit drooped open, and it spoke in a whispery voice. “Of course.”
“Fine, fine,” Miktyas said, rubbing her wrists. “We should begin, then.”
The Gench shrugged, a motion that ran clockwise around its body, and rose to its footpads. “As you wish.” It nodded at a human-contoured chair, and Ruiz seated himself and leaned back.
The Gench made no preparations, used nothing like the elaborate technology Nacker used later to hobble the Gench’s work. It simply stood in front of Ruiz and extruded a glistening white filament from one of its mouths. The filament stretched out, until it was as thin as a hair; then it touched Ruiz at the right temple and sank through his skin. “I remember you again,” it said, and then Ruiz’s world turned black.
He woke, as always, sooner than expected, but he kept his eyes closed and so he heard the last words that passed between the factor and the Gench practitioner.
“The work went well?” Miktyas asked anxiously.
The Gench sighed. “Well enough. This one’s mindsea is always difficult to swim in. He protects himself well, almost like one of the Real Race.”
Miktyas sniggered. “The Real Race….”
“You should be merry, if you can. We Gencha were making ourselves into gods when humans were bits of slime floating in the sea. Do you think all are like me, a trained animal in your menagerie? Elsewhere, the Gencha still Become.” Nothing in the whispery voice betrayed anger, or any other emotion, but something touched Ruiz with chilly fingers.
“Never mind that. The net is anchored, the mission-imperative implanted?”
“Yes. Your rat will run its maze, and when it dies, you will learn what it has learned. This one will project a strong signal, at least,” the Gench said.
Ruiz allowed his eyes to flutter open. The factor rushed to help him sit up. “Citizen Aw! How do you feel?”