Xenopath, page 20
He did not reply.
She stuffed her blanket into her teddy-bear backpack, hitched it onto her back and left the park.
She had missed Abdul since hurrying away from the starship a couple of days ago. She wanted to explain why she had left so quickly, and apologise. She was sure Abdul would understand. It was strange, but she’d only met him two or three times, and then only for a few hours each time, but she felt as if she had known him for years. She thought of his smile, his big staring eyes... He was like the brother she had never had.
She took the upchute two levels to the upper deck, then caught the train to Chandi Road.
The long, wide road that ran parallel to the spaceport was solid with a noisy, colourful river of humanity. It was as if a skyball stadium was constantly emptying spectators out into the street. Pham wondered where each citizen was heading. All of them were going about their own private business, spending perhaps minutes on the road before leaving it, their places taken by other pedestrians.
Pham pushed through the crowd, heading for Patel’s Sweet Centre where she had first met Abdul. He’d told her that his begging patch was between Patel’s and a restaurant called Nazruddin’s. She was sure to find him somewhere along the street.
She had to cut across the crowd flowing along the length of the road, and it was like swimming against a great surging torrent of water. She was carried way past Patel’s by the time she emerged from the press and jumped out onto the sidewalk, catching her breath in the quiet space between the stall of a chai vendor and a paan kiosk.
She looked up and down the sidewalk, scrutinising the kids hurrying along its length, their hands outstretched towards the well-dressed citizens promenading before the expensive shop-fronts. Most of the time the kids were ignored, but now and then a man or woman tossed a small denomination note their way, to keep them quiet. Sometimes fights broke out among the street-kids as they fought for notes that fluttered to the ground.
Pham watched them and thought of Abdul living like this, and the idea made her unhappy.
She walked towards Patel’s. She was still wearing the smart clothes she had bought yesterday, and she earned hostile glances from the street-kids who thought she was a little rich kid out shopping.
The odd thing was, while part of her hated the life these kids were living, relying on baht from fat, bored rich people, another part envied the fact that the children existed in one big family. It might not always be a happy family, but at least they had each other to talk to, to play with, to share their problems with.
She would like to be part of that family, but not if it meant living on the spaceship and working for Dr Rao.
The double shop-front of Patel’s was an Aladdin’s cave full of a hundred different kinds of Indian sweets, piled in pyramids and ziggurats and cones like exotic multicoloured temples.
Pham slipped into the shop and bought a selection of barfi in a big bag, then stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked for Abdul.
He was not among the kids rushing up and down outside Patel’s and neighbouring shops. She wanted to ask them if they knew where he was, but shyness stopped her approaching the scruffy, ragged urchins. She hurried along the sidewalk towards Nazruddin’s, hoping that Abdul had not decided to take a holiday today.
He was not outside Nazruddin’s, so she walked further along the road, and then back again. She consoled herself by stuffing delicious barfi into her mouth, and washing it down with a cup of spiced ginger chai from a roadside stall.
There was no sign of Abdul along his usual patch, so the only thing left to do was to ask one of the street-kids if they knew where he was.
She stood beside the chai stall, watching the kids. Some of them looked rough, as if they’d rather punch her in the face than answer her questions. But one young girl caught her eye and smiled shyly.
Pham smiled in return and offered her the bag of barfi. The girl, a Tamil by the shape and colour of her small, dark face, nodded and dipped a hand into the bag.
“I wonder if you can help me,” Pham asked the girl.
The Indian nibbled the barfi like a mouse, jogging her head from side to side.
Pham went on, “I’m looking for a boy called Abdul. I don’t know his last name. He works around here.”
The girl’s eyes widened, as if in alarm. “Abdul? Abdul Mohammed?”
“I don’t know—he has only one arm.”
“Ah-cha! That is Abdul Mohammed. You haven’t heard?”
Pham’s stomach heaved. She felt sick. “Heard what?” she asked in a whisper.
“Someone beat him up. Many broken bones. Almost killed him.”
