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forty-four

Balanced on its descent jets like a metallic sculpture coming down out of the black lunar sky, the transporter sank between the opened outer doors of an immense subterranean docking bay. On every side stretched the clutter of domes, towers, and surface constructions forming the North Complex of the thirty-mile-wide interconnected sprawl of the Copernican base system. Beneath the arc lights inside the doors, tiers of access platforms and service gantries lined the sides of the docking bay, with freight hoists going down to deeper levels.

Shock absorbers disposed of the last remaining momentum, and the ship came to rest. The huge doors slid -together overhead, and the dock began filling with air. Umbilicals and access ramps swung out to mate with the craft, and shortly afterward its passengers began walking through, moving warily and awkwardly to the unfamiliar sensation of possessing only a sixth normal bodyweight, into the reception area.

The hall was small compared to the arrivals lounge of a typical airport of any size, and the sudden flood of several hundred arrivals, augmented by others who had been waiting to meet them, quickly transformed it into a confusion of jostling and bustling, with relieved and excited talk breaking out on every side now that the voyage, with all its unknowns, was over. There was little evidence of officialdom or bureaucracy in action. A man and woman in pale blue police uniforms stood looking on from beside one of the exits, and a number of Lunar Link Lines agents in maroon suits and tunics were on hand to help people with directions. A sign above the main doors proclaimed welcome in a score of languages. Nearby was a clock showing local time, and above it a picture of earth and a footprint with the legend: One Small Step.

Samurai moved to the center of the hall and allowed himself to be carried along with the current of people that was beginning to flow through into a brightly lit concourse on the far side of the exit. Surrounding it were desks for information, transportation, and accommodation, and at the far end, several further exits with signs denoting ways to other parts of the spaceport and to local transitube terminals. Opening onto the concourse were several shops, a restaurant and bar, an employment, insurance, and real estate agency; a chapel; an entrance to a pool and gymnasium; and a massage and sauna parlor with scantily clad girls and several well-muscled studs in the foyer, with the invitation to "Rest, Relax, Enjoy. It's Out of That World!" flashing in colored lights above.

He searched with his eyes, one way, then the other. Everywhere the same milling tide of men, women, figures, faces, couples, groups, scurrying, standing, children looking lost, clutching hands. . . .

And then he saw them.

It was only a glimpse through the crowd: two men and a woman, one of the men in a long coat and with a hat pulled down low, just in the process of disappearing into an exit marked lower level & transitube. In that brief -moment and from that angle Samurai didn't see their faces; but their hurried pace and hunched postures, as if unconsciously trying to conceal themselves, signaled all that he needed to know. He began moving in that direction, slipping swiftly through the crowd.

Outside the concourse was a foyer with sales booths and escalators going up and down. Samurai joined the short tail of people moving onto the down-going one. Below, he could see the three figures just stepping off at the bottom and disappearing into one of several tunnels leading away in different directions. But he could do nothing to close the distance, for the moving stairway was filled with people.

He fretted impatiently while the escalator carried him down, then as soon as he was off at the bottom, dodged around the group immediately ahead and threaded his way through the people moving along the tunnel that the three from the shuttle had taken. It brought him to a crossway, with stairs going down on both sides, while a wide -passageway continued ahead. He could see no sign of his quarry, but there were signs giving directions.

The note on the piece of paper that he'd picked up in the Kosmogord said, Science Institute, Cop 3. A sign by one of the stairways read: eastbound, with a schematic map of the line. The loop at the far end was indicated as complex 3, francine, with stops at Mineheads, Orchard, Astrakhan, Zagreb, University-Observatory, Central, Maindome, Shinjuku, Aquamarine, Eratosthenes Link, Valley, Gorky, and Junction. People were emerging from the archway next to the sign, indicating that a train was already in. Samurai went through the archway and hastened on down.

He came out onto a platform with a transparent wall running along one side. A train consisting of three short cars was standing on the far side. But the platform was already clear of boarding passengers, and even as he watched, the gates through the wall closed and the train began moving noiselessly away.

