Possession
-- Hafren
Reading email tended to take Deeta longer than it should, what with Vinni's soft breath in his ear as he read over his lover's shoulder. Vinni couldn't get enough reading matter, ever since Deeta had taught him, and he didn't really understand why anyone might prefer to read in privacy.
His cheek brushed against Deeta's as he pointed to a name on the screen. "You haven't read that one yet. It's Max's alias, isn't it?"
"Yes." Max's emails came from the business address of the Teal diplomatic service, over the signature of an official who hadn't existed in years, as anyone could quickly have found out - Max's usual tactic of letting people find out one secret to put them off the track of another. Ostensibly it was a personal correspondence maintaining the fiction of a long-distance affair. The real messages were encrypted in the punctuation. (Deeta had once objected that the resulting sentences would look suspiciously eccentric to anyone who understood the correct use of the semicolon, to which Max had replied serenely that their chances of being detected were small indeed.)
"Aren't you going to open it? There might be something about Del."
"There hasn't been for a while." But he opened the mail, a little reluctantly, and ran the decoding program. "There, told you. Just chat."
He spoke lightly, but he could feel his face burning. Max's emails were never positively indiscreet - he was a diplomat after all - but they had a wistful, admiring-from-afar tone that was hard to miss. But for all that, when Vinni said "He likes you a lot, doesn't he?" Deeta felt surprised, then guilty that once again, he had underrated Vinni's developing intuition. He turned to him, concerned that he might need reassurance. But the young face was open and unworried, clearly not seeing Max's interest in Deeta as any kind of threat. Vinni's grey eyes smiled down into his, and Deeta pulled the dark head close for a kiss.
One thing he was never tempted to underestimate was Vinni's talent in that direction. The usual hive of bees hummed in Deeta's ears; the usual bubbles prickled and exploded on his tongue, and as usual it was all totally new, unexpected and happening for the first time. He supposed it always would be.
"Ohhh... no, let me get my breath back.... you are just so good at this."
Vinni smiled happily. "Well, you're pretty good yourself. Is Max?"
It took Deeta a moment to see what he meant. "What makes you think I've ever kissed Max?"
Vinni looked puzzled. "Wouldn't he like you to?"
"Very probably, but that doesn't mean I'd do it.... I've never given you cause to think that." The hurt was as clear in his voice as the bafflement on Vinni's face.
"You think I'd mind," Vinni said slowly, "but why? You didn't mind when Henson taught me how to kiss." His brow furrowed. "Did you?"
Deeta hugged him, so that Vinni couldn't see his face. "No, of course not, love." It wasn't even untrue. Vinni had been so open about it, so proud of his new accomplishment, that it would have been impossible to see it as any sort of betrayal, rather a proof of innocence. Deeta was far more hurt now, not so much by the thought that Vinni supposed he might have a thing going with Max, but because he didn't seem to be jealous at all...
And he'd no sooner thought the word than he laughed over Vinni's shoulder, realising how it was. He drew back and held the young, unclouded face in his hands, smiling at his own slowness. Of course Vinni wasn't jealous, why would he be? He'd been created a grown man with no experiences, no memories. He had never had to share his mother with a new baby, never lost a childhood friend or a teenage lover. In his mind, love was for ever, and its quantities not finite; if your lover could fancy the entire galaxy, and still love you as much, you were no loser by it. Deeta had always been the possessive type himself, but for a moment it was a beguiling vision.
Vinni smiled back at him, but then the anxious look returned, the one that happened when he was worried he'd got something wrong. "Am I supposed to mind if Max likes you?"
"No," Deeta reassured him, "no. I just meant... it would be wrong for me to encourage him, in case he wanted things I couldn't give him. He might want me to come and live with him, and I couldn't, because I live here with you."
Vinni nodded, seeing the point, then had a bright idea, lightening his whole face. "He could come and live here with us."
Deeta laughed again and held him closer, a complication of amusement and protectiveness aching inside him. "He's got a job on his own planet, remember? Things aren't as simple as that."
When, next morning, Deeta saw the familiar alias in his inbox again, he was inclined to be annoyed. Two messages in as many days; Max was getting importunate... Then he reflected what else it might mean.
The coded text was brief and to the point. I had a message from him. It was incomplete; I don't know if he sent it too soon by mistake or had to break off. My reply bounced. I think they're on the move. He said the other was ill. It didn't sound good. Am trying to trace where it came from.
Vinni wandered in, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, to find Deeta motionless, staring at the screen as if he could will it to say something else. He read the message, and gave Deeta a hug. "Go and see Max. Del wrote to him, maybe he'll go and see him if he needs help."
"Max lives on Teal. I'm still officially a wanted man there."
"That silly champion business? They've got someone else; they won't bother about it now. Anyway you have to go, don't you?"
