Voices - Vornholt John. Страница 46

“Identicard, please?”

Talia took a breath and handed the card over to the secunty guard at the gate. If she got caught up here in the Clarke Spaceport, there wasn’t anywhere for her to run. She adjusted her sunglasses as she waited for him to slide the card through his scanner.

“Thank you, Ms. Nelson,” he replied, handing the card back to her. “Will you be staying long?”

“I’m catching a flight to Mars right away,” she answered.

“Thank you,” he repeated like a parrot. “Have a pleasant stay.”

Talia moved past him, walking like a zombie with no particular sense of where she was going in the sprawling spaceport. She saw a bank of screens running news highlights, and she made a beeline in the opposite direction. She never wanted to see herself in the news again—from now on she would lead a life of quiet obscurity. She figured she had about fifty credits left on her creditchit, and food was the most logical thing to blow it on. If the Psi Cops brought her down, at least she would die with a full stomach.

She entered the restaurant as Gray and Garibaldi walked by. They didn’t see each other.

“She may be traveling with a man,” said Garibaldi. “At least, that’s the report I saw.”

“Then maybe she’s run in a completely different direction,” replied Gray. “After all, Mars is a stronghold for the Psi Cops. If I were running, I would certainly not go to Mars.”

Garibaldi smiled. “I’ll remember that if I’m ever chasing you. He looked back at the restaurant they had just passed. “You want something to eat?”

“No, thank you,” answered Gray with a sour expression. “My stomach has been acting up. Too much excitement, too many quick takeoffs and landings. You go ahead. I’d just like to sit down until they announce our flight.”

Garibaldi turned to go, and then something caught his eye. He gripped Gray’s arm and pointed. “What are they doing?”

About thirty meters away, a team of four black-uniformed Psi Cops had stopped a young blond woman and were checking her identicard. She was protesting, but it didn’t do her much good.

“Spot-checking,” said Gray. “They’re still looking for her.”

Through clenched teeth, Garibaldi muttered, “Even though they know she’s innocent.”

“Those four men don’t know she’s innocent. Only Bester knows, and it’s useful to him to blame Ms. Winters. If we could find Malten, maybe we could get him to testify on her behalf.”

“If he’s still alive,” added Garibaldi.

The Psi Cops bowed and offered apologies to the woman who scurried to get away from them as quickly as possible. They strode down the corridor, four abreast, scrutinizing every woman they passed.

“I just lost my appetite,” growled Garibaldi. “Let’s go find the gate and be the first ones on for a change.”

At the counter in the restaurant, Talia had just started to eat her tuna fish sandwich when she saw the four black-suited Psi Cops stop in the doorway. They entered and confronted a young woman seated close to the door. Talia quickly lowered her head and wrapped the sandwich in her napkin. When they headed her way, she bolted for the restroom, hoping nobody would notice her quick departure. Fortunately, it was the kind of place where people often had to run and eat at the same time. At least, that’s what she told herself as she burst through the swinging door into the women’s rest room.

Talia took refuge in one of the stalls and sat on the toilet lid. Glumly, she unwrapped her squashed sandwich and tried to eat it. But she only got through a few bites before she dissolved into tears. Was this the life she had to face? Running from the sight of a uniform, eating in a bathroom stall? She was so pathetic. Maybe she should just march up to the Psi Cops and turn herself in. They could only kill her once, but this way she was dying every minute.

The telepath hadn’t realized how loudly she was sobbing until she heard a knock on the door. “Are you all right?” asked a kindly voice.

She grabbed some toilet paper and dabbed it at her eyes. “Yes, yes,” she lied. “I’m all right.”

“Can I help you?”

This was ridiculous, talking through the door of a bathroom stall. “Just a second,” she said. Talia stood up and tossed the remains of her sandwich into the toilet, which she loudly flushed.

When she emerged, she saw a kindly old lady, smiling sweetly at her. “What’s the problem, dearie?”

As Talia was trying to figure out what to say, she heard a synthesized voice announce, “Transport Bradley to Mars is now loading at docking bay three. Repeat, transport Bradley to Mars is now loading at docking bay three.”

“It’s … it’s my boyfriend!” Talia blurt out. “He beats me, and I’ve been frying to run away from him. But everywhere I go, he follows me!”

The old lady frowned. “That sonofabitch. Let’s sic the police on him!”

“No,” said Talia, “that will only bog me down in more legal problems. I’ve got a ticket for the flight to Mars, and if I can just get on it, I’ll be rid of him for good. I’ve got family who will protect me there.”

“Is he out there now?” asked the lady, pointing to the door leading to the restaurant.

“Yes,” breathed Talia. “Perhaps if there was a diversion, I could get past him.”

