CHAPTER 19

"Would you tell me your real name?" Bleys asked, looking across the length of Pallas Salvador's office from his seat at the absent Other's desk. He and the woman he had known as Gelica Costanza had moved there for privacy, leaving her friends, the Others and the Soldiers behind.

The woman, who had been standing with her back to him, turned, and looked at him for a long moment.

"Deborah," she said quietly, finally. "Only Deborah."

"Then you really are an Exotic," he said, referring to that culture's tendency to use single names.

"Of sorts," she said. "And from Kultis rather than Mara."

"You're also an Other, I think," he said.

"No," she said. "Not as you now use the term."

"What do you mean?"

"Like you, I'm a crossbreed," she said, "as are all of my comrades—"

"Exotic," he interrupted, "and—Dorsai?"

"That's the sort of deduction I'd expect you to make," she said, sounding exasperated. "I know about your bunch by now: you only anoint people as 'Others' if they're crossbreeds from the three main Splinter Cultures, the Exotics, the Friendlies or the Dorsai."

"'Anoint'?" he said. "Why the hostility?"

"As it happens," she said, ignoring his question, "I was raised on Kultis, but my mother was actually from Newton." "And your father?"

"I never knew him," she said. "He was a wanderer, and he vanished soon after I was born." The words were delivered

expressionlessly, without defiance or challenge, but he felt as if she had spit them into his face.

"I never knew my father, either," he said. "But I don't think that's what you're upset about."

She only looked at him.

"We don't designate—'anoint,' as you put it—Others, by their ancestry," he went on. "You've repeated a common misconception."

She rolled her eyes upward for a brief moment, as if disgusted. "I never said—"

"For us," he said, overriding whatever she had been about to say, "'Others' are cultural crossbreeds."

"All right," she said, after a moment, "I'll accept the correction. It makes little difference."

"That's true, too," he said, nodding. She started to say something more, but stopped herself.

"Being 'Other' is a state of mind," he explained. "And it's a state you and I have in common."

"You're trying to butter me up," she said.

"If trying to get you to listen to me with an open mind amounts to buttering you up, then yes," he said. "But right now your thinking is being influenced by your reaction to what's just happened to you and your people—can you listen from beneath that?"

Her eyes narrowed, and he thought he detected a glint from beneath their lids; but after a moment some of the tension went out of her.

"All right," she said. "I suppose there's a chance you have something worth hearing. Go ahead."

"You were raised on Kultis," he said, "so you probably were put through some of those tests the Exotics like to measure people with."

"Yes, I was." Her expression had hardened slightly at his mention of the tests.

"They didn't say you tested out as full Exotic, did they?"

"They didn't tell me anything," she said. "They told my mother I tested at about forty percent Exotic."

"And the rest?"

"Undifferentiated was the term they used," she said. The hostility was still there, he thought, but she was hiding it better. "What they said makes little difference," he replied. "What do you know about not fitting in?"

"Everything," he said. "I know everything about not fitting in. That's the state of mind I was talking about."

She moved over to a chair; but rather than seating herself, she turned to look at him again.

"All right, maybe I've underestimated you," she said.

"Again," he said.

"Again, yes."

He rose and walked across the room, trying to keep his body language unthreatening; and sat in the chair next to the one before which she was standing. He looked up at her, still on her feet and looking down at him. Her eyes were narrowed; but even as he watched, her face recovered its neutral expression. After a moment she sat next to him, turning at an angle so she could look directly at him.

"You're one of the original Others," he said. "And you're all angry at those of us who've appropriated your name."

"Oh, not really," she said, almost sighing. Her shoulders slumped a little, and he reminded himself she was a good deal older than he.

"I suspect you know perfectly well," she was continuing, "that the Others groups you and your brother took over were only what they seemed—social clubs of sorts."

"But they were set up by you and your friends," Bleys said. "To cover your own activities."

"How much do you know?"

"Not everything, by any means," he said. "But I know you and your friends formed the nucleus of a criminal syndicate on this planet, thirty years ago and more."

He was watching for a reaction to his use of the word criminal, but she gave him nothing but her words.