Yes, he thought. "Will you be all right?"
"Course I will. Go on, tell him you're coming. And I'll stay here in case Del comes to us." Seeing Deeta still hesitant he added encouragingly "I don't mind, honest. Not even if Max wants to kiss you."
Deeta sent a couple of messages. One to Max, and another that, a day ago, he could never have imagined himself sending. Then he went to pack.
***
The man who called himself Henson had seldom read his email with more interest.
Dear Henson,
Perhaps you are surprised that I found out how to contact you.
He shook his head; he was not in the habit of being surprised and he had always assumed Deeta would do some checking.
Well, I did some checking. And I'm writing to ask a favour, which I reckon you owe me.
(Oh, indeed? After I revolutionised his love life for him!)
I have to go away again, for a reason you will guess, and I can't be sure what will happen. I would like you to keep an eye on him. I was going to add "from a distance", but remembering your effrontery from last time, I don't suppose you will stay distant for long. Just remember that I intend to come back, and I'd prefer you were gone before I get home.
If, however, anything stops me getting back, that would alter things. It would comfort me to think you would take care of him. He's known the death of friends before, but never of someone he loved. I'm not sure how he would take it.
The man realised, with a small frisson of excitement, that he wasn't sure either. His training had taught him to forecast, with tedious accuracy, the reactions of humans, but Vinni was something slightly different. Unpredictability... it was a long time since he'd encountered that.
I don't think I have to ask you not to hurt him intentionally; I think you're truly fond of him. But if you are careless with his happiness, I will surely come back and haunt you. Don't laugh. I used to think there was nothing after death, too. But if anything of me is left, it will be what I feel for him.
The man leaned back. "Well, well," he said softly, his eyes lighting. And to think it had looked like being a dull week.
***
At the spaceport on Teal, as arranged, Deeta called the number Max had left.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Allevia," said the voice on the other end, "it's where I traced the message to. But I haven't found him yet."
Deeta thought back to his time as champion. His challengers had to travel to meet him; he didn't go to them. He had visited few of the planets in Teal's system.
"Never been there. Tourist planet, isn't it?"
Max laughed briefly. "Isn't it always the way, you never visit the sights in your neighbourhood. You should have; Allevia's quite a place. Mainly recreational, yes. Probably not a bad place to hide out, transient population, casual jobs... He could even be doing a bit of piloting." He spoke lightly, which did not reassure Deeta for a second.
"So if everything's fine, why is he trying to get in touch? If Avon's ill, what does he want you to do about it - why don't they just get a doctor? And why didn't he come to you?"
"I don't know," Max admitted, "unless for some reason they don't have the money. There's work on Allevia all right, but living is expensive - so is travel in and out. It's a rich man's planet."
"I'll get the next flight."
"Yes. I'll meet you. Fortunately, an excursion to a pleasure planet fits our cover rather well." Deeta did not reply, and Max asked quietly, "How is Vinni? Still well and happy, I hope?"
Deeta's shoulders relaxed, and he smiled gratefully. "He's fine. He sends his best wishes." He fell silent, the words shaping themselves in his mind into grey eyes trying to smile as he left.
"Let's hope you'll soon be back with him." Max's voice was level and polite, a model of diplomatic blandness. "I'll see you at the spaceport."
Flights to Allevia were frequent, luckily, though Deeta's eyebrows shot into his hairline at the price of the open return. How had Del and Avon afforded it, he wondered, and why go there? He was briefly irritated with Del, for bringing him so far, away from everything he loved and needed to protect. And at once he felt guilty, memories washing over him. Lounging sullenly against a wall, watching their mother attend to the baby, as she always seemed to be doing, and she noticing him and saying gently "Come, you hold him". He hadn't wanted to; hadn't wanted anything to do with it, but she insisted. He had held the small creature awkwardly, while it screwed up its face, eyes closed, and made snuffling, mewing noises.
He had felt amused by it, which was just about the last thing he had expected. Resentment, indifference, anything but the smile he struggled to keep off his face as its hands flailed ineffectually about. It was hard not to feel a condescending, indulgent tolerance towards something so helpless. He put a finger in the way of one feebly waving hand, and was astonished when the tiny fist closed purposefully around it.
"There," said his mother, "he likes you". And he had known what she was doing, known too that the baby had no idea who he was, yet could not stop the rush of pride and affection; had only just managed not to show it. He remembered her face, saddened by his refusal to smile. It wasn't so long afterwards that she died; he could have given her that pleasure, as he had thought many times since.
***
Vinni's eyes kindled with pleasure as he opened the door. "Henson! I haven't seen you in ages. Where've you been?"
"Oh, busy," his visitor said lightly. He could feel the smile curving his lips; Vinni's enthusiasm was hopelessly endearing.