Pham felt dizzy. “Who? Who did this?”
“A Westerner. He asked Abdul questions.”
“Where is Abdul now?”
“Dr Rao treated him, but he was injured very badly. Dr Rao took him to hospital.” The girl considered for a second, then took Pham’s hand. “Come. I will take you.”
Her heart beating wildly, Pham gripped the kid’s sticky hand and followed her along the sidewalk and down a side street. They passed through crowded alleys, deafened by the cries of street traders and the jet engines of passing air-cars.
Five minutes later they came to a small Ayurvedic clinic with a big red cross flashing on and off outside. The girl pointed across the road. “Abdul is in there, ward three.”
Pham hesitated, part of her oddly reluctant to face Abdul now that she knew where he was. She turned to the girl, slipped a ten baht note into her hand, then hurried across the road and into the hospital before she changed her mind.
A Thai nurse in a brilliant white uniform smiled at her from behind the reception desk.
“I have come to see Abdul Mohammed,” Pham said. “Ward three.”
The nurse pointed through swing doors and along a corridor. “Through there, and it’s the first door on your right.”
Pham moved slowly towards the door and pushed it open. The thing was, if the Westerner who had beaten up Abdul was the laser killer looking for Pham, then why had he assaulted Abdul and asked questions? He was telepathic, after all: why hadn’t he simply read Abdul’s mind?
She felt a sudden wave of relief. Perhaps the man who beat him up had nothing to do with the laser killings.
Perhaps Abdul would be glad to see her.
She approached the door on the right and eased it open timorously, peering in at the beds.
Only one of the four beds on the small ward was occupied, but Pham did not recognise the boy stretched out on the white sheets, his legs encased in silver machines. His face was bruised and swollen, his eyes closed.
Pham felt tears sting her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. She backhanded them away and stepped towards the bed.
Abdul heard her and opened his eyes.
“Pham!” he said in a small voice. “You shouldn’t... you’re in danger!”
Pham ran forward and gripped the boy’s right hand. “Abdul, I’m sorry!”
He grinned, and despite the bruises that made him look like a different person, she recognised him from the grin. “Not your fault. I took you to the amusement park, after all.”
She smiled through her tears. “What happened?”
“Yesterday, Dr Rao came to me in the spaceship. He said someone was looking for you—he said that this person would be looking for me, also.”
Pham opened her eyes wide. “The laser killer,” she said in a small voice.
“Ah-cha. Anyway, Dr Rao gave me a small metal disc. He called it a mind-shield. He said I should keep it on me at all times, and that it would stop a telepath from reading my mind—stop a telepath from reading where you might be.”
“But what happened?”
Abdul shrugged, smiling sadly. “He found me. He must have read other kids’ minds, and found out where I was. Last night, I was begging near the spaceport when I saw this guy... The way he was looking at me. I knew something was wrong. So I ran.”
“But the killer caught you, ah-cha?”
“But I almost got away! I ran across the Pindi Bridge, but he chased me and kicked me. I fell off the bridge, breaking my legs. Even then, Pham, I tried to get away.”
Pham reached out and squeezed his hand, tears dribbling down her cheeks.
“The killer, he jumped down and kicked me, then searched for the mind-shield and threw it away. He was evil. He said he was going to kill you.”
Pham just shook her head, fear like a fist gripping her heart.
“Then he read everything, Pham. He read what we did that night in Kandalay amusement park, what we saw, where you were planning to spend the night.”
Pham nodded. “He nearly found me in Ketsuwan Park. I ran before he could shoot!”
“He saw you, and didn’t shoot?”
Pham nodded. “Ah-cha. He ran after me, called my name.”
Abdul frowned, then winced as the gesture pained him. “But he told me he was going to kill you... Why did he call your name, when he could’ve simply lasered you dead?” He thought about it. “What did this guy look like?”
Pham considered. “Tall, dark haired. He needed a shave. He was wearing a leather jacket.”
