the car picked up passengers, none that knew him. It stopped at six, at seven,
acquired more. At eight, two got out; nine: he exited with four others, walked
toward the docks, his fingers sweating on the card. He passed occasional
troopers, who kept a general watch on the flow of traffic in the halls. None of
them was likely to notice an ordinary man walking down a hall, stopping at a
door, using a card to enter. It was the most natural of actions. Crossway four
was coming up. There was no guard there. He slowed, thinking desperately, his
heart speeding; he began to think of walking on.
A walker just behind him hooked his sleeve and brusquely swept him forward.
“Come on,” the man said, and turned the corner with him. He made no resistance,
fearing knives, instincts bred in Q. Of course the deliverer of the card had
come down too… or had some confederate. He moved puppetlike, walked the
crosshall to the door. Let free, the walker passing on, he used the card.
He walked in. It was a small apartment, with an unmade bed, discarded clothes
lying all over it. A man walked out of the nook which served as kitchen, a
nondescript man in his middle thirties. “Who are you?” the man asked him.
It set him off balance. He started to pocket the card, but the man held out his
hand demanding it. He surrendered it “Name?” the man asked.
“Kressich.” And desperately: “I’m due… they’ll miss me any minute.”
“Then I won’t keep you too long. You’re from Russell’s Star, Mr. Kressich, yes?”
“I thought you didn’t know me.”
“A wife, Jen Justin; a son, Romy.”
He felt beside him for a littered chair, leaned on it, his heart paining him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Am I correct, Vassily Kressich?”
He nodded.
“The trust your fellow citizens of Q have placed in you… to represent their
interests. You are, of course, one j whose initiative they respect… regarding
their interests.” j
“Make your point.”
“Your constituency is in a bad position… papers entangled. And when the military
security gets tighter, as it will, with Mazian’s forces in control—I do wonder,
Mr. Kressich, what kind of measures could be set up. You’ve all opposed Union
after one fashion and the other, of course, some out of genuine dislike; some
out of self-interest; some out of convenience. You, now, what sort were you?”
“Where do you get your information?”
“Official sources. I know a great deal about you that you never told this comp.
I’ve done research. To put it finely, I’ve seen your wife and son, Mr. Kressich.
Are you interested?”
He nodded, unable to do more than nod. He leaned on the chair, trying to
breathe.
“They’re well. On a station the name of which I know… where I saw them. Or
perhaps moved by now. Union has realized their possible value, knowing the name
of the man who represents so formidable a number of people on Pell. Computer
search turned them up, but they’ll not be lost again. Would you like to see them
again, Mr. Kressich?”
“What do you want from me?”
“A little of your time. A little preparation for the future. You can protect
yourself, your family, your constituents, who are pariahs under Mazian. What
help could you get from Mazian in locating your family? Or how could he get you
to them? And surely there are other families divided, who may now repent a rash
decision, a decision Mazian forced them to take, who may understand… that the
real interest of any Beyonder is the Beyond itself.”
“You’re Union,” Kressich said, to have it beyond doubt
“Mr. Kressich, I’m Beyonder. Aren’t you?”
He sat down on the arm of the chair, for his knees were unsteady. “What is it
you want?”
“Surely there’s a power structure in Q, something you would know. Surely a man
like you… is in contact with it.”
“I have contacts.”
“And influence?”
“And influence.”
“You’ll be in Union hands sooner or later; you realize that… if Mazian doesn’t
take measures of his own. Do you realize what he might do if he decides he wants