"It's lovely to see you. But guess what, you've missed Del again! He's had to go away; it's such a pity. I'd so like him to meet you."
"Yes," Henson murmured, "that is a shame, isn't it?" Vinni made to hug him, and Henson gestured at the young man's right hand. "Let's put that somewhere safe first, shall we; you won't be needing it."
Vinni glanced down and blushed. "Sorry, I forgot I had it." He laid the gun on a table and opened his arms again.
***
Max greeted him with a kiss, which Deeta endured with good grace. They had agreed to maintain the pretence of an affair as cover for his visit, in case anyone was watching. Deeta knew that made sense; he also knew that Max was not averse to acting out what he wanted in reality. But he owed the man.
"No luck yet?"
"Not much, but I haven't been here long. I couldn't get away from work until a few days ago." Max sounded apologetic, and Deeta felt guiltier than ever.
"It's very good of you to go to the trouble at all, Max; it isn't as if you had any obligation... " He trailed off, embarrassed, because they both knew why Max was going to the trouble.
"At least," Max said, "they're here in the capital, or they were when he sent that mail. I did find out that much. He was in a cybercafé near the North Beach. I've been checking my mobile all the time in case he comes through again. I wish he'd thought to say where we could meet him, but maybe his time ran out. Anyway, we may as well start there."
Allevia was an odd place, Deeta thought, as they strolled along one of the capital's wide, tree-lined boulevards, trying to look like people with nowhere special to go. The architecture was very beautiful, silver and white, glass-fronted buildings making the most of the natural sunlight, but it all looked curiously insubstantial, like a street frontage on a film set, with nothing behind it. There were five-star hotels, posh apartment blocks, cafés, bars, restaurants, gaming halls, shops that seemed, from a passing glance, to sell exclusively the kind of things people coveted but could do without, but never a grocer's nor a hardware store that he could see. Allevia was for having fun in. Something about it repelled him.
"Where do the workers live?" he asked Max.
"On the outskirts." Max indicated a monorail above them. "They just come in to work; they live well outside the tourist bits. Those who need anywhere to live, that is."
"What do you mean?"
Max gestured at a discreet structure, rather like a large kennel, down a side street. "There's a cleaning bot in there. They're all over Allevia City; in the early hours they're activated to clean the streets. An awful lot of stuff is automated here. It probably costs more than paying real people to do it, actually, but they find robots more scenic. The tourists, I mean, and the permanent population. Workers aren't permanent; they usually get visas for a year. Three at most, unless they're personal staff."
"Why?"
Max shrugged. "Because the Allevians don't want a permanent underclass in their midst growing more disaffected by the day. I suppose this way, they don't have time to get too jealous. And there are always plenty of replacements queueing up for the work permits. If they do overstay, they have to go illegal - that does cause some problems, because of course it's hard to get any decent kind of work then. In fact, if you believe their media, it's where most of the crime comes from."
Deeta found himself beginning to take a strong dislike to the Allevians. And yet, he reminded himself ruefully, in his time as champion of Teal he had stayed in enough five-star hotels. If he'd come to Allevia in those days, he might quite have liked the place - at all events, he certainly wouldn't have been identifying with illegal overstayers and redundant street-sweepers.
"Do you think Del and Avon came here without work permits?"
Max hesitated. "It had crossed my mind. I've brought full sets of papers... But it really shouldn't be possible. You saw yourself what the passport control was like, and the price of flights is an even greater barrier. Nobody comes here to work unless they've got all the right papers and a job lined up. But if they travelled as tourists, I can't think where the money came from."
***
The man who called himself Henson lay enjoying the cool of the white sheets for some moments before it occurred to him that he was no longer surprised by them, no longer missing his own fuchsia satin. He was getting used to waking up in Deeta's bed. He stretched out an arm and encountered a young body, still asleep, which turned automatically into his arms. He smiled lazily and nuzzled into dark, clean-smelling hair; he could easily get used to this too.
Vinni's eyes opened, smiling, and immediately clouded in disappointment. He rallied quickly. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's lovely having you here, but when I wake up I always think it's Deeta for a moment, and then I can't help feeling sad. I do wish he was back."
"I'm sure he'll come soon," his companion consoled him, and realised that for at least that moment, he had actually wanted it to happen, to clear the trouble from Vinni's eyes. He tried kissing it away from them instead.
He couldn't find Vinni's candour hurtful, nor indeed anything but endearing. For an experienced people-forecaster, studying someone who was not quite human, and correspondingly unpredictable, was proving as fascinating as he'd expected. Vinni was a succession of small, sweet surprises, forever making him rethink how he'd always looked at the world.