Thwarted and exasperated, Samurai turned away. Already more people were coming out onto the platform. Between the seats set along the rear wall was a picture of a grinning Mickey Mouse face, with a monitor screen and -audio grille. Above the screen an illuminated sign proclaimed information. Samurai moved over in front of it.

"Hello," a squeaky voice greeted cheerfully from the grille. "How can I help you?"

"Copernicus Three, the Science Institute," Samurai answered. "Do I get there this way?"

"Sure. Get off at University-Observatory and just follow the signs."

"How long?"

"It takes about fifteen minutes."

"I mean how long before the next train?"

"With an Earthship just in, no time at all. In fact the next one's coming in right now."

* * *

In his office on Level 5B of Neurophysiology, Professor Andre Ulkanov stood watching one of several monitor screens set into a panel that took up part of one of the walls. The screen showed a side view of the head of Jason, one of Ulkanov's graduate students, who was posted on a gallery overlooking the entrance lobby above, in the upper levels of the largely subterranean institute. After a few seconds the head turned full-face. "I think this might be him, Professor." Ulkanov raised an eyebrow and caught the gaze of his assistant, Barbara, standing a short distance back.

"Now, we'll see," he murmured softly.

Another screen showed a view from a hand-held camera that Jason was operating, looking down over the floor of the lobby. A figure with fair hair, a mustache, wearing glasses, and carrying a black briefcase, had entered from the doors leading through from the Transitube and was looking around. Jason's voice reported, "He's going over to the information desk."

Ulkanov turned toward the three people, still in their traveling coats, who had arrived only minutes ago. "Is that him?" he asked them. "The man who showed up at the Kosmogord?"

Kay and Scipio came closer and studied the image for a moment. Julius, the other member of Pipeline who had come with them from Earth, sank into a chair and lit a cigarette. "Man, that was a long trip," he sighed.

Kay nodded to Ulkanov. "It's him."

"It's unbelievable," Scipio breathed. "He's here at the institute already? What kind of person is this?"

Ulkanov looked at another screen, this time showing two girls in white lab coats. "Okay?" he asked them. "Is everything ready there?"

One of them nodded nervously. "Yes."

"Be careful, now. Remember that he's dangerous."

"You don't have to remind us," the girl said in a shaky voice.

"Will this count toward grade points?" the other asked.

Ulkanov smiled thinly. "We'll see what we can do."

Jason said from the first screen, "The clerk at the infor-mation desk is sending him to the elevators. He's moving away . . . on his way over. Get ready. He's coming down."

* * *

Level SB, Experimental Wing, Samurai repeated to himself as the elevator door closed. The first place that Ashling would have been taken to on arriving would almost certainly be Ulkanov's office. There was no call for stealth or elaborate planning now, Samurai decided. His world had reduced itself to the single, overriding obsession to kill Ashling. One fast, sudden stroke, and it would be over with. Then they could do whatever they liked.

The elevator descended a level and stopped. Two girls in white lab coats got in, carrying some items of technical equipment. Neither took any notice of him. The doors closed and the elevator resumed its descent. The girls talked in nervous, subdued voices, but Samurai didn't really -notice as he softly fingered the lines of the automatic in his coat pocket.

Two levels farther down the elevator stopped again, and the girls got out. The doors closed. The elevator began moving once more. And only then did Samurai see the flask that the two girls had left in a corner on the floor . . . a split second before it burst, releasing a pungent vapor that filled the small volume of the elevator car in moments. Samurai tore his handkerchief from his pocket and clamped it over his nose and mouth, then punched the button to stop the car at the next level.

But it never reached the next level. It stopped halfway between, and the door remained firmly closed against Samurai's frantic attempt to force it. He braced his back and feet against the walls, intending to work his way up to see if there was a hatch in the roof that could be opened; but before even making the first move he could feel his strength failing. He slid down into a sitting posture, keeled slowly over sideways, and lost consciousness.

* * *

He awoke many hours later, in a treatment room near the machine facility in the institute's advanced research labs. Ulkanov was standing near the door, watching his patient's recovery and smiling.

For the person who was staring up from the cot was no longer the synthetic creation that had been named Samurai.

Nor the teacher, Richard Jarrow; nor Warrant Officer Demiro.

But the missing scientist himself: Conrad Ashling.

 

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Framed