THE FIRST FEW WEEKS AT COCHIN CENTER WERE really orientation—getting to know the layout of the place, the dos and don’ts specific to it, the social pecking order and one’s place in it, and who was important, who was not, who was powerful, and who was to be feared above all. These were, in most respects, more important to long-term happiness at Center than learning a new job.
Barring emergencies, which were few, things worked slowly—most said leisurely—around Cochin Center as well as the other Centers on Janipur. Jeruwahl Peshwar was basically a statistician now promoted to low-level Evaluator. This meant he spent much of his time with computers and graphics projections looking for potential sources of long-term trouble for the system, identifying and classifying them, and then passing them along to higher specialists who would make the final decisions. It was not an ideal position for someone who didn’t want any risks, since if some potential problem was not identified and passed on to the proper channels for action or was misidentified or sent to the wrong parties and things went badly, there was no one lower to blame for the results. It did, however, offer real potential for advancement if problems were identified that were not obvious and things ran smoothly for long periods in the areas under study. The right guesses made fewer problems for the higher-ups, so they looked good and tended to remember who made them the points.
His first job, really more of a placement test, was to examine the rate of population growth versus death rates in several major cities with high-density populations and project problems in food supply and other support systems as well as jobs for the new population and other such factors resulting from that growth. The bulk of Janipur’s economy was still village-based subsistence farming, but a few cities, such as the one he’d just left, existed to supply a host of more elaborate products and services to legal and governmental centers, as well as religious centers. Cities needed to be supplied from the country, and cities attracted those people disillusioned with subsistence farming, simply down and out, or those looking for the end of the rainbow, and if a sufficient number came in and a poor underclass developed, there was potential for political ferment, violence, and challenges to the system. Children born to city natives could not easily be shifted to rural subsistence work. It was a tricky job keeping everything balanced without violating the technological limits.
Centers had odd top administrators, many with jobs that would horrify their own people. Administrators like the minister of plagues and pestilences, who could, surreptitiously, make very certain that a population was pared down to a manageable size, and the innocuous-sounding minister of meteorology, who could manage some very nasty tropical storms, floods, droughts, and the like as needed—or provide essential rain to an area where higher yields were needed. The offices of worthies like those received the reports of bureaucrats like Peshwar.
His was not a difficult or demanding job; the computers did most of the work. It would, however, have been far easier without the required Leave; it was hard to recommend a plague on people who you’d just lived with and really liked. That, in fact, was the official reason for the transfer; ones like him were not permitted to make such evaluations or decisions about their own native regions, and for obvious reasons.
They had been in their new homes for a bit over four weeks and things were going quite well. They had toured the Center—all the unclassified parts—and had even toured the museum in the center of the main level and seen the splendors of Janipurian crafts, the great gems and wondrous works in wood and metal from all over the planet. The central exhibit and artifact, however, was the chief administrator’s Holy Ring of Peace, a grand ring of gold with a shiny black setting in which were two intricately carved birds looking at each other while sitting on a single stylized branch. One of the few objects in the museum displayed occasionally to the masses, it was known to all as an object of reverence and power, a great and mystical relic from Mother World itself, passed down from generation to generation.
Madowa of late had not been feeling at her best, however. She began by waking up feeling nauseous, and had dizzy spells and flushes now and then. It did not affect her appetite, however; if anything, she was eating far more than usual and including a fair amount of raw vegetables and extremely sweet confections, although she had not been a real sweets lover before. She shrugged it off, but when Sedowa began showing the same symptoms and both had missed two consecutive periods, they decided to go to the medical clinic and find out if there was some sort of contagious disease going around. The clinicians knew when the records came up what the situation was, but did far more thorough tests in light of Madowa’s history of infertility. Madowa was about eleven weeks pregnant: Sedowa was perhaps eight and a half or nine. The news excited them, not to mention Jeruwahl, and more and more their thoughts turned to children and nothing else.
That made the invitation to visit Deputy Security Chief Nurim Boil all the more inexplicable. It was very unexpected, but they understood that an invitation from one such as this was not a request but a command.
Boil was a very large man for a Janipurian and had an enormous hawk nose and a facial expression that seemed locked in a permanent grimace. He looked mean and nasty without a gram of spirituality within him. He met them in a small, private office on the administrative rather than the security level, which was also odd but at least didn’t generate unnecessary anxiety and require a hundred clearances. Boil locked the door, bade them be seated, and examined them for a moment. Then he said, strangely, “Vulture takes Clayben. Thunder and lightning result.”
For a moment there was no effect, and then on all three of them it was like a cloud lifted from their minds and a whole enormous part of themselves that they never suspected was there was suddenly revealed and thrust forward. They were still Janipurian, but they now knew just who they really were and why they were there and who Boil must be.
Vulture continued in the Janipurian form of Hindi. It was more than adequate for what he had to say and was easier for them all. It wasn’t safe for them to start thinking again in their old tongues. “This room is secure. We have a number of them about like this, feeding the monitors all sorts of distortions. With more than sixty SPF in the Center it’s the only way to keep sane or do anything naughty. You are being monitored in your apartment and elsewhere, however. You’re not under suspicion—it’s just routine for new people. I’ll take care of it when the time comes. Are you clear enough in the head now to go on with this?”
“Y-yes, I suppose,” Jeruwahl-Sabir responded. “But surely you cannot consider doing anything at this point. Both of the women are with child.”