"All right," she said, "suppose that's true: so what?"

"You did a very good job, once you decided to cover your tracks," he said. "But I know your group started here on Ceta, and was always strongest here."

"Well, it was natural," she said. "Ceta's where the money is—it's been a major center for interstellar banking and commerce for generations."

"How did you, personally, get involved in the Others?" he asked.

" 'Involved'?" She grinned, and he found the sudden change from her usual imperturbability—which had kept him searching her face for the smallest of clues—a little shocking. But there was little humor in her grin.

"I started the group," she said; and laughed. The laugh had a slight edge to it, and he had to restrain his sudden inclination to lean back, away from her.

"We were on the outside, wherever we were," she continued after a moment, more quietly. "That's what Dan and I had in common. We got the idea to find others facing the same kind of life; and together we all found that, with that shared apartness, we could be loyal to each other—we didn't have to be loyal to any state, planet, or company." This time her smile was relaxed and natural.

"It brought us freedom. It was a natural step from there, to start putting people we could trust inside various organizations—it gave us opportunities we never had before."

"It worked very well, didn't it?"

"Very well. We could work in secret to help each other—at first, just to help each other get jobs, or do business, but later we helped our friends take advantage of information we had access to, or make decisions that helped each other—and in time, we took control of some companies, and used those to branch out into other fields . .. some people would have said we were guilty of everything from smuggling to securities fraud." She shook her head. "We weren't a gang that coordinated our actions for a single purpose. We were just independent actors who knew there were people they could count on for help if needed."

"So the stories about a secret criminal organization—" "Exaggerations," she said. "Rumors about our existence began to show up, and we ended up getting blamed for things other people did. At first that was disconcerting—we didn't really see ourselves as bad people—but in the end we decided that our best interest lay in sticking together.... The rumors even turned out to work to our advantage, in some dealings. We prospered."

"Because you all worked together, and you trusted each other."

"You're right," she said. "But it's also true we were smart."

"And you were motivated."

"'Motivated'?"

"I mean, you were all hungry," he said. "You all grew up feeling alienated, as if you were outsiders on the various worlds you lived on. You resented that."

"I hadn't thought of it quite that way," she said. "But you're right: we were angry, and we were united in that feeling. It made us family r

"I know that feeling, too," he said. She calmed, looking across at him.

"I believe you," she said. "You're telling me that your Others are like my Others."

"At least in some ways," he said, nodding. "But then what happened?"

"We did too well," she said. "People started noticing, and investigations were suggested."

"Did you make enough mistakes to make investigations dangerous?"

"I don't think so," she said. "But it's possible we made a few— we started when we were young, and we were inventing our roles as we went along."

"Then what was the problem?"

"We were getting older," she said. "We'd been successful, and we wanted to enjoy what we'd earned without having to worry about outsiders interfering with our lives. Some of us had children ..."

"And you were still unsatisfied," Bleys said.

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't as good as you thought it would be, being rich and powerful," he said.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"It's the way Ceta works," he said. "This planet is dominated by old money; they'd never have accepted you newcomers."

"You're making it too complicated," she said. "We were just tired." "So you went underground?"

"We were always underground," she said. "Maybe we went further underground. But, yes. Some of us just retired—a few even moved off-planet. Those who stayed active made more use of surrogates. And over time, the name 'Others' began to fade from sight."

"Aided by the innocence of those social clubs you set up," he said.

"Yes. Anyone investigating the Others had to stumble on those groups. They could investigate the clubs all they wanted, because there was nothing there to find—until you and your brother came along, and all of a sudden the social clubs were being looked at by outsiders again."

"So you infiltrated our Others," he said. "Why?"

"At first, just to find out what you were up to," she said.

"What did you think about what you found?"

"It was interesting," she said. "We'd only been looking for money but we learned you people have more than that in mind."

"So you decided you wanted to get in on that, too?"

"Maybe," she said. She shook her head, a small smile on her face.

"We were divided on whether we could even take part," she continued. "It seemed clear you were a lot more dangerous than the organizations we'd infiltrated in the past. We were still undecided what to do—we were just going along for the ride to see where it would take us—when you came along and ripped the whole thing open."