Less welcome was his sudden inability to predict his own reactions. Daily he heard words coming from his mouth that he hadn't expected to say or mean, as had happened just now. He had of course experienced that before, when he last met Vinni and caught himself being uncharacteristically altruistic. But this time, he had thought he would be ready for it. Vinni, he'd reasoned, would be less of an innocent by now, more savvy and fairer game. Only it didn't seem to be working out quite like that. The young man knew more, certainly, but his way of seeing things was still enchantingly - or frustratingly - unlike that of a normal adult, and apt to evoke feelings of protectiveness and restraint which Henson could seriously do without..
For instance, the way Vinni didn't regard the bed as particularly his and Deeta's. It was just a bed anyone might sleep in. In fact he wasn't possessive about anything, except that damn gun, presumably because it was the only possession he had been born with, so to speak. It was never far away from him, though apparently it was only in Deeta's absence that he'd started carrying it when he opened the door; he was nervous without him. Henson had managed to talk him out of it, on the ground that passing tradesmen would be even more nervous and might make trouble with the authorities.
At night Vinni kept the gun on the table at his side of the bed, and Henson, eyeing it in the lamplight, sometimes thought Deeta had a lot more guts than he did himself.
There were compensations, though.
***
On their way to the North Beach, Max had described it as "raffish" - apparently the South Beach was where the really serious money hung out - and Deeta had perked up, hoping to find a bit of Allevia he could stand. But the café was another architectural dream in steel and glass, with maritime views, astronomical prices and beautiful people. Then he looked more closely and saw that though the beautiful people in the café were dressed in the usual Allevian style, namely designer casual so simply cut, it must have cost a fortune, those outside were far more brightly and cheaply clothed and did not have the sleek, healthy glow he'd come to expect in the city. A couple of them held their hands out to him, and he looked at Max, startled; he hadn't thought the Allevians would allow beggars in their pristine environment.
"Oh yes," Max said drily, "giving makes the tourists feel happy and it all adds to the atmosphere. As long as they're picturesque, of course."
It was true, Deeta realised; the beggars' finery might be tawdry, and several had the interesting pallor that comes of not eating properly, but they were all young and good-looking. Old or unattractive poor folk were obviously expected to starve politely somewhere out of sight. Deeta felt his hand curl into a fist again; it was something that had happened quite a lot since they arrived.
They had agreed that Max would make the enquiries - it was his turf - so Deeta gave his loose change to a young woman with a baby and an older child, and lounged against the wall. He kept an eye out in case Max needed back-up, and watched the human traffic. In both senses. The beautiful people in the café, he soon saw, were neither as beautiful nor as young as first appeared; they gave that impression, because of the designer clothes and costly skincare, but look close and you would see the crows' feet, the cracks in the make-up. They would come out on to the terrace sometimes, to be at once surrounded by a crowd of the truly young and beautiful, whose eyes sparkled with sudden hope and who courted them with a natural grace that made even supplication pretty. Sometimes the reward for the supplication was a coin or two, carelessly tossed, but the real aim, evidently, was to be singled out with a jerk of the head or a beckoning finger and invited inside.
Deeta found himself wondering what Del had been doing here; which side had he been on? Much as he loved him, he was under no illusion that Del was beautiful, compared with some of the ravishing talent on show here - but he did have a gawky charm that might go down well with some. His stomach turned at the thought of his brother cajoling strangers for the price of whatever he needed. But then he thought of the alternative, Del among the hard-eyed, self-satisfied consumers currently eyeing up the human goods, and knew which he preferred.
Max wandered over and said quietly, "Nothing yet. It might help if you got yourself invited inside the café, while I work the terrace. Someone in there might have seen them."
"How?" Deeta asked, aghast. "I'm hardly love's young dream!"
"Oh, you'll do," Max's smile was crooked. "Concentrate on the older women." He moved off again.
Deeta glanced around and fixed on a woman sitting alone at an open window, looking out at the people on the terrace. She could have passed for mid-forties, which in Allevia probably meant she was ten years older. Her eyes had the hard glitter he had seen in so many of her kind, and her lips were rather too bright a red. He caught her eye and she stared haughtily, as if expecting him to lower his gaze. But he'd seen a hunger in her look too, and stared right back. She raised an eyebrow and beckoned him.
As he entered, the doorman stopped him, looking uncertain. "Customer... sir?" Before he could reply, the woman called out "Guest, Drysor. Mine." She walked over, taking her time.
The man's lip curled. He reached for a silver collar and made to put it around Deeta's neck.
"What the hell-" Deeta sprang back.
"Rule of the house." The "sir" had vanished, Deeta noted.
"Are you from out of town?" The woman's tones were drawling, her face amused. "If your kind want to come in, that's the way. Here, let me do it." She clipped the collar around his neck, while he remembered why he was there and held his hands back. Then she snapped her fingers and the doorman gave her a remote. She pressed a switch and it was as if a silver thread, thinner than a spider's filament, grew between the remote and the collar. He could hardly see it, except as a vague shimmer in the air.