“We are aware of that. That’s why we have to rush this thing.”
“We cannot do this! Not now. We must wait, however long it takes, until the timing is right.”
“That is the protector and father talking,” Vulture noted. “I’ll give it to you straight. We have a plan, if the two women do their parts, that just might work. The getaway is tricky and probably messy, but it’s the best we can come up with. Getting in is still a missing piece of the puzzle that you must fill in. The pregnancies are a good cover. Absolutely no one suspects any of you, that I assure you.”
“But it is too far along. Already Madowa’s body changes. In two weeks, three at best, the changes will come faster and faster and she will become unable to help. Sedowa is only two or three weeks behind.” He stopped a moment, suddenly struck with a thought that horrified him. “We will not allow an abortion.”
Vulture looked at the two women, who nodded in unison. “All right.” He sighed. “I never even thought of that angle, since it would cause all sorts of problems and raise enormous suspicion. The bottom line: assuming we can steal the damned thing to begin with and get away from Center, all the forces of darkness will descend upon us like a horrible plague. We can’t use any of the flyers for getaways since they’re automatically tracked by the central security system. We will have to go overland, hiding out where we can and eluding the biggest manhunt this world has ever seen—with the technology of a Val and the SPF and Master System on top of us. I’ve been busy preparing that escape, but it won’t be easy and it won’t be quick. It is by no means certain that any or all of us can make it the whole way. It is absolutely certain, dead certain, that it will be impossible with two infants. And we can’t leave them even if you were willing to—these people will use them against us. Torturing babies in public is just another means to an end for them. It’s going to be tough enough handling two increasingly pregnant women.”
“Then we wait until—”
“How long?” he challenged, not letting the potential father get the complete objection out. “Two years? Through the next Leave? I’d have to put you back under again, and then we’d have more babies most likely—and Sedowa would be sent home to a family that doesn’t even know she exists. We cannot wait. We go now, or you three go back under permanently and are abandoned here and we will have to figure out a new way to send others in to do the job. What about you, young ladies? You’re the key to this. What do you have to say?”
They looked at one another. The truth was, their minds were divided in this and they were having a great deal of trouble. A strong part of them resented this sudden nightmarish intrusion into what had been up until now the happiest time in their lives. The culture and attitudes not just of their Janipurian selves but of their original peasant upbringing on Earth told them that the child within overrode all other priorities and obligations. And yet the easy and desirable way was not the honorable way, and might not be the practical way, either.
“What do you mean I would be sent home?” Sedowa asked.
“I am not lying to you on this—your husband can check it out for himself. You are here on sufferance, to bear a child of Peshwar, and this you are doing. An unexpected extra is that his legal wife also now is pregnant after being declared barren—normally the one guarantee of getting pregnant, sort of like declaring a volcano extinct. Your term here is for two years, after which you must leave. They run you through a mindprinter and edit out all memories of the wonders of Center so you remember only living in a very big capital city of the normal type. The child is legally Madowa’s, something you were supposedly told going in and agreed to. There’s no legal challenge—your legal father’s a judge, remember—because there was no coercion. You are a surrogate mother with no status beyond that. So you can’t stay here, but you have no real home to go back to.”
She was shocked and looked at Sabir. “He is just making that up to force us to go along. Isn’t he?”
Sabir sighed. “No, I fear he tells the truth, but there are probably ways around it. There are ways around almost everything. Given what this man says is true, we still could give the Thunder’s great computer and its staff an extra year to figure out and allow for the extra problem. If we go into this in extreme haste, we will all probably die.”
Vulture sat back and looked at them. He’d figured on something like this, but he wasn’t terribly worried. Not yet. “Tell you what—just go back up to the museum in the next day or two and look it over again, this time from the point of view of the theft. I want to know if it can be done, and if so, how it can be done, and what would be required. This costs you nothing. Will you do that much for me?”
“We cannot refuse that much,” Chow Dai-Madowa responded. “Give us three days from now to look it over and think it out, and give us some cover so we may discuss it without being overheard or recorded.”
“I can’t get you complete cover on that last one, but I’ll activate your cards for this office. It’s in a public area and isn’t officially assigned. You can be relaxed here. Your surveillance may wonder what you’re doing coming here so don’t come here often, but take it easy and do it openly and confidently. I am pretty sure you two can lie your way convincingly out of a small encounter if you need to. We will talk again in three days, but not here. I’ll arrange it and call for you. Good enough?”
That much none of them could object to.
The Chows were well experienced at casing a target and not looking or sounding like they were doing so. In other times they would have been natural bank robbers and probably very successful at it. Although they made a visit a day for three days to the museum, only one of them for any length of time, they made it seem a natural meeting place and did not raise any alarms. It was unlikely that they would in any event; a pregnant pair like this would have been dismissed from the overconfident and largely male security force’s minds as no possible threat, no matter what their intent.
At the end of three days the two women were told to come down to the medical clinic for more follow-up tests, but when they got there they found themselves taken together to a small examination room and told to wait. Vulture arrived a few minutes later. They were mildly surprised.
“You speak to us while Jeruwahl is still at work,” Chow Mai noted.
“I know. I’m not trying to separate you for any devious purposes, but the fact is that Sabir is only an excuse to get the two of you in here. I don’t want amateurs in the actual operation if I can avoid it. Amateurs set off alarms. You have what you need?”
