Guardian Angel
by Mike Resnick
Her skin had cost her a bundle. It was smoother than silk, and at least thirty years younger than her eyes, which had a hard glitter to them that she couldn't quite hide. She had a hell of a figure, but there was no way to know how much of it was hers and how much was courtesy of the same guys who gave her that skin. She wore a ring that was brilliant enough to have given her the tan she sported, and another one that could have eaten the first one for breakfast.
She told me her name was Beatrice Vanderwycke. I didn't know if I believed her. You get used to being lied to in my line of work, and eventually you assume everything you're told is a lie until you know for a fact that it isn't. Still, she looked enough like a Beatrice Vanderwycke that I was willing to accept it for the moment.
Besides, I needed the work.
"And that was the last time I saw him," she was saying as she toyed with a bracelet that was worth more than I earn in a decade. "I'm terribly worried that something has happened to him, Mr. Masters."
"Call me Jake," I replied.
"Do you think you can help me?" She shifted her position and the chair instantly adjusted to accommodate her, then gently wrapped itself around her. I envied the chair.
"I can try," I said. "But I'll be honest with you: the police have far more resources than a private detective does. Have you spoken to them?"
"They sent me to you. I'm sure he's not on Odysseus, and that means he's beyond their jurisdiction. A very nice officer named Selina Hernandez recommended you."
_Well, that's one way for Selina to make sure I take her out for that dinner I owe her._
"All right," I said. "Let me start making a record of this so I don't make too many mistakes." I activated my computer.
She almost laughed at it. "That machine must be a leftover from the last century. Does it still work?"
"Most of the time."
"Why don't you get a new one?"
"I've got a fondness for old broken-down machines," I said. "Can I have his name again?"
"Andy."
"Age?"
"Nineteen."
"He's legally of age on every world in the whole Albion Cluster," I pointed out. "Even if I find him, I can't make him come back with me if he doesn't want to."
She pulled out a wad of money that could choke damned near any animal I've ever seen. "You're a resourceful man. You'll find a way."
I stopped myself from leaping for the money and reached for it with some slight measure of restraint. It was mostly Democracy credits, but there were some Far London pounds, Maria Theresa dollars, and New Stalin rubles.
"I'm a resourceful man," I echoed, sliding the cash into a desk drawer. "I'll find a way." I paused. "Have you got a picture of him -- holo, portrait, whatever?"
She placed a small cube on my desk and activated it. The image of a nice-looking kid with blue eyes and wavy brown hair suddenly appeared, hovering in the air.
"Can I keep it?" I asked.
"Of course."
"Can you supply me with a list of his friends, and how to contact them?"
"He didn't have many," she said.
"How about a girlfriend?"
"Certainly not, Mr. Masters," she said firmly. "He's just a boy."
_He's a boy who looks to be about two inches taller than I am,_ I thought, but decided to keep my mouth shut.
"Any alien friends?"
She gave me a haughty stare. "No."
"You've got to give me a little more to go on than just an image of him, Mrs. Vanderwycke," I said. "It's a big galaxy out there."
She produced another cube. "This contains the names and addresses of all of his friends that I know about, plus some of his teachers and a list of all the schools he's attended."
"Where is he presently going to school?"
"He quit last year."
"All right -- where does he work?"
"He doesn't."
"What does he do with his time?"
"He's been ill," she said. "That's why I'm so worried about him."
"He looks pretty healthy in the holo," I said.
"It's very difficult for me to discuss," she said uncomfortably. "He has ... _emotional_ problems."
"The kind that would make him wander off and forget who he is and where he lives?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No, Mr. Masters. But he needs to continue his treatment, and he's already missed three sessions with his therapist."
"I'll want the name and address of the therapist."
"It's on the cube."
"And you say he disappeared three days ago?"
"That's right. I had an appointment. He was in his room when I left, and gone when I returned." She stared at me with cold clear eyes that looked more like a predator than a distraught mother. "I'll pay your daily fee and cover all your expenses while you're looking for him. When you return him to me, there will be a substantial bonus."
"You already gave me one."
"That was an inducement, not a bonus," she said. "Will you find my son?"
"I'll give it my best shot," I promised.