Abdul was smiling. “That wasn’t the killer,” he said. “That was Vaughan, the detective. Dr Rao said he’s a good man. He’s trying to find the killer, so he needs to question you. He was at Nazruddin’s a couple of days ago, with Dr Rao. Vaughan questioned me, asked all about you.” Abdul squeezed her fingers. “But you’re in danger, Pham. What if the killer is watching the hospital?”
Pham felt a cold hand grip her spine. She shook her head, wordlessly. “Okay, I should go.”
“Don’t go back to Ketsuwan Park!” Abdul warned. “Keep away from Chandi Road and everywhere else you’ve been lately!”
Pham smiled. “Do I look like a complete idiot? I haven’t been back to Ketsuwan Park since Vaughan saw me.”
They sat in silence for a time. Abdul smiled bravely, and indicated the machines on his legs. “Expensive healers,” he said proudly. “Dr Rao is paying for it all. He is a good man, Dr Rao.”
Pham thought about the last time she had seen Abdul, on the spaceship with Dr Rao. She said, “I’m sorry I ran away the other day. I didn’t want to stay on the ship. Something about it, about Dr Rao...”
Abdul reached up and touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “It’s okay, I understand.”
In a tiny voice, she asked, “Abdul, how did you lose your arm? Tell me, honestly?”
He smiled, and said, “Dr Rao removed it so that I could make a living, begging on the streets. Don’t hate Dr Rao, Pham. I agreed to the operation. I wanted it to happen.”
Pham nodded silently, too overwhelmed by the course of events to criticise an action she had no way of comprehending.
Abdul said, “You aren’t safe here, Pham. You should go.”
“I’ll see you again.”
“Don’t come back here. I’ll find you, ah-cha?”
“I’ll be—”
“Shh! Don’t tell me. If the telepath comes back and reads me...”
Pham shook her head. “I am a complete idiot!” A thought occurred to her. “If this Vaughan man is good, and trying to find the killer, I should try to find him and tell him everything I know.” Tell him, she thought, about the voice called Khar in her head.
Abdul nodded. “Perhaps that would be best.”
“But how would I find him?”
Abdul thought about it, then said, “Dr Rao will know where Vaughan lives. I’ll give you Dr Rao’s com number, ah-cha?”
She found a pen and some paper in her backpack and wrote down Dr Rao’s number.
She stood and smiled at Abdul, then leaned forward and kissed his face, attempting to find an area that wasn’t bruised and swollen.
She hurried from the hospital, half expecting the killer to emerge and laser her down. She ran along the street, found a com kiosk and hauled open the door.
She had difficulty reaching the receiver, and then entering the code, but at last she heard the dial tone purring in the handset.
It seemed an age before an impatient voice snapped, “Yes, who is it? This is my private line and I am a very busy man.”
“Dr Rao, you’ve got to help me. This is Pham. I met you the other day.”
“Pham?” he said, uncertain. Then: “Kali strike me dead! Pham, the epicentre of the typhoon of chaos and destruction!”
“Dr Rao, you must help me. I need to find a man called Vaughan. He is a detective. He is working on the case of the laser killer.”
“Vaughan is attempting to locate you,” Rao said. “Where are you, girl?”
“I’m in the street near the hospital.”
“Where exactly, girl?”
She looked up and down the street, saw a sign, and said, “I am on the corner of Tagore Street—”
“One moment, please. Hold the line and I will attempt to locate Vaughan and tell him where you are.”
“Ah-cha!” Pham said, relief sweeping through her. She fed another ten baht note into the phone-machine and waited what seemed like five minutes while Dr Rao tried to contact the detective.
At last he said, “Pham, are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“Unfortunately, for some unknown reason I am unable to contact Mr Vaughan.”
“But I need to find him...”
A long silence followed, broken by Dr Rao’s, “Ah-cha. Very well, I will give you his address. When you find Mr Vaughan, tell him that Dr Rao sent you, ah-cha?”
“Ah-cha. I’ll do that.”