They nodded. “The great outer door appears to be a simple mechanical key lock, but it is not. The key actually must be turned to form a simple combination. With a wood or metal dummy key of the correct size it would not be difficult to open. Without them, using something for a pick, it might take some time.”
“The guards make their rounds through there every five minutes after dark,” Vulture told them. “Not much time. The hall monitors can be fooled, but I wouldn’t like to do it for very long or somebody will notice. The key is locked in a case in Center security but I can see it. I know what it looks like and I think I can have a basic duplicate made. It might not touch all the sensors inside.”
“No need. It is simply a matter of the turns. A simple mechanism. The inner door is computerized and encoded and appears to take a numeric code and a palm print. I ‘stumbled’ and by mere chance, of course, put my palm on the plate. The tiny sensors reacted to my hand and compared it to their records and flashed a red light. The comparison was there for a fraction of a second. The bypass appears to be the cut-out trace of a hand. It will take a few minutes and a few tools but I do not believe it’s a problem. It is not nearly as elaborate as Clayben’s on Melchior.”
He nodded. “All right. I have recordings of the audio and visual sweeps of the areas that can be patched in to provide a continuous record for the computers. You are inside. Now what?”
“There are some kind of light beams all over the place,” Chow told him. “They cover the main room like a spider’s web. I could not see them but I recognized the pattern in the little holes in the walls and ceiling. China Center used some like that. To bypass that would take a special thing made of some thin, light, perfectly reflective material, and it must go all the way not only to the ring but beyond it. I have a drawing of the necessary shape. It will also have to be supported by sticks or rods somehow from the entrance. This we cannot make, but it will have to be made.”
He took the drawing, studied it, and got the idea immediately, although he had to admit he never would have thought of it himself.
“We will need some sort of light source under it,” Chow Mai put in, “but it cannot interfere. We will sew velvet pads for our hooves, so we may walk in silence. You will have to take care of the sweeping cameras.”
“That’s the same as the entry and corridor. I don’t think we have to worry about them, though. I think they are automatic—turned on if any other alarms go off. If any other alarms are set off, then we’re in a lot more trouble anyway. Continue.”
“The case itself is not difficult to open, although the locks on both sides must be turned within seconds of each other to both unlock the case and avoid setting off the alarms. It takes two people to turn the locks. The problem is that they are simple spring locks that must be held in place while the case is open. This means the two must operate the locks while a third opens the case and takes the ring.”
“You’re sure there’s nothing on the ring itself? No weight traps, no extra locks?”
“We think not. Remember, this is a ceremonial ring. It is taken out and used very often. The case is good enough. It is a lot of trouble and takes three to open properly, but if the chief administrator needs the ring, he need only walk down with two assistants with the keys, have the assistants turn the keys and hold them while the case lid pops up and he reaches in and takes it. He would not care about the museum’s security, which is for when it is closed. He just needs to come down when it is open, and that is probably whenever he wants.”
Vulture nodded. “He takes the ring during the day, with all sorts of people around. If it had elaborate precautions, they would be observed. I think you’re right—what they have is enough.”
“They do add one extra thing when the museum is closed,” Chow Mai said. “The long piece of tile in front of the case that is covered by the rug is on some kind of scale. It is locked down by day and unlocked, I suppose, when they close. We could see it outlined where it stretched and strained the carpeting.”
“They said something about a weight trap when they briefed me on the museum’s security, and I assumed it was there. It is not connected to the computer center, however. Not directly, anyway. It probably triggers gas or stun fields of some kind that would keep you unconscious until they opened up the next day and found you. I hadn’t really noticed the details. Does it also cover the key locks?”
“Yes, but that is not a problem. Anyone can turn the key from the side. But it puts the ring out of reach of anyone also operating a key. The ring, on its stand and under its magnifier, would have to be lifted carefully and then removed to the back of the case and then up and out. Easy enough if you are standing right in front of it, but otherwise very hard. The top and front of the case are a single piece, so there is no way to put someone on top to reach down.” Chow Dai sighed. “It would be easier to steal it from the chief administrator when he had it out.”
“Yeah, sure—with all those SPF and regular Center security people around. I toyed with the idea of becoming the chief administrator and then I found that there was just no point at which he and I could possibly be alone and unmonitored for enough time to do it and cover up the mess. He is never really alone, and when he removes the ring, he always keeps it on his finger until the ceremony or function is over, then puts it back. I will get this information up to Thunder. The bottom line is, I suspect, that we can get to the ring but we cannot remove it. A way will have to be found to get around that weight sensor. I wish I knew how much it took to depress it. Only the chief administrator and chief of security can gain access to the details of the museum security system, and for one reason or another both are out of reach to me. You give me a precise list of what you need that you can’t make for yourself, and I’ll get on it.”
“It is odd,” Chow Dai said, “that with them suspecting, at least, that we’re going after this ring and having that whole army here and all, they didn’t put in all sorts of extra security, extra systems it’d take Star Eagle to beat.”
“No. I already know the answer to that one, and it works in our favor this time. They believe their measures are adequate, that the ring is safe, but they really do not care if it is not. They are convinced that we cannot escape with it if we steal it. I think the plan is that if we do manage to steal it they will shadow but not apprehend us—at least not all of us, and not the one with the ring. The one ring is unimportant—useless without the other four. But out there in space, somewhere, are automated fighting ships and perhaps a ship or two of SPF forces, as well, under more than one Val. They want, they need, the Thunder and all of us pirates.”