"There, that's not so bad, is it? Now what do you want? You don't look short of food, so it must be something else you can't do without. Drugs? Drink? Throwing money away on the wheel?" Her mouth twitched slightly. "Sex?"
"Maybe later." He had seen the bright flush in her face, and thought tact might be in order. "Can I go online first?"
"Oh, that's what you're hooked on." She threw him some credits. "Half an hour - over there." He thanked her and moved off to the area she'd indicated, where the computer screens were. As he walked, the silver shimmer connecting him to her lengthened; it was, he perceived, a sort of virtual extending dog-lead. With a conscious effort, he unclenched his fist again.
The moment he sat down in front of the screen, everything went out of his head except mailing Vinni. He sent a long post, then dragged his mind back to the task in hand and glanced at the people at the consoles either side of him. The boy on his right was playing a computer game, eyes fixed on the screen, lips parted, with the concentration of a total addict. Deeta doubted he'd looked closely at anything real for years. But the girl on his left, who had just finished mailing, made eye contact and smiled slightly.
"You come here often?" he asked, and knew at once by her amusement that the line was as much a cliché on Allevia as anywhere else.
"You obviously don't." She kept her eyes on the screen as she spoke, which reminded him that their respective patrons might be watching. He glanced over his shoulder.
"Don't worry; you'll know when she wants you back. But best look at the screen. What do you want; are you trying to pick me up for later?"
"No! I mean, I would, but... no, I'm looking for someone. My brother. I think he's in trouble. His last contact was from here, but it was weeks ago."
She looked thoughtful. "Well, he can't be rich, or he wouldn't be in trouble... so if he called from here, he got in the same way you and I did. What does he look like?"
Deeta fished out the picture he carried.
"Oh, him. I remember him all right. He was an idiot. The guy who was subbing him called him over, and suddenly there was a fight going on. Either he hadn't realised what the method of payment was, or he thought he could handle it and then changed his mind. But he could have ruined things for all of us. I work in the city; I get enough to live on and send a bit home, which my folks can't do without. But if I want to talk to my mum, this is the only way. Did he think you get in for nothing?"
"What happened to him?"
"The bouncers chucked him out. He was all right; he could still walk. But they'll never let him in here again."
Deeta swore under his breath. "He could be anywhere, then."
She glanced at him again, with sympathy. "Look... he might have needed doctoring. There's a bloke called Goudie; he does it for free sometimes, so he might have seen him."
Deeta smiled gratefully. "Thanks." He was trying to think of an inoffensive way to offer her money, when she flinched slightly, and he realised she'd felt some sort of impulse through the virtual chain. "Damn," she said lightly, "time for work." He looked along the taut silver thread from her collar and saw a thin-lipped blond man with a hard face and that sleek look that made Deeta want to punch half of Allevia. Watching the girl walk over, he hoped Del had made a good job of his fight.
Now he knew there was no point in staying, he did not wait to be summoned via his lead but walked over to the woman at the end of it. She looked surprised, but pleased. "Can't you wait any longer?" she drawled appreciatively.
"No," he agreed, "I really can't. If I stay one minute more among this bunch of smug exploitative ancient lechers, I shan't be responsible for my actions." He made to unclip the collar and found he couldn't, which rather detracted, he thought, from his heroic stance.
Her eyes flashed with anger. She pressed the remote and the collar sprang open. "Get out." He'd thought he might get thrown out, or even beaten up, but he was allowed to walk out unhindered.
Max was waiting on the terrace. "Have you been ruining my credit in there?"
"He's been there. I got the name of this doctor-"
"So did I. Come on, I got an address too."
As they left, Deeta glanced back through the window. The woman was still looking at him; the age in her face seemed more obvious and the glitter in her eyes not so much hardness as desperation. He felt a tug, almost as if the lead were still there.
***
Henson listened to the monotonous thumps from outside for a while, then sighed and stopped trying to concentrate on his book. He went out back, to the tiny garden where Vinni was throwing a ball, one-handed, at the hoop Deeta had fixed on the wall. He was scoring, and looking more depressed, every time. Henson put his arms around him from behind and got a fearful shock from the speed with which the young man spun round, eyes blazing, right hand dropping to his side.
"Easy," Henson said gently, "it's only me." Vinni looked a bit shocked himself; he hadn't had a reaction like that in some time. He let himself be held, but Henson could still feel the tension in his body.
"You're really wound up, aren't you? Have you checked your messages lately? Maybe there's a new one."
Vinni nodded miserably and handed him a printout. "They still haven't found Del."