"Good." She got to her feet, tall and elegant and reeking of money, a real knockout -- and with her money and her cosmetic surgeons, she'd look just as good at seventy, or even ninety. "I will expect frequent reports."
"You'll get them."
She stared at me. I used to stare at things I was about to dissect in biology class the same way. "Don't disappointment me, Mr. Masters."
I walked her to the door, it irised to let her pass through, and then I was alone with all that beautiful money and the promise of a lot more to come if I could just find one missing kid.
I fed the cube with the info to my computer. It spit it out. I put it in again, waiting to make sure the machine wasn't going to turn it into an appetizer, then sat back down at my desk and began sifting through the data she'd given me. There were four teenaged boys and a couple of teachers -- names, addresses, holos. I decided to put them off until I'd spoken to the therapist to find out what was wrong with the kid, but he wouldn't break doctor-patient confidentiality without Andy's permission. I told him I could get Beatrice Vanderwycke's permission, and he explained that since Andy was legally of age that wouldn't change anything.
So I began hunting up the names from school. One teacher had died, another was guiding tourists through the ruins of Archimedes II. Two of the boys were in offworld colleges, a third was in the Navy and posted half a galaxy away. That left Rashid Banerjee, a slightly-built young man with a thick shock of black hair. I managed to get him on the holophone, which saved me a trip out to his place, and introduced myself.
"I'm looking for Andy Vanderwycke," I explained.
"I didn't know he was missing," said Banerjee.
"He's been gone for three days," I said. "Is he the kind of kid who would go off on a lark?"
"I hardly knew him," said Banerjee. "He never struck me as irresponsible, but I don't know..."
"Is there anyone who would know?"
"Try his girlfriend."
"His mother told me he didn't have any girlfriends."
"He's got one. Or at least he did. His mother did her best to break it up."
"Any reason why?" I asked.
"Who knows?" he said. "She was a strange one, that lady. I don't think she liked him, even though he was her son."
"Can you give me the girl's name and tell me how to get in touch with her?"
"Melanie Grimes," answered Banerjee. He gave me her contact information. I thanked him, and went to the hospital where Melanie Grimes worked. They told me I'd have to wait in the cafeteria for her until she was on her break. It was a big, bustling room, with enough anti-grav sensors that any patient who found any kind of exertion difficult could simply float to a table. I found an empty table, and the moment I sat down a menu appeared a few inches above the table. Then a disembodied voice listed the day's specials.
"Just coffee," I said.
"Please press your thumb against the illuminated circle on the table," said the voice.
I did so.
"Your coffee will be billed to your account at the Odysseus branch of the Bank of Deluros."
I still don't know how the coffee got to the table. I turned away for a moment to watch a very proud, very stubborn old man insist on walking with crutches rather than let the room waft him to a chair, and when I turned back the coffee was already there.
I lit a smokeless cigar, and amused myself guessing the professions of every patient and visitor who walked by. Since there was no one to correct me, I gave myself a score of ninety percent.
Then a young woman began walking across the cafeteria toward me. She was very slender, almost thin, with short-cropped red hair and big brown eyes. While I was trying to guess whether she was a fourth level computer programmer or an apprentice pastry chef, she came to a halt.
"Jake Masters?" she said. "I'm Melanie Grimes."
I stood up. "I want to thank you for seeing me."
"I haven't got much time. We've already had eight deliveries today."
"So you're an obstetrics nurse?"
"No, I'm not."
"You're too young to be a doctor."
"I'm a lab technician," she explained. "Every time a baby is born, we take some umbilical stem cells so we can clone its various organs should they ever need replacement. It's not very exciting," she continued, then added defensively: "But it is important."
"I'm don't doubt it," I said, handing her a business card. She studied my name and seemed fascinated by the little animated figure stalking the bad guys. Finally she looked up at me.
"This is about Andy, isn't it?"
"Yeah. According to his mother he went missing three nights ago."
"He's not missing," she said. "He ran away."
"From you?"
She shook her head. "From her."
"Are you talking about his mother?"
"Yes. He was frightened."
"Of her?"
"Yes."
I drained the last of my coffee. "Can you think of any reason why he should be frightened of her?"
"You've met her. Wouldn't you be afraid of her?"