“If that is the case, then why do they not make this easier to steal?”
He chuckled. “If they did that, we’d smell a rat and would not lead them where they want to be led. That does not mean that they leave it all to chance and our overconfidence . . . ” He snapped his fingers. “In fact, I think I know what they did. What I would do. If I am right, then we can use it against them. The getaway will not be easy, and not without peril, but we might manage it. You steal it. I’ll get you out—if it is at all possible.”
“We are still uncertain of what to do ourselves,” Chow Dai admitted. “We—we find our thoughts confused and muddied, our loyalties mixed.”
“Not too long ago you considered yourselves monsters,” he pointed out. “Has this changed?”
They looked at each other, then back at him. “No, not deep down, although when we do not think of ourselves and allow Madowa and Sedowa to take over, we are content. But, unlike you, we will always be this way. On Janipur everyone is a monster of the same sort as we. It is—comforting. Back out there—we and our children will be monsters.”
“We are all monsters, in a way,” the shapechanger said. “You are at least something, someone. You know who you are and what you are. I do not. I can never be one person, one thing, no matter how long I live or how content I am. It would be nice to be human, to have children, to look forward to the future and to some inner peace. I can never have that. Never. There will be five of you on Thunder if we all survive this, then seven soon after, and perhaps more. You might well become the dominant race of the pirates. Your future, your children’s future, might be bright and happy depending on our success. For me, the game is the goal. I enjoy playing this game, but I have nothing to win at the end of it. Master System or no Master System, I will not change, or gain.”
His statement hit them with great impact. They had never thought of that before, and it made their own problems and situation seem far less important. Vulture in fact had no stake in all this; he was playing the game for its own sake.
“For now, say nothing of this meeting to your husband unless he asks where you can answer. I will get to work on the problems and get back to all of you. Now—go.”
Madowa-Chow Dai stood and reached into her neck purse. She removed three small objects from it, each wrapped in cloth, then unwrapped them. “These are fragile,” she warned. “Do not break or mishandle them.”
He stared at them, suddenly realizing what he was seeing. “Impressions. You took impressions of all the mechanical keys! How? . . . ”
“It was not too difficult,” she responded, although he knew that it must have been. “Just make the keys.”
He touched them. They were hard as a rock. “What did you use to get them?”
She grinned, which meant, for a Janipurian, showing all the teeth. “Bread dough. Very thick bread dough. It is a very convenient medium if it is not set too long.”
He began to appreciate the level of genius he was dealing with.
Vulture had much to do, and contacting the Thunder was an early priority.
Hawks and the others listened intently to the details, and Star Eagle immediately put his robots to work creating what was needed from the digital data sent by Vulture on Janipur. They could arrange a drop far easier than Vulture could risk getting the items made himself, and take advantage of a higher technological level.
Working out the full details of the plan, however, was more difficult. Star Eagle was not of great help in this area; the computer could allow for all the unknowns and come up with predictions of success in the range of point three to about seventeen percent. The only contributions of real value the pilot could make were estimates of how Master System, its Vals, and its forces might react at any given level, but even these had to be only approximations. Vals and Master System might be eighty or ninety percent predictable, but the SPF and its leadership were humans with a great deal of autonomy. Those freebooters who had ever had dealings with the SPF could only vouch for their unswerving loyalty to the system and their love of action. Whether or not their officers could overrule a Val in the field was questionable, but certainly a good general could freely interpret orders and directives to his liking. Rewards were great if he was right; the penalty for failure was severe, but no general convinced of the righteousness of his or her decisions would let fear of punishment sway them. They were fanatics.
All of this information was gathered and compiled by those of the Thunder’s crew who had experience in such matters, and they began to formulate a new plan.
“All right,” Raven sighed. “So we get ’em the equipment and we get ’em in with the skeleton keys and dummy stuff they want. Vulture has to be on duty in security during the whole operation to cover the alarms. Sabir—well, that’s one to worry about, but maybe we can use this sudden infusion of male chauvinism on the part of our former Hindu lady to good effect. If he knows what’s going to happen, you can bet we’ll have a dedicated gun and watchdog. So they get in, use Star Eagle’s gadget, get to the case, and flip the keys. Now we got a pressure plate that somebody’s got to stand on to get the ring out. How much pressure?”
“Rats,” Manka Warlock said.
“Beg pardon?”
“The vast bulk of that Center’s population are still the distilled classical Hindu types with a real reverence for all lower life forms. I always thought Hindus were fascinating in that they disliked killing flies yet they killed each other in about the same numbers as everybody else in the world. Center has rats and a few other pests. Not the usual rats, either, although they’re bad enough. I asked. These are large, hairy things but rats all the same. They live in the air ducts and ventilation shafts too narrow and winding for Janipurians to use. They don’t kill them. They just try to feed them at designated spots to keep them out of real harm. They run from people unless concerned or in large groups, but they are big.”
Raven followed her thinking. “In the museum?”
“It has air ducts and ventilation shafts, I am certain. It is in the middle of Center’s main level. There are probably gratings but I will wager that sooner or later a few get in and have to be shooed out. They would break those light beams, would they not?”
He thought about it. “Yeah, sure. They’d have to. And that’d trigger the alarms—no. Probably not. A class-one security alert would result and all hell would break loose at regular intervals. Even if it was originally set up that way, they’d have gone nuts and changed it by now.”