"So why didn't you just join us openly? Why try to manipulate our people?"

"Remember who we are," she said. "Most of us—those from our original group—are older. It's true we have some younger people, largely the children of some of our original members, but the heart of our group lies in the original members; the younger ones, with a few exceptions, just don't seem to have the same drive we did.... Maybe it's just they didn't have the same kind of lives we had." She looked a little sad for a moment, but then seemed to shake it off.

"But we of the original group—the older ones—we'd been together for decades, and we couldn't break away from each other, to try to join some larger group. Besides, we were too old to be accepted in your training program. All your people would have given us were subordinate positions."

"Subordinate positions were what you started with, back when you first started working together," he said. "That was right up your alley—you all know exactly how to take advantage of such positions."

"You mean, how to take advantage of the people who employ us to carry out part of their work," she said.

He nodded.

"Yes," she said. "We found those of your people who were lazy, who would be happy to let us take over part of their work. And we learned how to do it."

"So you let your bosses live the good life, while you and your people wrote the reports that were being sent to us."

"Yes."

Suddenly, he felt as if something had changed—as if she had tightened up inside. He had seen no alteration in her face or her body language—at least, not one he could recall noticing—so he had no idea what signal had come to the attention of his subconscious. But he knew he had stumbled on something that was important— important, at least, to her.

For a long moment he only looked at her, silently. Then he raised his head, emphasizing his advantage in size; and when he spoke, the sympathy was gone from his tones, replaced by an authoritative voice that he had learned while growing up exposed to the leader-oriented religious culture of the Friendly planets.

"Tell me why you did that," he ordered.

She seemed to recoil a little.

"Did what?" she asked. "I already explained—"

He interrupted her harshly.

"The reports," he said. "Why was it important to you to have control of their writing?"

She seemed now to be at a loss for words. He let the silence drag on, openly watching her face. It seemed to fluster her.

After another moment he leaned back in his chair, altering his body language and tone of voice to project an impression of sympathy.

"Then let me answer that," he said. He smiled at her, a smile that held just a hint of sadness.

"You wanted to control as many of the reports as possible," he said, "because you wanted to try to stop certain things from being reported off-planet."

"That's absurd!" she said, seeming to recover her strength. "What could we be trying to hide?"

"What, indeed?" he said. "You're about to repeat to me that you and your people have no loyalty to anyone on this planet but yourselves, aren't you?"

"That's right," she said, defiance in her voice. "We were just criminals who preyed on these people. What do we care whether you find out—anything—about any of them?"

He nodded, maintaining his smile in silence. The defiance faded from her face, to be replaced only by a neutral expression. And the silence dragged on in a contest of their wills.

It was Bleys who relented, after some minutes.

"By now you, and your friends back in the conference room, are probably wondering what we've got planned for you," he said, his smile becoming broader and showing a certain wryness. But she showed no reaction to that implied threat.

"Nothing," he said.

As her silence continued, his smile softened, and he went on.

"It took us only a couple of days of research to figure out who you were," he said. "Your people did a good job of hiding their tracks, and yours; but they couldn't completely erase the historical records— for that matter, when they did manage to erase historical records, the process left holes that were themselves evidence of your group."

Now her face registered a slight apprehensiveness.

"We think we'll be able to track down every member of your group who's become a member of our staff," he said. "All staff members have to submit resumes, identification, and photographs, and all of you did. But the staff members we checked on, including you, didn't show up more than a few times in this planet's records of three decades ago—not even in the most innocent of ways—and not much in the time since." He shook his head.

"You erased too much, too well," he said. "So well that we've come to understand that we can probably trust any staff members who do show up in the local records—because if they were members of your group, their records would have vanished, too."

"So you can take us all, then?"

"We could—although not those of your people who never came to work for us," he said. "But as I said, we won't. You'll all be allowed to go."

Now her face was puzzled.

"Why? We infiltrated your organization, took advantage of your people—learned what you're up to—and you expect me to believe you'll just stand back and let us walk away?"