Henson scanned the message, wincing rather less at the endearments than he might once have done. "Well, at least you know he's thinking about you. And he does say he'll be home as soon as he can."
"I want to see him. I want him here, now." The words were childlike and Vinni was a bit tearful, but the pain in his eyes was not, quite, that of a child. Concerned, Henson led him back inside, sat him down and held him. The hug was purely meant as comfort, for about two minutes; then he found himself nibbling gently at Vinni's lips and prising them apart with his tongue. Vinni lay back in his arms, opening up to him, and Henson, or the part of him that could still think, reflected that while altruism had its pleasures, it couldn't hold a candle to self-interest. He closed his eyes, a long-standing habit of his when trying to give himself at least the illusion of some mystique about his partner. It worked this time, for when he opened them again, he was genuinely surprised to see Vinni's face still so bleak.
"I'm sorry," he said, a little hurt despite himself, "I thought it might make you feel better."
"It isn't the same." Vinni sounded as much baffled as sad. "I... I love all that, and you're very good at it, but...." He shook his head, as if trying to shake his thoughts straight. "I love it with you usually, but now I want it to be him, and if it's anybody else in the world, it won't work."
"Ah," his companion said softly, recognising an old enemy when he saw one. Monogamy was, in his view, a dreadful, wasteful habit, but once it rooted itself in someone, it was very hard to break. He traced Vinni's cheekbone lightly with one finger, reminiscing.
"Will he be feeling like that?"
"Eh?" Henson forced his mind back to the present. "Who?"
"Deeta, of course." (That injured tone, as if there were no-one else in the world worth talking about.) "Will he... not want to do it with anyone who isn't me?"
Despite himself, Henson smiled. "I think that's highly probable, yes." He hugged Vinni again, with no ulterior motive this time. "He'll come back to you. I'm sure of it."
Vinni smiled up at him, and he might have told his conscience to go boil its head again, if there hadn't been a sudden ring at the doorbell. "I'll go." He pressed Vinni's shoulder gently back down and went to the door.
The man outside was looking down at a clipboard, his face hidden by an official cap. Then he looked up. Henson just had time to see the flicker of shocked recognition in his eyes, and to feel the sudden lurch in his own stomach. In another second, he might have been able to put a name to him.
But that was the second the man's head exploded in blood.
***
Deeta hesitated as the doctor's surgery door purred open. The carpet pile felt a foot thick and all the room's furnishings were top-drawer, including the classy young lady at reception.
"This can't be the right place."
Max was already talking to the receptionist. "We were hoping to see Dr Goudie - not a consultation, a personal matter."
She hesitated, and he showed her a card which seemed to reassure her - it could have been anything; Deeta knew by now that Max the diplomat had more IDs than your average conman. At all events, another door purred at them and they were ushered into the great man's consulting room.
"Yes?"
He was small, slim, olive-skinned. Deeta took in the immaculate suit, the careful grooming, and almost went into automatic dislike mode, but for something in the face looking questioningly into his. The features were very delicate, the lips unexpectedly full and sensuous, but mainly it was the most impossibly dark, liquid eyes he'd ever seen. Deeta paused, disconcerted, and Max stepped in.
"My friend is trying to find someone. His brother," he added hastily, seeing the doctor's face go blank, "we have no connection with the authorities here. We think he may have needed medication recently and been unable to pay." He gestured to Deeta, who showed the doctor the picture.
"Ah."
"You've seen him? Can you take us where he is?"
"I should need more proof that you are who you claim to be."
Max provided some background details, most of which, Deeta noted with surprise, were true; Max must really have trusted this man on sight. For himself, he couldn't think straight, nor could he decide if that was because of the prospect of seeing Del soon or because he couldn't get his mind off those eyes.
The monorail was sleek and gleaming. Max leaned back in his seat. "Well, this is a first for me; I've never been outside the city centre before."
"Where are we going?" Deeta asked the doctor.
"One of the dormitory suburbs for the workers. I have an evening surgery there."
"Is it true you treat people for free?"
"If it's necessary. Those in work pay what they can, so that those in... less fortunate circumstances don't have to."
"And your posh patients in the city," Deeta asked, "what do they pay?"
He felt the dark, deep eyes turned full on him. "Every last credit I can squeeze out of them," Goudie said calmly. "I am phenomenally expensive, which incidentally cements my reputation; my city patients are convinced that what costs the most must necessarily be the best."
Deeta smiled despite himself. "And are you?"
"Possibly."
Deeta caught Max's uneasy look, a discreet plea not to jeopardise their business by being so chippy. He doubted, himself, that anything could penetrate this man's calm, but he resisted the urge to try, and looked out at the passing scenery instead.