“Precisely. In fact, they are a nice little security backup in case someone tried a robot tentacle, let us say, down the shafts. You couldn’t use those shafts without disturbing the rat colonies and that would result in alarms and an investigation or perhaps a horde of rats being dumped into whatever room you were trying to break into. Now that is a thought. Make such a commotion the night before you break in, it would cause them to assume any new signals were just more rats breaking through the unrepaired areas.”
“Uh uh. Some of these people are as crooked as the next guy. You don’t leave your museum vulnerable that way. You either post a lot of nasty human guards as supplements or you work through the night repairing it. Too risky. But I see what you mean about the rat problem. I missed that in the reports. If they’re big and they do occasionally get in, then those light beams can’t trigger a general alarm. Then what do they trigger?”
“The cameras and audio sensors. They must. A break turns them on and sounds an alarm in the security center. They check their screens, pan around, and see and hear rats, so they—what?”
Raven thought a moment. “Well, either they’d have to come in and get them, or they’d have to switch off the beams . . . Say! We’ll have to ask Vulture what the procedure is. If he can patch the outside video he can patch that as well. A lot easier than moving some cockeyed mirror contraption in that might not work and in a place where we don’t have the precise angles to make sure it does. Good girl!”
“But what does that say about the pressure platform under the carpet as well?” she asked him, very pleased with herself.
“Uh huh. I wonder how much one of those suckers weighs? Or several? A kilo? Two? And they’re pack animals. Almost never travel alone. Figure there might be as many as three running across at one time. Allow some margin—some real margin—and you might have a fair amount of weight required to trigger that sucker.” He paused a moment. “Nope. Forget it. They have some monkeylike creatures and a number of other pets down there. You can bet the designer allowed for someone sending in small trained animals. Even if we allow six or seven kilos, it’s not enough. Besides, somebody’s got to close that case. Odds are it has some kind of time delay if it’s open too long, whether they spotted it or not. It might sound an alarm when opened anyway. That’s the way I’d design it.”
“But this is a lower level of security than we are accustomed to. A lower technological level, Center or not. This was designed by humans, not machines, and built by humans to stop humans. It might sound a buzzer or ring a bell when opened, but if it did it would probably have the effect of turning on the audio and visual system so the duty officer could see if it were a real problem or a false alarm. A lot of this boils down to a very few true security systems. Almost everything except the pressure platform and the locks themselves is designed to turn on the audio-visual to see what is going on before a general alarm is sounded. Block those channels and the security center is blind, deaf, and dumb. It is a key weak point. They must not have much of a true criminal element there.”
He nodded. “I don’t know about their crooks, but clearly the system’s designed to discourage somebody from trying. Beyond that, the thing really isn’t all that hot. They seem pretty confident that nobody could escape even if they did take the crown jewels, and they’d normally be right. I mean, it’s a Center, damn it! Strict computer-controlled access in and out. Codings, trackings, you name it. Let’s face it—without Vulture we could steal this sucker but we could never get it out. Having the deputy chief of security on your side makes all the difference, and nobody is gonna plan for that. The more you look at our group the more you realize how much thought went into it. We’re supposed to have a fighting chance to win, after all.”
“All right. But that doesn’t get us around the pressure-plate problem.”
“Vulture has an idea on that. I don’t like it much, but it might be the only alternative. We’re gonna run some tests with that Janipurian pair and see if it works. Let’s go on to the getaway. If they trip any alarms, even silent ones, it’s all over.”
She nodded. “I think our deputy chief of security can be counted on there. He will, after all, be in the security center and will probably outrank anyone there. Either of us in his situation could cover for quite a while if we had to. He can’t hide a major exposure or alarm trip, though. All right—that has to be their problem. Now they get out and head for a prearranged meet. Where?”
“The clinic. He has some secure areas there, and it wouldn’t be considered at all strange for folks to go there at any hour.”
“Good. We will have to have some provisional diversions ready—just in case. Some nasties Vulture could set off by remote control if he needed to.” She smiled. “Ones designed for maximum damage and casualties.”
“Vulture’s developed a whole line of hideouts along his route, but that whole place will be swarming with searchers once the theft is discovered. We can’t get to them until they’re clear: Security’ll be looking for anything coming in for a pickup. They’re gonna hav’ta lay low a long time, but maybe we can buy ’em a little breathing space. After Vulture gets this equipment from us, he won’t need the fighter he’s got down there now, and anyway it’s too far to reach. If we time it right, we might convince Center that the fighter we take off has them aboard. They might even drop everything to chase it and blow it away.”
She nodded. “We will try it, but if they do not buy it, or are the least suspicious, there will be only one way to save them.”
He sighed. “Yeah, Space battle. Ship to ship. They might underestimate our strength, though.”
“Or they might overestimate it. We must recall and outfit the freebooter ships and practice with our whole fleet, such as it is. These freebooters are very good at running and hiding. I wonder how good they are in a fight.”
Vulture had met privately with Jeruwahl-Sabir after the planning had been firmed up. The “husband,” acting very much that role, had been more than just upset that Vulture had met secretly with both women earlier, and it had taken some politicking to mollify him. Vulture, in fact, was as worried about Sabir as he was the actual operation. This was someone he didn’t really know well and was still having some problems understanding. It wouldn’t take much to expose their whole plan and at the very least abort the mission, perhaps at the cost of three lives.
“I do not like this one bit,” Sabir said coolly. “Already it has been awhile since you first brought us out from under the mindprint, and Madowa’s horns are beginning to sprout. I do not think this is possible any more.”
