Happiness: A Planet (14 page)

Petre lowered herself onto the edge of the chair opposite him.

“We were formally introduced about three years ago,” he smiled at her, at the memory. “Though I doubt that you remember me. My name is Anton Singh.”

“I am once again pleased to meet you.”

Her response seemed to please him. His quiet smile was now one of admiration and, Petre thought with the beginnings of panic, of possession.

“Why did you,” she recalled what he had said at the door, “want to reach me?”

“As I said,” his was the reaction of someone who realises that they have some careful explaining to do, “I believe that we can be of help to one another. First let me say how sorry I was to learn of your loss.” The news that the Director had gone off-station and had failed to return had spread rapidly through XE2.

“Thank you,” with a nod Petre acknowledged the polite condolence with the politeness it merited.

Again the small dapper man seemed pleased by her response, as if Petre was a favourite pupil doing all that her teacher had told her. Petre’s gym coach had worn the same expression when she had won a local championship. She had seen a similar expression on the faces of some parents. It worried her.

“Exactly how can I be of help to you?” she asked him.

“I am a businessman,” he said. “I buy and sell. I believe that you could greatly assist me in my business.”

“I know nothing of commerce,” Petre said; and, believing the conversation to be at an end, she allowed the lassitude of her grief to re-envelope her.

Anton Singh, however, made no move to leave.

“I fear that many who aren’t traders do not understand quite how we conduct our transactions. Buying and selling is not simply a matter of attending auctions. One has to know what to buy and to whom to sell it. For that one has to know people.”

“I fail to see, now, how I can be of help to you.”

“Oh but you can,” he beamed at her. “I’ve watched you over the years. I’ve seen your merits. The Director may have been a very capable man; but I, for one, am positive that his rise through Service ranks would not have been nearly as swift had it not been for you. And I have often thought it a complete waste of your talents.”

Knowing that she had been, without her having been aware of it, so calculatingly appraised now added to Petre’s discomfiture; while his implicit slighting of Munred stirred her loyalty.

“I’m sorry Mr Singh, I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about.”

“Miss Fanne,” he edged forward on his chair, “I am not versed in the social arts. Most of my deals are done behind the scenes. So too, I hasten to add, are everyone else’s. However I have lost out on deals simply because I haven’t known the right people. Had I known them, or had they known me, had I been more approachable, then I could have secured that deal.”

“I still don’t see how...”

“I am not explaining myself well,” Anton Singh interrupted her. “As I said, I have watched you. You have the knack of making people feel important. They treasure your friendship because you have made them believe that you treasure theirs. Miss Fanne I want you to be my hostess. To give parties in my apartment. To create a social circle for me. To invite, occasionally, people I want to get to know.”

“I’m sorry Mr Singh,” Petre resolutely stood. “I was only told this morning...”

“No,” he raised both his hands from his knees. “No. You misunderstand me. I am not propositioning you. Not in that sense. Nor am I suggesting that you should form liaisons on my behalf. No no, that’s not at all what I want of you. I’ve watched you operate. You have shown me that sexual promise and not fulfilment is what is most effective. But few, like you, seem to have mastered its craft. I’ve watched you lead men by the subtlest of innuendoes; and for me a man distracted is a man made easier to manipulate.”

Anton Singh faltered in his praise of her. Petre, though, saw it not as praise, instead she found such a frank analysis of her past shaming. She ponderously resumed her seat.

“And I’m sorry to seem pushy at a time like this,” Anton Singh continued. “I don’t wish to seem forward or unfeeling. But I do know how the Service operates. Here you are now a pariah. Within days you will simply disappear into Space. For years, since you first gave me the idea, I have been looking for someone of your calibre. Now you yourself are suddenly free. If I had waited I may never have had another opportunity. All that I am proposing to you is that you should live in my city apartment and give parties. Nothing more. I am very rarely there. You will have your own rooms. You may have liaisons with whomsoever you wish. My only requirement is that you regularly entertain on my behalf. Even in my absence.”

“In the city?” Petre said.

“It’s a large apartment. You can easily have your own bedroom, living room, bathroom.”

“But how would I get to the city?”

“No trouble,” he smiled. “You will be my employee.”

“I see,” Petre said, and tried to ingest this new future laid so unexpectedly before her.

Her thoughts were many and almost simultaneous. For a moment she suspected Anton Singh, so eager did he appear, of having engineered Munred’s disappearance in order that he could proposition her. However, recalling Tulla’s earnest words, she quickly dismissed that paranoid notion. Following rapidly on the heels of that suspicion came doubt — was she capable of becoming such a coldblooded hostess, such a premeditated entertainer? She had almost unconsciously cultivated those talents: would she now be too self-conscious? And she wondered a moment, with a sharp sense of shame, what those on XE2 would make of her leaving for the city with this strange man — no sooner than Munred had died?

What, though, did she owe them? They would have watched her be shunted off to nowhere without, except for Tulla, raising one voice in protest. She was an embarrassment to them; why should she be embarrassed by them?

Watching her Anton Singh knew that he had her: mention of the city had been enough. No need now to further entice her with the salary he’d had in mind to pay her. In fact, aware of the rapt consideration she was giving his offer, he cut the proposed salary by half, and smiled to himself. He had bested a deal again.

The motives that drove Anton Singh were not those of simple ambition. His was not solely greed for ever more money: the intrigue, the machinations of trade were what he enjoyed. Of course, like most traders, he dreamt of acquiring a universal monopoly in one commodity or another, of becoming the absolute ruler of an empire within an empire. But the ownership of that commodity was not what he desired so much as the getting of it, the creating of the empire rather than the ruling of it.