The woman nodded thoughtfully. “You mean, like if a little old lady ran out there, saying some guy was frying to flash her?”

“Yes, that would do it,” said Talia. “Direct everybody’s attention toward the back of the restaurant, if you can, and I’ll run out the front. Thanks so much.”

“Fine,” said the older lady, fluffing her hair in the mirror. “I like to act.”

She walked calmly out of the rest room and went to the rear of the restaurant, where she commenced screaming. “Help! Help! He flashed me! He’s naked! He went that way!”

Talia edged out the door and skirted along the wall, as far as possible from the direction the lady was pointing. Even the four Psi Cops stopped their interrogations long enough to see what the fuss was about, and two of them moved to intercept the old lady.

“He doesn’t have any pants on!” she screamed.

No one noticed Talia as she slipped away from the restaurant.

At the gate, there was a long line waiting to board the transport to Mars, and at the end of the line were two different Psi Cops, questioning a young woman and her male companion. Talia nearly bolted in the opposite direction, but her reasoning faculties overruled her panic button. There had to be teams of Psi Cops all over the spacedock, the voice of self-preservation said. Hanging around here was suicide. She fished her ticket out of the pocket of her blue pantsuit and charged to the front of the line.

“Harold, Harold!” she called, waving her ticket. “Yoo-hoo! Wait for me!”

She stepped right in front of a middle-age couple waiting to board and stomped her foot. “Oh, that man? Didn’t he get my message?”

“Go ahead,” said the man, motioning her to go first.

“Thank you,” she said with a curtsey.

She stepped in front of the gate agent and offered him her ticket.

“I’ll need to run your identicard, too,” said the young man with a sigh.

“Oh,” she answered, trying to sound nonplussed. “I didn’t think they carded you on this end.”

“Just for today. Extra security precautions. That’s why the line’s so backed up.” He took her card and ran it through. When he handed the card back, he didn’t bother to call her Ms. Nelson, but he did wave her through.

Twenty meters away, midway down the line, Harriman Gray clicked his tongue. “Did you see that woman cut in line? Some people have no class.”

“Hmm,” murmured Garibaldi. He had been watching the two Psi Cops roust all the young, attractive women. Some job they had. He wondered whether either of them had been part of the execution squad that had wasted Emily Crane in the wee hours.

Their patience was eventually rewarded, and Garibaldi and Gray boarded the Bradley. This was a big transport with a full complement, as the jump between Earth and Mars was a popular one, and Garibaldi panned the sea of faces as they made their way to the back of the craft. Gray didn’t even question the seating rule anymore. For once, they settled in at the very last row, and Garibaldi stretched his long legs in the aisle.

Talia had been studying her identicard for several seconds, wondering if it was still a pass to freedom or a death certificate. She had used it four times, the last unexpectedly, and she would be asked for it again when she disembarked at Mars. She didn’t have any other card she could use, and they wouldn’t let her off without it—so she was going to use it a fifth time, like it or not. She hadn’t planned to spend the entire flight in anguish over her identicard, but that’s how it looked.

Then she saw two Psi Cops enter the transport and stop near the front of the cabin. Talia slouched in her seat, glad she had picked a row toward the rear of the craft, about two-thirds of the way back. She was in the last seat, against the bulkhead, and she leaned away from the aisle and put her chin in her hand to hide her face.

But the Psi Cops hadn’t come on board searching for her; they were passengers traveling to Mars. They were among the last to find their seats. Great, thought Talia, two Psi Cops sitting a few rows away from her and a bum identicard that she couldn’t use anymore. She gnawed on her thumbnail and wondered what else could go wrong.

“It’s a full ship,” observed Mr. Gray.

“There are still two Psi Cops,” muttered Garibaldi. “Damn, they were beginning to get on my nerves back there. Who the hell do they think they are?”

“Psi Cops chasing a rogue telepath,” said Gray. “You think we’re only hard on you folks, the nontelepaths. We’re much harder on ourselves. By running, Ms. Winters brought this on herself, remember that.”

“We’ve got to find her first,” vowed Garibaldi, although he realized that if hundreds of Psi Cops and a whole planetful of police couldn’t find her, what chance did he have? Maybe her male companion was good; maybe he had gotten her out of it. After all, there was a lot of space out there, and maybe she could find a safe chunk of it. Garibaldi wished her well if she was running for daylight. But he would miss her.

“Please prepare for departure,” said a computer voice. “Fasten seat restraints; stow all documents and carry-on items.”

A few meters away, Talia relaxed in her chair. It was definite now—if she was going to be arrested, it would be on Mars. Of course, that would just feed the publicity mill that was grinding out stories about her connections to Mars. It couldn’t be helped. This nightmare wanted to create its own internal logic, and she had to go with it.