Vulture gave a slight shrug. “It is possible. Willpower can do a lot, and we aren’t out of time yet. They want to do this thing, Sabir, and they are ready. I think now so are we. The only question left for me is you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“When this started, you weren’t all thrilled about becoming Janipurian, I’m told, but you saw it as your duty and a chance to participate and help in a great undertaking. If you’d been a man at the start—say, Captain Paschittawal—I might have followed your subsequent behavior a bit better, but you weren’t. If you’d had a past like the women had—stepped on, pushed around, raped, tortured—I might understand. But I think you knew coming in that the mission is everything. We—all of us—are at tremendous risk and expendable. Only the mission matters in the end. Not being the martyr types, we will all try to survive, but there are no guarantees. You were born a freebooter, not a colonial dirtcrawler. You must decide.”
“That is easier for you to say, and perhaps easier for you to decide,” responded Sabir. “You may have little to gain except satisfaction in your personal war against the whole system, but you have nothing to lose. I did not expect this, although we all should have allowed it. You see, up until now I have had nothing. I was born the last of eleven children to parents who looked a hundred when they were in their forties and scratched out the bare necessities on a small rocky claim in the middle of nowhere. When I was but thirteen, I came on to a mechanic on a freebooter tramp ship just to get out of there, to have some sort of freedom and life. When he was done with me, stupid and naive as I was, he abandoned me in a small settlement. I was but a defiled child, and I did whatever was necessary to survive and to get what learning I could. I sold my labor when possible and my body when it was not, but each time I learned something that was useful later on. I was an extra hand on twenty different ships, one trip at a time. I finally found the Indrus, which was owned and operated by distant cousins, and they took me on although they did not need me. I would not have remained, but it was comforting for a while to be with my own kind. Both men are married and devoted to their wives, and the only other crew member is Ravi’s daughter. I had nothing. I have never had anything. That is why I volunteered for this. Why not?”
He nodded. “I see. And now, all of a sudden, you have some status, some responsibility, and two children on the way. You have blended into a society when you never had one before. Never mind the others, the mission, even the women. It is selfishness, is it not?”
Sabir bristled. “And why should I not be selfish? Who has ever given me anything? What do I owe you or them or anyone?”
“I don’t give a damn what you owe to whom, and I don’t give a damn what you want or think. Those two women have had it far worse than even you and they are committed. If you turned us in, they would not reward you and you know it. They would pick your mind to pieces for information on us, and the others’ minds, as well. Your body might live, as some simpleton building his house out of his own dung and plowing someone else’s fields, but your mind would die and your soul would bear the burden of your crimes. You can do nothing, but that buys you two years at most. When the time comes to take the next mind-print—assuming they don’t catch you before that—there will be no deputy chief of security to launder your truths or protect your wife and children, and you don’t have the rank to have it managed otherwise. If you wish to protect what is yours and play your petty games, you are better off going along with me. The real Peshwar is very loyal and dedicated to his wife. You will have both the Chows, and the children, if we make it out, and you will have a position of authority and power. You are comfortable in this society. It is too bad you were not born to it, but you were not. So, be selfish—see it through.”
Sabir thought that over and saw that Vulture spoke the truth. “What you say is all well and good—if I thought we could get away with it. I cannot believe that we will, though.”
“You haven’t seen it all, nor will I show you now,” he replied, “but I think it’s possible. Let’s go for it. Let’s take a chance on life.”
“When—if I agree?”
“The ‘when’—when you agree.”
He sighed. “Very well. If the Chows go along, I will not stand in the way and will be what help I can.”
“Excellent!” Vulture responded. “Tomorrow begins Holi. The chief administrator will need the ring but has not taken it as yet. It will probably be far too late for him to put it back tomorrow night, but it will be on his finger and he will be surrounded by guards. He might wear it the whole festival, but I think not. In past years he has returned it after opening an utsava so people who come in from the field for the festivals can see it on display. When he removes it, I will be there, and this will give me a chance to see just how the case is normally opened and the ring removed. No matter what night he returns the ring, that night we will take it.”
Just because the Brahman class was privileged to know of Master System, the wider universe, and some of its technology did not make them any less people of their own culture. In point of fact, Hinduism was particularly suited to the hierarchical Center leadership, especially as that structure had been refrained and reemphasized by Master System. Rta, the balance of forces, the natural order, was supreme. Vedic prayers were to the maintenance of order; to watch the natural order carefully, imitate and perpetuate it. It was a short, perhaps heretical step, but an easy one, to see one’s self as the maintainer of order, stability, and balance. The order had been disrupted in Mother India and the people had been corrupted, but now Indra had given them another chance, on a new world, in a new form, and set the highest of humans, the Brahmans, the holy task of maintaining the Rta at all costs so that the chosen ones of Janipur could find their own paths to salvation and immortality unencumbered by external forces.
The role of the Center Brahmans, then, was to do just what Centers were designed for—maintain the balance and eliminate anything that might change the way the people and culture worked. It was a system tailor-made for Master System’s own goals, and it worked well, far better than in many other places where it had been imposed. Unlike the cynical Centers of Earth and many colonial worlds where knowledge destroyed faith, here the Center elect were true believers. Until the SPF had landed, the only contact Janipurian Centers allowed was with a few ships like the Indrus, peopled by crew who shared much of their beliefs and understood and respected them. To maintain stability and balance, no matter what the cost, was a sacred duty.