Not much scares me besides the prospect of poverty these days, but I saw her point.
"If you wanted to find him, where would you look?"
"I don't know." Then: "He had this friend..."
"His mother gave me a list of his friends. I've spoken to Rashid Banerjee, and none of the others are on the planet."
"His mother didn't think this one could possibly be a friend, so of course she wouldn't give you his name -- but he was the closest friend Andy had. Maybe his only real friend."
"Can you give me his name?"
"Crozchziim."
"Either you're choking or he's an alien," I said.
"He's a Gromite."
"What's a Gromite?"
"A native of Barsoti IV."
"Humanoid?"
"How long has he known Andy?"
"A long time," replied Melanie. "Andy's mother was too busy to bother with him, so he pretty much raised Andy. Over the years he was a nursemaid, a tutor, and a paid companion."
"Could Andy be staying with him?"
She shook her head. "He lived in an outbuilding on the Vanderwycke's estate. A little shack, really, hidden from sight in a grove of trees. She'd have looked there before she contacted a detective."
I showed her the list of friends I'd been given. "Can you add any names to this."
She studied the list. "Not really. I don't think Andy would have considered any of them friends. They were just classmates he knew."
"What about Andy's father?" I asked. "Dead?"
She smiled, the first smile I'd seen from her. "Didn't she tell you? But of course she wouldn't. It might ruin her social standing."
"You want to let me in on the joke?" I said.
"Andy's father is Ben Jeffries."
"Hatchet Ben Jeffries?" I said. "The kingpin of the Corvus system?"
"That's him."
"There's an outstanding murder warrant for him right here on Odysseus," I noted. "They've been trying to extradite him for years."
"That's why he never comes to the Iliad system," said Melanie.
"I assume he and Beatrice are divorced?"
"Andy says they were never married."
"Andy knows him?"
"Of course. He's been paying all Andy's expenses since he was born. He just can't visit him on Odysseus. He's flown Andy out to Corvus II a few times."
"Do they get along well?"
"I guess so."
"Could Andy be on Corvus now?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."
I thanked her for her time, then went back to the office to check on Crozchziim's whereabouts. I had the computer access the alien registry. He'd reported once a week to the Department of Alien Affairs for close to fifteen years ... but he'd skipped his last check-in, and the Department had no idea where he was.
Which meant my next step was to talk to Hatchet Ben Jeffries. I'd much rather have spoken to him via computer or subspace radio, but he was my only remaining lead, and I figured I'd better have a face-to-face with him, so I contacted the spaceport and booked an economy ticket to Corvus II.
Corvus was seventeen light-years from Iliad. I don't know who or what Corvus was, or why they named a star for it, but I thought the guy who named the planets was pretty unimaginative. They were Corvus I through Corvus XIV. It made Iliad's planets -- Achilles, Odysseus, Ajax, Hektor and the rest -- look pretty classy by comparison.
We took off bright and early the next morning. I watched a holo of a murderball game for a couple of hours, then took a nap until the robot host woke me and asked if I wanted something to eat. I always get nauseous when I eat at light speeds or traveling through wormholes in hyperspace, so I took a pass and went back to sleep until just before we touched down.
I'd sent a message that I wanted to see Jeffries about his son, but I'd left before there was any reply, and I hoped I hadn't wasted a trip. It's been my experience that criminal kingpins are often reluctant to speak to any kind of detective, even private ones. I cleared Customs, then rented an aircar, punched in the address of Jeffries' estate, and settled back to watch the countryside whiz past as we skimmed along a few inches above the ground.
When we got to our destination there was a stone wall around the entire place, all ten or twelve acres of it, and there were half a dozen robots patrolling the exterior. The aircar stopped at the gate, its sensors flashing, and a few seconds later a mechanical voice came through its speaker system:
"State your name and business. We will not be responsible for you or your vehicle if you attempt to enter the grounds without permission."
"I'm Jake Masters, and I'm expected. Tell your boss I need to talk to him."
"Please wait."
I waited a full two minutes. Then the gate vanished, and I realized I'd been looking at one hell of a hologram. I suspected that the entire wall was nothing but a carefully constructed image. For all I knew, so were the robots. The aircar began moving forward, and once we were inside the estate I ordered it to stop. Then, just to see if my guess about how the place was really protected was right, I picked up a titanium drinking mug that came with the vehicle and tossed it at the wall. It was instantly atomized. which is exactly what would happen to anyone who tried to enter without first being cleared.