It was early evening; people were heading for home. At every stop, sharp-suited business people, tourists, women laden with expensive-looking shopping got in. He saw the workers too, their shoulders more slumped, their faces tired. It was a few stops before he realised that none of them were getting into the car he was in; they were all crowding into the car behind, in which there must now be standing room only.
"We're in the first class, right?"
Max raised an eyebrow. "Yes. The same way you always travelled."
Deeta gazed morosely out of the window, watching the city go by. Outside its civic centre were low-density residential areas, immaculate houses and flats surrounded by gardens, public buildings in Allevia's usual silver-and-glass. Around these, there ran a band of parkland, beautifully maintained. Beyond that, they entered what appeared to be an industrial sector of factories and warehouses. This in turn gave way to a band of wasteland, uncultivated, undeveloped, with no cover but low-growing bushes and rampant weeds. He was surprised; there were few planets on which development land was not at a premium and this was potential profit going begging. Their car was otherwise empty by now; all the businessmen and shoppers had got off before the park.
Beyond the wasteland was more residential development. This time it was high-density: featureless concrete blocks in grid-like streets, with now and then a shabby-looking shop. This was where the workers began to pour off; Deeta realised for the first time how many they were, compared to the population they supported. He chuckled grimly; he could see, now, why the Allevians might want that band of wasteland between themselves and the enemy in their midst.
The station where they got off was defaced with graffiti, the first Deeta had seen in Allevia. Most of it was fly-posting for dubious-sounding concerns, but here and there was a demand for votes for workers, which most of them, being non-permanent residents, didn't have. A young man was removing it; obviously the scenic robots didn't operate this far out.
Goudie's surgery proved to be in a disused warehouse, and it was full. He glanced around and raised an eyebrow. "My assistant is late," he murmured, but then unpacked a capacious bag and got tranquilly on with his task. He dealt with mothers and their infants, old folk, workers, all with the same bland courtesy; most offered him a few credits, though sometimes he gave them back. In the assistant's absence, Max and Deeta were roped in; at one point Max was, most uneasily, holding a baby while Deeta helped Goudie bandage its mother's arm, the doctor's strong, long-fingered hands brushing against his.
Surgery was nearly done when the door burst open and the assistant hurried in. "I'm sorry; I couldn't get away-" and then he stopped dead.
"Del," Deeta whispered. "Oh, Del."
***
Vinni, gun in hand, trembling uncontrollably, stared down at the mess on the doorstep. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Henson was going through the pockets. "He was a Federation agent. I can't recall his name offhand, but I've met him. He knew me too; he just didn't expect to find me here. He must have been after Deeta."
"It's a neutral planet," Vinni said unsteadily, "they can't arrest us here."
"No, not officially. But they can kidnap you or even kill you, unofficially. In self-defence, of course. Look." He showed Vinni the pen on the clipboard that was really a gun.
Vinni was still rooted and staring. Henson sighed; he was not exactly the active type himself, but anything was better than being the arrested type. "Vinni. Call the police. Now. Just say there's someone dead. No more." The tone of authority worked; Vinni stumbled through the call while Henson performed a few minor adjustments to the position of the corpse and cleaned some prints.
The local law, when they arrived, were not hostile. The dead man had clearly been dressed to mislead and carrying a concealed weapon, with which Henson testified to having been threatened. And the state of Vinni was enough to convince them that he wasn't used to guns and had fired only in defence of life... One of the detectives did ask how the gun had come to be handy, on which Henson had mentioned the area's rising rate of violent crime and jerked his head towards Vinni. "He's nervous," he said in an undertone, "you can see."
The detective nodded seriously. "If I were you, sir," he said kindly to the still-shivering Vinni, "I'd get rid of that" - he indicated the gun on the table. "You were lucky. Another time, a burglar might get it off you and use it against you. Get a security chain and a viewer instead."
Vinni, with a shuddering movement, picked up the gun and handed it to him, whispering "Please take it away", and if they hadn't been convinced already, his obvious sincerity would have done it.
When they had gone, Henson asked gently, "Why did you shoot him?"
"Something felt wrong. In his eyes. In you. I don't know. It just went through me, in a moment, and I didn't think."
"Well, you were right, weren't you?"
Vinni stared at the table where the gun had been. "But I didn't know that, not when I did it." Henson could see he would never touch a gun again, and while part of him thought that a good idea, he couldn't help regretting that Vinni had been bereaved of the one thing he seemed to count as a possession. He put an arm around him, and Vinni clung to him convulsively, kissing his eyes and lips and then drawing back, looking shocked at himself.
Henson laughed. "Don't worry. It's reaction, that's all. Even if it's one person you want, there are times when what you need is just to be with someone, and if it can't be him, then anyone else'll do. When I'm not facing the face that I fancy, I fancy the face I face, I believe the song goes." He smiled and stroked Vinni's cheek. "Would you like me to prove it to you? It's good therapy for shock."