They had the duty of dharma, of keeping the world and its people on the right path, of maintaining things.
This was also a people who felt the necessity of Bhakti, of devotion to and relationship with individual and often personal gods; they placed enormous store in rituals and ceremonies and had many deities. Their very form was a matter of pride; on Earth it had been this part of Hinduism that had brought the cow to a status of near or actual worship; on Janipur, they had some of the form and characteristics of the sacred animal.
The Holi utsava, or Spring Festival, was an ancient ritual devoted to Krishna, but it was also a time of joy and produced a near-carnival atmosphere punctuated with spectacular public ceremonies and rites open to all. Although it was Krishna’s festival, the god Soma, and the fiery liquor named for him, would not be ignored. It was one of the few religious observances where all but the bare minimum of Brahmans from the entire continent could come and enjoy a bit of Cochin Center’s comforts. Many would come to join in the celebrations by the masses, leaving only the ascetics and those leaders with strong local ties and not much love for Center or its comforts.
This was also the time when security had nightmares and the SPF had fits. As members of the ruling caste, those from outside had the right to enter Center and see it and visit their departmental chiefs as well as look at the museums, libraries, and shops that were outside the limits of normal purview. Security areas were still off-limits, of course, but with such crowds, the mere task of keeping them from unauthorized areas, breaking things or tapping on terminals kept all the security force busy.
The SPF, with its own modernized religion compelling and vesting them with the god-given responsibility of keeping order on pain of their immortal souls, had a hard time dealing with this idea of relatively open access to Center, even for a limited period of time. They simply couldn’t check out everyone who arrived with their families and cousins, since nobody actually had to be invited and those who could showed up, often at the last minute. Center could not accommodate or maintain such a crowd, so they camped outside in what became a huge, temporary tent city.
Vulture balanced the increased security against the benefits of the crowd and its confusion and anonymity. The festival lasted several days, however he no longer had those days to spare, even if he would have preferred to have dealt with an exhausted security force and an even more exhausted and frustrated SPF. He decided he could use the confusion of the festival far more than he could afford to wait a week—if the C.A. put the damned ring back.
The Brahmans in Hindu society controlled the spiritual levers of power and authority, not the secular, but in practice the Brahmans of Centers were more secular than they would have liked to admit. Still, they saw their roles as purely spiritual. In the field, most were affiliated with religious orders, but a few were involved in the professions and everyday life. Some were doctors and some lawyers or judges; often they earned their livings this way while on call as duty priests when needed. Each Hindu was his or her own church, so there were no formal churches on Janipur, but ceremonies and rituals required priests, and the professional service class of Brahmans was there to serve. Even those who weren’t needed or had had their turns before were at the festival, as well.
Vulture couldn’t help but wonder what some of the twice-born of lower castes would think if they could see how unsaintly some of these secularized Brahmans acted when they were entirely among their own. One of the security men remarked his relief that so few ascetics had come this year; they were usually trouble, since they spent most of their time berating and cursing their more materialistic brethren. On those occasions, it took a fair amount of soma in the belly to wash away the guilt that always lingered in the back of the minds of even security personnel. It was, in fact one of the most spartan of Centers, the technology used only when it was essential to the holy mission, but, still, when one was in an enclosed city with its own climate control, electric lights, and computerized kitchen, it was hard to convince yourself you were striving to go beyond material things. There was little that could be done, though; fires, tents, and the like would not be practical at Center, and they would most certainly interfere with the computers and communications networks.
And, of course, somebody had to clean up the place, stock it, run the stores, and do all the other jobs that were beneath a Brahman. In other circumstances, the lower castes would have done it, but they were not permitted here, so a high degree of automation was required to maintain Brahman purity.
To Vulture, who was a product of no culture and an amalgam of many, it was just more proof that people would rationalize almost anything in the name of religion.
The plain outside on the morning of the start of the festival was a colorful sea of tents and a mobile sea of grayish-tan bodies. It was impossible to judge immediately, but it was possible that there were three or four thousand people in the temporary city. There were firewalkers—on feet, not hooves—and demonstrations of yoga and other powers of the mind and much more.
Shortly after nine in the morning, Chief Administrator Namur walked down the hall of the main level of the Center with his wife and retinue. He was dressed simply in a white loincloth and his wife in plain white silk, but what was impressive was that they walked, upright, the entire distance of more than three hundred meters that they were in public view, and they walked rather well. Since such a thing required not only great practice but great concentration and force of will, it was a gesture that impressed even Vulture, who was one of the retinue.
They stopped at the great red doors to the museum. The curator stood there, made obeisance in the time-honored way, then removed the large key from around her neck and stuck it in the lock. Vulture watched. One right, one left, another left, then right, then left again. There was a click, the curator pushed on the golden door latch, and the two doors swung inward. The C.A. and his wife followed the curator inside to the second and more modern security door, which opened when the curator inserted a small card and then presented her right palm to the plate. The inner door moved back silently, and they proceeded inside.
Vulture was several steps in back of the chief administrator, but his eyes took in everything. He decided they needn’t worry about the light beams; either they were switched off when the inner door opened or they just turned on the monitors, as suspected. What was more interesting was that the carpeted area in front of the ring’s case was bulging upward perhaps fifteen centimeters. Whatever it triggered was automatically turned off somehow, but he couldn’t see how. Not the door. Why have the damned thing at all if it’s turned off by springing the door? A thief would have to do that just to get in. Then it struck him—the combination! The palm opened the doors, but the numerical code deactivated the pressure plate. Neither he nor the Chows knew that combination, and the panel was recessed so that no one could see what numbers the curator punched. It was a standard enough system that it had been easy to figure out how to temporarily circumvent it, but that wouldn’t deactivate the plate. Clever.