We glided up to the front door of a mansion that would have been impressive on any world and especially out here on the edge of the Inner Frontier, and I found three men -- _real_ men, not images or robots -- waiting for me. Nobody was displaying any weapons, but they each had a few telltale bulges under their tunics.
"Well?" said the smallest of them.
"He is carrying a laser pistol," replied the aircar.
"Anything else?"
"A wallet, a passport, 37 credits in change, two Maria Theresa dollars..."
"That's enough. Please hand me your burner, butt first, and step out of the vehicle, Mr. Masters."
I did as he said, and the two larger men frisked me about as thoroughly as I'd ever been frisked.
"What was that for?" I asked when they had finished.
"Mr. Jeffries has a lot of enemies," the small man explained. "And of course there are always bounty hunters."
"Yeah, but you've already scanned me and got my burner."
"You can't be too careful, Mr. Masters," he replied. "Last week a man tried to enter the house with a ceramic gun that got past every sensor. Step over here, please."
I walked over to a scanner that read my retina, my bone structure, and my fingerprints and checked them against my passport. Then they checked my passport against the registry office back on Odysseus. Finally they were satisfied that I was who I claimed to be, and that if I tried to kill their boss it wouldn't be with any weapons that had gotten past them.
"Please follow me," said the small man, turning and entering the mansion. We passed through a huge foyer with a floor made of marble with the distinctive blue tint that identified it as coming from far Antares, then down a corridor lined with alien artifacts on quartz shelves, and finally entered a luxurious study lined with books -- not disks or cubes, but real books made of paper. The carpet was very thick, and seemed to shape itself around my feet with each step I took.
A tall man was standing beside a desk made of half a dozen different alien hardwoods. He was a steel gray man -- hair, clothing, even his expression -- and I knew he had to be Ben Jeffries. I half-expected to see the hatchet that made his reputation and gave him his sobriquet displayed on a wall or in a glass case, but there was no sign of it.
"Mr. Masters?" he said, extending his hand.
I took it. The grip was as firm and steel gray as the rest of him.
"Call me Jake."
"Have a seat, Jake," he said, snapping his fingers, and a chair quickly floated over to me, as responsive as a well-trained dog. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Whatever you're having," I said.
"Cygnian cognac, I think," he said, and before he could ask for it a robot had entered with two half-filled glasses. I took one, so did he, and as the robot exited, he nodded to the man who had brought me to the study, and he left too. Now it was just the two of us.
"I've checked you out thoroughly, Jake," he said. "A man in my position has to be very careful. After all, you're a detective and there are close to eighty warrants for my arrest all across the Cluster. You've been scanned, so I know you're not carrying any recording devices, but just the same we're going to need some ground rules. You said you wanted to talk to me about my son. Fine -- but that's the only subject that's open for discussion. Is that okay with you?"
I had a feeling that if it wasn't agreeable, I probably wouldn't live to make it back to the spaceport.
"That's fine," I said.
"I assume Andy's mother hired you?"
I nodded. "Mrs. Vanderwycke, right." I took a sip of the cognac. I'd heard of Cygnian cognac for years, but I could never afford it. I guess I'm used to cheap booze; I didn't like this stuff all. But since it was Hatchet Ben's cognac, I figured I'd better keep that observation to myself.
"Mrs. Vanderwycke," he repeated with an amused chuckle. "When I knew her she was just plain Betty Wickes. Well, maybe not so plain." He took a sip of his cognac. "All right, what do you need to know?"
"Your son has gone missing," I said, "and I've been hired to find him."
"Yeah, I gathered as much," said Jeffries.
"Has he been in contact with you? Asked for money or help?"
"No. He'd never show that much initiative."
"I take it you don't think too much of him?"
"He's a decent enough kid," said Jeffries. "But he's a weakling."
"He looked pretty sturdy in the holos I've seen."