"You forgot to mention the nine of our Others who have vanished," Bleys said. "They're dead, aren't they?"

Her face froze.

"I think so," she said softly, after a moment. Her voice rose just a little as she continued. "But we didn't do it!"

"Your allies, again? The people you insist don't exist, for you to have loyalty to? The people who sent the armed men we just disarmed in the foyer, that you said weren't yours to control?"

Her lips twitched, but she said nothing.

"You can still go," he said, more softly.

"Why?" she asked once more, her quiet voice carrying a freight of intensity. "Why would you do that?"

"What would we do with you?" Bleys said, spreading his hands as if dropping a burden. "We have no jails, and no desire to get caught up in the public legal process that would have to result if we accused you, to the authorities, of some crime, or tried to take some sort of fraud-based civil legal action."

He could see she had already thought of the only other alternative.

"We don't want to kill you all, either," he said, nodding to show her he understood what she was thinking. "It would make no sense.

You and your people no longer present a danger to us, and killing you all would be risky, in a number of ways. We're averse to taking risks to no purpose."

"Aren't you worried we might expose you to—to the governments here on Ceta? Or the media?"

He shrugged.

"What would that gain you?" he said. "Beyond revenge, of course—and I don't think that kind of pettiness is part of your character."

He smiled again.

"And, of course, there's the fact you couldn't credibly expose us without exposing yourselves...."

She looked at him silently. He thought she was evaluating both his words and the intent behind them.

"All right," she said, finally. "I believe you."

She smiled now, herself, a little archly.

"I have to say, you're as logical a thinker as anyone I've ever met," she went on. "Most people would've gotten their blood up, wanting action of some sort."

"Even Dan?"

"You picked up on that, then," she said. "It was a mistake to mention him, I admit it. But I doubt it can hurt me—hurt us." "Dan was a partner of yours when you started your Others?" "Yes," she said. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," she said. "He vanished—it must be fifteen years ago or more." She shook her head.

"Our relationship had soured, and he was restless. He'd always been a risk-taker, wanting to push for something else, something more—he couldn't stand being retired, or even semi-retired. He was always impetuous; so when he vanished, one day, we weren't surprised. But we never heard from him again."

"Are you telling me," Bleys asked, "that he constitutes no danger to us—that he's not among those of your Others who didn't try to become staff here, but are still waiting out in the Cetan population, unknown to us?"

"He's not, as you put it, 'waiting' out there," she said, showing a little amusement. "And you know very well I'm not telling you he's no danger to you.... Who knows what might be in the mind of someone who hasn't been on the scene for fifteen years?" She became more serious.

"As far as I know, he doesn't—assuming he's even still alive— know anything about your Others. He hasn't been here to learn about you." She looked into his eyes.

"You'll have to take my word on that," she said. "There's just no way I can prove it."

He studied her for a moment.

"I think I'll believe you," he said.

"So can I gather up my people and leave?"

"You can," he said. "I'll walk you out to ensure your safety—if that's what you want."

She looked at him, once more puzzled.

"What are you suggesting?"

"When you leave here, I suppose you'll just go back into retirement," he said. "Were you enjoying that life?" She took a long moment before replying.

"Are you offering me a job?" she said at last, disbelief in her tone.

"Maybe," he said. "Go ahead and leave now. But I'll be here on the planet for a bit longer, if you want to come back and talk."

"You're amazing," she said, after another long moment; and turned, to walk to the door.

CHAPTER 20

Two days later Gelica, now Deborah, came back, and she and Bleys talked for a long time.

She was back the following day, accompanied by three of her old comrades; and this time Toni sat in on their conversation. Two days after that, sixteen of Deborah's people, accompanied by eight other people, came to Others' headquarters.

"We thank you for agreeing to come here," Bleys said. He was standing behind the same head table in the conference room, but the room itself had been reconfigured since the last meeting. Now the head table was closer to the center of the room, and two lines of four tables each extended from its ends, to form a large U shape. Eight seats were placed along the outside of each of those lines, so that their occupants faced each other across the width of two tables and the open space between them.