Vinni nodded. "Not in the bed, though." He drew Henson toward the couch.
***
Deeta thought Del looked terrible. Thinner, paler, more haggard. Then he looked again and wasn't so sure; there was a new light in his eyes as well as a new sorrow.
"Del, what happened? I've been so worried. How's A-"
"If we could just finish surgery first?" The doctor's polite murmur was a command, not a suggestion. Del seemed grateful to throw himself into what work remained. He was deft at it, Deeta noticed, far more adept than he or Max had been. When the last patient had left, Deeta repeated his question.
"We came here on work permits." Despite the time Del had had to think about his answer, the words seemed to be dragged out of him. "It was all right at first. Avon was fixing rich folks' computers, I was servicing their flyers. But then we got mugged. Lost all our papers." He laughed bitterly. "Well, we couldn't very well go to the authorities and ask for new ones, not when they'd been fake in the first place. Something might have come out. And there's a limit to the sort of work you can get without papers. I've been doing a lot of fly-posting lately."
"Why didn't you contact me?" Max asked.
"Tried. Made a hash of it. Anyway it doesn't matter now." He glanced at Goudie, said "You tell them, if you want," and walked out of the room.
Deeta turned to the doctor. "Tell us what?"
"The other man," Goudie murmured, "had been ill, it would seem, even before the mugging. Afterwards he more or less retreated into himself; he also practically stopped eating and could get no sleep. It was then that your brother first called me in to him. I did what I could, which was very little since, in my judgement, he had no wish to live. I left them some drugs - vitamins mostly - but warned your brother that I did not expect them to help much unless the patient's attitude changed."
He paused and glanced out at the yard, where Del was kicking a can against the wall. "It would, unfortunately, have been impossible to persuade your brother of that. He got it into his head that perhaps more exotic food might tempt the appetite. As I understand it," his murmur became even more polite and distressed, "he tried a slightly unorthodox way of earning some money, which went wrong. He came to me somewhat roughed up, and having attended to him, I escorted him home, as he was still unsteady."
Deeta bit his lip, every word bruising him. He tapped on the window and called, "Del. Come back in. Please."
Goudie coughed delicately. "When we arrived, the other was dead. I still don't know for certain how. I had left only a few sleeping pills, because I mistrusted the patient's intentions, but I think they had managed to procure more. Be that as it may, the lack of food could equally have done the business, and he had been adamant that he would not go near a hospital. Your brother blamed himself."
"Reasonably enough, wouldn't you say?" Del was leaning just inside the door. "I did get him the extra pills; he seemed so desperate for sleep, but I could have used my brains. And I could have got him help by using the one bloody asset I had, instead of being so damn precious about it."
"You talk of help," the doctor said, and even in the midst of his pain for Del, it struck Deeta how musical his tones were, "but you mean help to live. Since that was the last thing he wished to do, one could argue that the only help you could give him was to let him go. For what it is worth, that was the first peaceful expression I had ever seen on his face."
Deeta crossed over to Del and hugged him. "Come home with me."
Del shook his head. "I'm all right. I work for Dr Goudie now. And there's the fly-posting - the fast food merchants could do without me, but I put up stuff for the Votes for Transients campaign too." The light was back in his eyes, and his voice held a trace of pride.
"Of course," said Goudie with his polite cough, "it would help considerably if new papers were forthcoming." Max rummaged in his briefcase and brought out two sets of documents. He checked, put one back and handed the other over. A look of pain creased Del's face.
"They would have done him no good earlier, either," the doctor assured him. "And actually, we still have a use for them. Good quality papers can be of great help to some of my patients and they're exorbitant on the black market." He held his hand out to Max, who surrendered the papers meekly.
Deeta grinned. He couldn't imagine refusing the man anything himself. Glancing at Max's bemused face, he realised that all his time away from home, he'd been preening himself on his ability to resist Max's timid, obvious crush on him. But how much credit did fidelity do you, if it merely resulted from not being tempted? He twirled the silver ring on his finger, thought of light-grey, dancing eyes and knew he loved them as much as ever. Only they weren't here, and the deep brown pools he was trying to avoid looking at were, and the sooner he was home, the better....
***
Deeta had been careful to give notice of his homecoming, so he wasn't surprised to find only Vinni there. When he let himself in, he saw the light kindle in Vinni's grey eyes, and wondered how he could ever have fancied dark ones.
"Oh Deeta, I've missed you so much! And I've got so much to tell you." But at this he paused, the grey clouded, and Deeta could see him steeling himself. "I... there's something I have to confess."
Oh Henson, if I ever get my hands on you... Deeta caught Vinni in his arms and held him close. "No, there isn't," he said, and proceeded to make conversation of any sort impossible.