"There are all kinds of weaklings," said Jeffries. "He's the kind I have no use for. If you push him, he won't push back. He never stands up to Betty, which is an open invitation to get walked all over. The kid's got no guts. He lets every little thing get to him. Hell, he was actually catatonic for a while back when he was five or six. You wouldn't believe how much I had to pay a team of shrinks to snap him out of it."
"Sounds like an unhappy kid," I said.
"I was an unhappy kid too," said Jeffries. "You learn to overcome it -- if you're tough enough. Andy isn't." He paused. "Maybe he'd have turned out better if I'd raised him. It's hard to develop toughness growing up around Betty."
"Tell me about her," I said.
"Watch your back around her," he said. "You know what I do for a living, I'm not going to lie about it. I deal with the scum of the galaxy every day -- killers and worse." He stared at me. "Believe me when I tell you she's more dangerous than any of them."
"If that's so, why did you hook up with her?"
"She was young and gorgeous, and I was young and foolish. It didn't last long. I was gone before Andy was born."
"When's the last time you saw her?"
"Maybe fifteen or sixteen years ago," he said. "No, wait a minute. I saw her a couple of years ago when Milos Arum was inaugurated as Governor of Beta Capanis III. I didn't talk to her, but I saw her across the room."
"Beta Capanis," I said. "That's way to hell and gone, out on the Rim. I take it Arum's a close friend?"
"That's not part of our ground rules, Jake," he said with a hint of steel beneath the friendly smile. "Stick to Andy."
"Sorry," I said. "What can you tell me about a Gromite called Crozchziim?"
"I never met him, but Andy talked about him a lot."
"Any idea where he might be?"
"He? You mean the alien? Isn't he back on Odysseus?"
"Not as far as I can tell," I said.
"So you think he's with Andy?"
"It makes sense," I said. "They're friends, and they're both missing."
"Interesting," said Jeffries. "All I know about him is that he used to be an entertainer, a juggler or tumbler or something. He broke an arm or a leg, I don't remember which. He was on Odysseus, and they let him go. Betty hired him to amuse the kid."
"He performed on stage?" If he worked for a theatre company that played human worlds, he had to belong to a union, and that would make him a little easier to trace.
"In a circus or a carnival, something like that." I must have looked my disappointment, because he added: "I'll have one of my men find out exactly where it was and get the information to you."
"Thanks," I said. "I guess that covers everything."
"Almost. Now I've got one for you."
"Fair is fair. Go ahead and ask."
"Twelve years ago you put three of my men away for a long time on Odysseus. You were a good cop. Why did you quit?"
"I wasn't corrupt enough," I said.
He chuckled. "Yeah, I heard about your problems when you arrested the wrong guys."
"Right guys, wrong administration," I replied. I wanted to ask if they were his, but I knew he wouldn't answer, so I got to my feet and he did the same.
"Have you got any idea where he might be?" he asked.
"Not yet," I said. "But I'll find him sooner or later -- unless Mrs. Vanderwycke gets tired of paying my expenses and per diems."
"I'll tell you what," said Jeffries, walking me to the door of the study. "If she stops paying you, I'll pick up the tab and you'll report to me."
I looked at him for a moment without saying anything.
"What are you staring at?" he said.
"I'm trying to picture you as a concerned father."
Suddenly he was all steel again. "Just find him."
Then I was being escorted back to the car by another of his men, and an hour later I was on a spaceliner bound for Odysseus. When the trip was a little less than half over, the robot host handed me the printout of a subspace message that had just arrived from the Corvus system:
_"The show Crozchziim worked for is long defunct. There are presently 137 circuses and carnivals touring the Albion Cluster. For what it's worth, only one of then, the Benzagari Carnival and Sideshow, is owned by a Gromite, Crozchziim's former partner in a juggling act."_
It was as good a place as any to start, so before we landed I ran a check and learned that the carny had been playing on Brutus II for eight days and was slated to be there for four more. I didn't even leave the Odysseus spaceport; half an hour after we touched down I was en route to the Alpha Pirias system, where I'd transfer to a local ship that hit all the inhabited worlds within a three system radius, including Brutus II.
When I got to Brutus I found that the carny had been kicked off the planet for running crooked games, which at least showed that the management had some respect for tradition, and was now on New Rhodesia. It took me another day to make connections. We touched down on nightside, and I got off with perhaps ten other passengers while the ship continued on toward its ultimate destination in the Roosevelt system.