On one side of the U a second row of chairs had been placed behind the seats at the tables; another row of chairs was ranged along the back wall, behind the head table itself.

Bleys' large chair occupied the middle place at the head table; and he was flanked by Toni and Pallas Salvador. Seated in the row of chairs behind them were a half-dozen of the Cetan-based Others.

"Peace talks," Toni murmured softly. Only Bleys heard her.

No staff or Soldiers were in the room, and the bodyguards who had accompanied Bleys' guests were stationed out in the hallway and the reception area, where they were trading stares with the Soldiers. All the staff, as well as the non-attending Others, had been exiled to the second, lower floor of the office suite.

There had been a noticeable lack of conversation as the various attendees entered and were directed to seats, and the silence continued after everyone had been seated; until, just before the most nervous attendee would have begun to fidget, Bleys stood up.

The backs of his knees pushed his chair back as he rose, and every eye in the room—at least, those that had not been on him already— moved to him. The first real sound came when some of the guests began to realize just how tall their host was.

Bleys paused for a moment after his opening remark, openly looking at each of the guests in turn. Deborah and her comrades, when they arrived at the meeting, had been accompanied by eight people who were members of a group that had been referred to by Deborah, in previous conversations, as the Families. Six of the eight were obviously elderly, older even than Deborah and her comrades, and the remaining two were about Deborah's age.

Deborah's people and the delegation from the Families had arrived together, but it was the togetherness of hostage-takers and hostages. Bleys had watched silently from his place as the parties sorted themselves out—after all had been checked for weapons. Deborah and her comrades had led the newcomers to the side of the table that was farthest from the doors; and then separated, to take their own seats on the other side of the U.

Bleys was sure the newcomers—the Families—would not take offense at his scrutiny; they were examining him just as openly. He did not really need to look at them, but he intended to give them an initial impression of openness, which was a good way to open any negotiation session.

There came, finally, a moment when they were all ready to move on; and Bleys, sensing it, sat down. Somehow, the atmosphere in the room had changed, he was sure. He glanced sideways at Toni, and she gave him an open nod.

He turned his eyes back to the tables in front of him.

"The person we've known as Gelica Costanza is the common element here," he said to the room at large. "I suggest that she begin these proceedings."

From the seat closest to the head table, on her side, Deborah rose, to stand for a moment without saying a word. Her body language said she was no longer Gelica Coscanza—she seemed to be standing taller and straighter, with her head thrown back—and she reinforced that impression with her first words.

"My name is Deborah," she said. She smiled—but there was nothing pleasant in her face. Her smile was a bared-teeth affront to those across the table.

Directly opposite her an elderly woman stiffened, her mouth opening; but before she could say anything, the slightly younger woman next to her put out a hand to gently touch the older woman's forearm. The older woman looked sideways at her companion, and then past her at the other six people on her side of the table. None said a word, but at least three made slight movements of head or eye.

"I, and my companions," Deborah said, gesturing to her side of the table and in the direction of those seated behind her, "are all members of an association that has been called the Others or the New People—an association that for many years has been subverting a variety of commercial and financial entities—primarily, although not exclusively, on this planet—for our own purposes."

She paused now, to turn her now neutral gaze on Bleys.

"I won't introduce all of my companions at this time," she said. "We don't intend to be deceptive, and you may ask any of us to identify ourselves further, at any time." She nodded, as if silently emphasizing some point to herself; and then turned her attention back to the people across the tables.

"As I told you in preparation for this meeting," she said, her eyes now on the elderly woman directly across from her, "the people at the head table are, in order, Pallas Salvador, Bleys Ahrens and Antonia Lu—all of whom have been mentioned in the reports you've gotten from us."

Her eyes moved along the row of faces opposite her as if she were ticking them off a list.

"Behind the head table," she continued, "are a group of Others—members of the Others' organization led by Bleys Ahrens. For the sake of clarity, I will refer to their group as Others, and to my own group as New People. Bleys Ahrens speaks for his group."

Now she turned slightly, to look directly at Bleys. The elderly woman stiffened again, but made no sound.