And now Anton Singh was getting Petre Fanne for far less than he had expected to pay. His whim, his gamble, his ploy had paid off.

“I’m not asking you to decide at this very moment,” he broke into her thoughts, “but I am leaving for the city any day now and I was hoping that you would come with me. Then I could see you settled into the apartment, before I again have to leave. When do you have to leave here?”

“Inspector Boone said that the new Director would probably be here within five days. That was two days ago.”

“I see. In the meantime I can fix you up with a temporary apartment here. Or a hotel if you wish.”

“Thank you, but Tulla said that I could share her apartment until I decide what to do.”

Petre did not want to be beholden to him yet; and the prospect of the city coming so soon after she had given up all hope of it made it seem unreal to her. After waiting for so long, to be there so easily, so quickly... Even with Munred it would have been another eighteen months. And did she, now that Munred was dead, did she still want to go to the city?

One of Petre’s dreams of the city had been to see herself shopping — all that choice... Though lately she had come to question that dream’s, worth. Because she and Munred, she had seen, had spent their life together winning the respect of people on one station by being promoted to another. Here on XE2 she had made some witty and intelligent friends. They too would have been impressed by Munred’s promotion, and never seen again.

Her thoughts were confused: events had overtaken them. She had to remind herself that she could not anyway stay here without Munred. Even if she were allowed to stay those friendships would not now be on the same footing. At least in the city, she told herself, she would have the shops.

“Tulla?” Anton Singh asked her, frowning.

He did not want Petre to now slip out of his control, have time elsewhere to reconsider his offer, be subject to the influence of someone possibly unsympathetic to him. And he had no doubt that Petre would seek her friend’s advice.

“Tulla Yorke,” Petre said. “She’s my friend here. Tall girl, yellow hair.”

“Ah... yes.” His expression said that he did not know her.

“It was Tulla who convinced me that Munred was definitely dead.”

“How would she know?”

“She’s been doing some research. She’s an astrophysicist. Did you know there’s a moon gone missing?”

“From Happiness? No, I didn’t. I do know that is where the Director was returning from when he disappeared.”

“Yes,” Petre said; and her mind returned to her bereavement.

“I still don’t understand,” Anton Singh gently brought her back to the present, “how Tulla Yorke would know about the Director?”

“As I said, she’s been doing some research. Out on Ben actually. Apparently they have a better science library than here.” Petre was at a loss how to explain herself further. She smiled at him, “As I’m going to be working for you I don’t suppose it matters... Tulla reckons the planet is being taken over by Nautili.”

“Nautili?”

The solicitous smile had vanished from Anton Singh’s smooth face. Now Petre beheld fierce frowning concentration.

“What makes her think that? This far in?” the questions were asked in rapid succession.

“She didn’t give any details,” Petre shrugged. “I was more concerned about Munred. But she seemed convinced. Convinced me.”

“Nautili... Yes. Something odd is happening down there. Where is she now?”

“She’s gone to the platforms near the planet. Said she first had to find out exactly what happened to the moon before anyone will believe her about the Nautili.”

“So she hasn’t told anyone yet? Apart from you?”

“No. Not until she can prove what’s happened to the moon.”

He sat back in the chair. His fingers drummed on his legs,

“She left this morning?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got to go,” he grabbed his case and was out of the chair.

Petre had still not yet adjusted to the sudden change in his demeanour — from sympathetic stranger to impersonal inquisitor. She was consequently slower to her feet. One thought, however, did occur to her: she had been used.

“So much for my going to the city.” Her voice stopped him at the door.

“No no,” he hesitated in the doorway. “I’ll send for you.”

“Got what you want,” Petre said, her voice accusing, “and this is the last I’ll see of you.” Her anger was as much at herself for having believed him as it was at him for duping her.

“No I...” The points of his arched brows drew together again in that intense concentration, “Look, you have already proved your worth to me. By knowing that woman you knew of this. You...” his free hand toyed with invisible options, “Can you come with me now? This minute?”

“To the city?”

“Yes. Now. Grab whatever you need. Your IDs. Clothes we can get there. Just bring the necessary.”

“But how do I leave the station?” she moved slowly towards the bedroom, unable to believe that anyone in the universe would have the power to bypass all those endless applications. “I don’t have any passes,” she spelt it out to him.

“My dear Petre...” he, laughing, shooed her into the bedroom, “in some ways you are remarkably naive. Part of your charm I suppose. In three days we will be in the city. I guarantee it. Now, hurry!”

It was late morning when Constable Drin Ligure and Sergeant Alger Deaver docked on XE2. Nero Porsnin, acting Director, read through their report, and checked through the other information their ship had brought back from Happiness. He noted the Spokesman’s request for more ships, referred it to the standing order of Inspector Eldon Boone, at that moment on Torc, who had redirected all ships away from Happiness. Nero also noted the other requests contained in Munred Danporr’s interview with the planet’s Spokesman, and he tagged all such requests for the relevant city bureaux. He then spent the remainder of the day worrying that he may have done too much, or not enough.

To be fair, in this instance, to Nero Porsnin, his was not an enviable position. He was expecting at any moment the arrival of the relief Director. He therefore did not want to set in train a course of action which might unnecessarily complicate a situation which had already gone far beyond his own understanding and experience. And whatever was to be done next would not be his decision but the relief Director’s. Any orders that Nero issued could therefore well be immediately countermanded by the new Director, might make the new Director’s task that much more difficult. So all that Nero could do was to wait and worry.