The curator and an assistant went to the plate. When the curator set one foot on the plate it depressed and wiggled but nothing happened, but in the split second when the other foot came down a bell began to ring. The assistant stepped on the other side, adding enough weight to depress and lock it, and the bell stopped sounding. There was no way to be certain, but he felt the bell was important for the delay before it rang—that split second when just part of the body weight was on the platform. Raven had been right; the thing had been designed to halt a Janipurian thief and to allow for Janipurian rats and other critters that might get in. The bell did not worry him; if it went off they’d know immediately that they’d blown it and then it would be time to try to shoot their way out.
Vulture, as deputy chief of security, had been handed one of the two keys to the case and told to take the left side. The chief would take the right, and the C.A. would remove the ring. He had been given the key only when he joined the party and would have to surrender it almost immediately. It had been hell figuring out how to take an impression of it but he’d managed. The impression wouldn’t do much good at this stage, but, matched against the key made from Chow Dai’s dough impression, it would tell him before they were committed if they’d blown it.
On a nod from the chief administrator, both Vulture and the chief of security inserted their keys and then turned, he to the left and the other to the right. He had been instructed to hold it there. There was a click, and the case, fully four meters long and containing much more than just the ring, opened, the lid comprising the entire transparent area moving back electrically and merging with its back wall. There were solenoids along the sides, he noted, although the Chows already had figured this out. Interrupt one, by trying to reach in or climb into the case from the side, and the lid snapped shut. Vulture figured about half of the person who tried it that way would become a bloody part of the permanent exhibit.
The C.A. leaned over, approached the ring with his right hand from the back, carefully lifted it up off its peg mount and brought it back, up, then out. He seemed to examine it, then turned to his wife, smiled, and gave it to her. She nodded and as he held out his hand she placed the ring on the third finger. It was a good fit, which indicated that it had been relined in some way.
The chief administrator moved away, and with a nod from his immediate boss, Vulture slowly turned the key back to straight again. A mechanism clicked in, and the case lid moved forward and clicked back into place. He then removed the key, placed it back around his neck, and followed the boss back out the doors. He reflected that it was almost a pity that the ring wasn’t still there today, since the museum would have a couple of staff people on but would be closed to the public. A perfect time for a robbery—if he’d wanted anything other than the ring.
The ceremony and rites themselves were indeed impressive and quite solemn, lasting most of the day. This was a rare occasion for communal worship, and much of it was spent fasting and chanting, over and over, in unison, “Krishna . . . Krishna . . . Krishna . . . ” The chief administrator served as high priest for the rites, before a massive statue of Krishna.
There was no physically possible way that a Janipurian could accomplish the lotus position, but they could bend themselves into incredible and impossible positions all the same.
The ceremony concluded late in the day, and the crowd broke up into random groups listening to teachers relate various parables, lessons, or philosophies, or participated in rites of faith including firewalking and demonstrations of the power of the mind over the body. This would continue for days—although not with the chief administrator leading—to a steadily diminishing number of the pious. Some would spend the whole time in prayer, meditation, and learning, but for most, one day was enough.
The chief administrator walked among them, though, and at various points demonstrated his own great mental control and at other times his humility by sitting at the feet of a yogi or other teacher, and occasionally by stopping to talk with this person or that on an informal basis regardless of job or status. Vulture couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to simply take the ring at this point. Unfortunately, anyone who did so would be brought down by several hidden but expert and well-armed SPF forces, by security forces themselves, or, if that failed, by the crowd. Stealing that ring was just about the most blasphemous thing you could do around this crowd of faithful; they would all consider it an attack on themselves.
By nightfall, it was clear that the chief administrator was not going to return the ring that night, but Vulture hadn’t thought he would. Tomorrow would be soon enough. By then some of the holiest would have miraculously changed into tourists, and others into bureaucrats trying to score points with their superiors. It was a much better crowd to work with, anyway.
But the next day the museum opened without the ring. By the close of the third day, Vulture was beginning to worry that something in fact was wrong. Chow Dai-Madowa’s horns were already out around a hundred centimeters and seemed to be growing so fast one could almost see them grow, and she was complaining of how tiring it was to stand for any length of time; Chow Mai-Sedowa was in much better shape but her own horns had started to appear and she was eating heavily. Those horns grew at an average of almost ten centimeters a day, judging by Chow Dai. Time was running out.
Worse, the chief administrator continued his public appearances—with the ring nowhere to be seen. Finally, five days later, when Vulture was already talking with Thunder about improvising and making alternate plans, perhaps taking the trio out of Center and getting them back up to Thunder somehow for the births—hard but not impossible if the ring was not in their hands and there was no hue and cry—when the call came to attend the chief administrator and replace the ring. It was done privately, quietly, near the end of the day and with none of the fanfare that taking it out had occasioned. Still, Vulture was reassured to see that the combinations and procedures didn’t seem to have changed.
Nick of time, he thought, and sent signals to the trio and to Thunder. He was all prepared—in fact, he felt overprepared. It was frustrating to have to wait until night.