I got in line to pass through Customs. When it was my turn I stepped up and handed over my passport disk to the robot Customs officer that was running the booth.
"Are you visiting New Rhodesia for business or pleasure?" it asked me.
"Business."
"The nature of your business?"
"I am a duly licensed private investigator," I replied. "I don't believe I'm required to tell you more than that."
"Will you require a copy of our constitution and penal code so that you may study what is and is not permitted in the pursuit of your business?"
"That won't be necessary."
"How long do you plan to stay on New Rhodesia?"
"One day, two at the most."
"I have given you a three-day visa," said the robot, handing me back my disk. "It will vanish from your passport at that time, and if you are still on New Rhodesia and have not filed for an extension, you will be in violation of our laws."
"I understand."
"Our standard currency is the New Rhodesia shilling, but Democracy credits and Maria Theresa dollars are also accepted. If you have other human currencies, you may exchange them at any of the three banks within the spaceport." It paused as if waiting for a question, but I didn't have any. "Our atmosphere is 21% oxygen, 77% nitrogen, and 2% inert gasses that are harmless to carbon-based life forms. Our gravity is 96% Standard, and our day is 27.23 Standard hours."
"Thanks," I said. "May I pass through now?"
"I must check to make sure you have sufficient funds to purchase passage away from New Rhodesia," it replied, as it transmitted my thumbprint to the Master Computer back on Deluros VIII. I tensed, because while I'd just deposited the money Mrs, Vanderwycke had given me, my credit history was what they call spotty. "Checking ... satisfactory. You may enter the main body of the spaceport, Jacob Masters."
I walked straight to an information computer and asked where the Benzagari Carnival and Sideshow was performing. It gave me an address than didn't mean a thing, so I took it to the Transport Depot and hired an aircar to take me there.
It was about ten miles out of town, a series of tents and torch-lit kiosks that were meticulous recreations of the ones that had plied their trade on Earth before Man had reached the stars, with the added advantage that they were climate-controlled and a cyclone couldn't blow them away. There were games of every variety, games for humans, games for aliens, even races for the ugly little six-legged creatures that passed for pets on New Rhodesia. The barkers and shills were everywhere -- Men, Canphorites, Lodinites, Mollutei, Atrians, even a couple of Belargans.
The din was deafening. There were grunts and growls, trills and shrill whistles, snorts and clicks, and here and there even some words I could understand. The standard language in the galaxy is Terran since Men are the dominant race, and usually the other races wear T-packs -- translating mechanisms that were programmed to work in Terran and their native tongues -- but someone had decided the carnival would have a more exotic flavor if the T-packs weren't used, and I have to admit they had a point: it certainly felt different from anything I'd ever encountered.
Except for the frigid, methane-breathing Atrians who had to wear protective suits, all the other aliens were warm-blooded oxygen breathers, and they were all more-or-less humanoid. There were half a dozen races I'd never seen before, ranging from a ten-foot-tall biped that looked like an animated tent pole to a short, burly, three-legged being covered with what seemed to be dull purple feathers.
Finally I walked up to one of the human barkers and asked him to point out a Gromite to me. He looked around for a moment, then turned back to me.
"I don't see any right now, but they're all over the place," he said.
"What do they look like?"
"Maybe a foot shorter than you, rich red skin, two arms, two legs, too damned many fingers and toes. They don't wear clothes. I know this is supposed to be a sexual galaxy, but if they've got genders, they keep it to themselves." Suddenly he pointed. "There's the boss, making his collections."
I looked, and decided I'd never mistake a Gromite for anything else. The legs had an extra joint, the elbows seemed to bend in both directions, there was no nose but just a narrow slit above a broad mouth, the eyes were orange and were faceted like an insect's, and if he had any genitals they sure as hell weren't external.
"Maybe he doesn't need pants," said the barker, "but he sure as hell could use a money belt. We're really raking it in tonight."
"Have you been with the show long?" I asked.
"A year, give or take."
"Do you know if there's a Gromite called Crozchziim working here?"
"Beats the hell out of me," he said. "It's not a name I'd remember." Then: "Who'd he kill?"
"Why do you think he killed anyon...
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