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every step. Inside he found himself plunged into an organized maelstrom of
activity, bumped and nudged by rapidly moving programmers and processors while
his escort maneuvered them both ever deeper into the bowels of the Authority.
Then the escort left him alone outside a door. It was a perfectly ordinary
door, identical to dozens he'd passed daring his descent. The voice that bade
him enter, however, sent a chill through him, a new sensation for Tarragon.
Every informed human being on Earth knew that voice.
"Come in, please." He entered.
The elderly man who sat staring at several optos matched the voice. Tarragon
looked past him, at the optos. The information displayed was incomprehensible
to him.
How tired he looks, Tarragon thought. He always looked tired during his public
appearances, but never this worn. He wondered if they used makeup on him for
his opto speeches.
"It's me, sir. I have an appointment. Tarragon?"
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"Tarragon? Oh, yes, the man from North America." Oristano swiveled round in
his chair and extended a hand. He did not rise.
"How do you do, Tarragon." He gestured toward a nearby couch. "Please take a
seat."
Tarragon did so, feeling a little more at ease. While the Chief of Operations
and Programming still presented a formidable appearance, it was much less
impressive than he'd anticipated. What Martin
Oristano represented, however. was more than enough to awe his visitor.
"Excuse me, sir, but I still don't know why I've been told to report to you.
I'm not used to being yanked from an unfinished assignment, especially one as
baffling and frustrating as the one I've been concentrating on this past
month."
"I am quite familiar with the problems you've been having, Tarragon, and
believe me, I sympathize."
Tarragon nodded, unsurprised. The CPO had access to everything that happened
on the planet. "Then there's more to this business than I've been told?"
"Quite a bit more."
"That still doesn't tell me why I'm here, or why I've been pulled from the
case."
"You haven't been 'pulled from the case,' Tarragon. You're still assigned to
it. You've been brought here to be filled in. You see, the Colligatarch itself
has become interested in the exploits of your Mr. Abbott."
"I knew it." Tarragon nodded as he shifted nervously on the couch. It was too
soft for his taste. It made him want to relax. "I knew there had to be more to
that man than met the eye. I didn't believe the reports until he slipped out
of our grasp in Nueva York. And then when he escaped from us a second time
outside London, and then right in front of... have you been told what he's
done?"
"As I said, I am familiar with the relevant details."
"I'm sure you are, sir, but it's one thing to read about them on an opto
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screen and another to stand in front of a hole in a solid concrete wall that
your quarry's just walked through. It's another thing to watch him vanish
before your eyes before sleep gas and a dozen shells reach his body. What am I
dealing with here, sir? I have to know what I can expect in the future."
"I understand, Tarragon. In turn you must understand that this business has
put many important people, including myself, under a considerable strain. I've
spent more time on this matter than intended, and now it appears little enough
time remains."
"There is still enough time," said a new voice. Tarragon's eyes swept the
room, saw no one. Then the small hairs on the back of his neck rose as he
realized who the voice must belong to.
Suddenly he wished he was elsewhere. He was just a poor city boy from the back
alleys of Ankara who'd risen far in a difficult profession. He didn't belong
here. There were forces in motion around him beyond his comprehension, forces
that would use him or cast him aside with cold indifference. The role of pawn
didn't appeal to him.
"Excuse me, your lordship." Immediately he felt a fool. That couldn't be
correct. But neither could "your computership."
The machine sensed his distress. It was not uncommon in humans conversing with
the Colligatarch for the first time.
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