“Mr Vaughan has recently moved from Level Ten and now has a big place on Level Two, 12 Nehru Boulevard, Chittapuram. Have you got that?”
“Thank you Dr Rao!” Pham called, and slammed down the receiver.
She left the kiosk and hurried along the street, losing herself in the crowd and heading for the train station on Chandi Road. When she reached the station she took her map-book from her backpack and looked for Nehru Boulevard on Level Two.
A minute later she found it. It was not far from here, a couple of kilometres south of the spaceport. She boarded a southbound train and five minutes later alighted at Jaggernath station, then dropped to Level Two and followed the map towards the exclusive outer edge.
Nehru Boulevard was a wide street with occasional viewscreened recesses, which overlooked the ocean. Between these viewing points were luxury apartments. Pham found number ten and stood across the boulevard, nervous now that the time had come to approach the detective.
“Khar,” she said under her breath, “am I doing the right thing?”
Seconds later, the voice in her head responded. There are certain dangers inherent in approaching Vaughan, especially if the killer is aware that Vaughan is working on the case.
“So you think—”
However, it is also true that Vaughan might be of use to us.
Pham nodded. That was that, then.
She was about to cross to the double doors of number twelve when a small Thai woman approached the doors, loaded with shopping. She was heavily pregnant and beautiful, even though her face was divided in two by a big scar.
Resting the bag of shopping on one knee, the woman fumbled with a key-card and let herself into number ten.
Pham smiled to herself. She liked the look of the woman. Could she be Vaughan’s wife or lover, she wondered.
Feeling oddly confident, Pham crossed the boulevard and knocked on the door.
TWENTY
RADICALS
VAUGHAN WOKE EARLY on his first full day on Mallory. Intense sunlight filled the room with gold and, outside, burned up last night’s fall of snow.
He breakfasted at the same table he’d occupied the night before, served this time by a middle-aged woman who showed no inclination to chat. Over a bowl of local fruit salad and good coffee, he consulted the map and charted a route to Campbell’s End.
The highway passed ten kilometres from the small township. Two minor roads branched off it and headed for the settlement, one direct and the other taking a circuitous route and coming into the town from the rear. Vaughan recalled that Scheering had told Denning about a shack on the outskirts of the town, being used by the S-L agents. The question was: on which road was the shack situated? Vaughan sipped his coffee and considered his options.
The only other customers were two men in their fifties, who Vaughan had watched draw up in a small truck. Bales of blue grass stacked on the flat-bed suggested they were farmers.
They sat at the next table over steaming mugs of coffee and cooked breakfasts, and when they nodded good-morning Vaughan returned the pleasantry. “I’m heading for Campbell’s End,” he said. “I was wondering what the roads were like?”
“Campbell’s End?” one of the farmers said around a mouthful of egg. “Why the interest, all of a sudden?”
Vaughan assumed ignorance. “Interest?”
“Campbell’s been deserted ever since the drought, twenty years back. It’s a ghost town—or was. Then a month back a couple move in, fix a house up on the main street. Last week two guys move into a shack out of town a-ways.” He shrugged. “Place is awful pretty in summer, but come winter...” He smiled at his partner, who laughed.
Vaughan nodded. “I’m just passing through, on my way to do a little hiking in the mountains.” He hesitated. “I was thinking of stopping in Campbell’s for a night. I don’t suppose one of the couples would put me up?”
The farmer shrugged. “That’d be for them to say. We Mallorians are a pretty hospitable people, so you might be in luck.”
Vaughan leaned towards the farmers’ table, indicating the map on his handset. “The shack on the outskirts, do you know which road it’s on?”
The farmer looked at the screen, then jabbed a weathered forefinger at the lower road. “This one. Around here, about a kay out of town. The roads should be fine at this time of year.”
“And roadblocks?” he asked, confident now he knew where the S-L agents were holed-up.
The farmer shook his head. “The military finished what they were doing last night.”
Curious, Vaughan considered his next question. “What were they doing?” he asked with all the innocence of a wide-eyed off-worlder.
