The Pharoah Contract

Ruiz reviewed his visit to the League factor who had hired him this time. The factor was an old woman with the long face and delicate bones of a Cygnan, named Alldiusen Miktyas.

“Come in, come in,” she had said, bowing and rubbing her wrists in the Cygnan manner. “Always a delight, Citizen Aw. So happy you are available.”

Ruiz nodded carefully, and chose a chair well back from Miktyas’s desk.

“Smoke? Powder? Wet?” Miktyas indicated the bar that ran across the back other office, beneath a large holostill of the Meadows of Morrow.

Ruiz shook his head. “No, thank you. You offer a contract?”

Miktyas smiled widely, revealing small blue teeth. “Indeed, and I’m pleased to see that you have lost none of your refreshing directness. So, to business! We suffer from illegal harvesters, in a prime lowtech world we own in the center-ward fringe of the Manichaean region. You know of Pharaoh?”

Ruiz rubbed his chin and thought. “A desert Hardworld? Some sort of performers? Conjurors?”

Miktyas clapped her hands together, making a small flaccid sound. “Truly, you’re well informed. Yes! We would send you there, to gather information, and if possible, terminate the illegal harvesting, though our contract would be fulfilled if you can identify and locate the criminals, to be dealt with by the Legal Arm of our beloved employer. But there’s a healthy bonus for termination, as always.” The factor winked and laughed, her horsey face quivering with forced jollity.

Ruiz felt a bit ill, as he always did when accepting employment with the Art League. But he maintained an expression of polite interest. “What information is available?”

The factor shut off her laugh in midchortle. A gravely earnest expression descended over her features, as though a shade had been drawn down. “Well. Very little. This is why we are prepared to raise your usual rate.” The factor swiveled a screen so that Ruiz could see, touched it with skinny fingers. A swarm of amber characters flowed across it, listing the payment schedule for a hundred contingencies. Ruiz leaned forward, looked carefully at the screen. He was somewhat taken aback by the hugeness of the compensation, and a blip of suspicion crossed the horizon of his mind.

“Many of your contingencies deal with posthumous compensation,” he said, in a neutral voice.

The factor sighed heavily. “Such is the nature of your work, Citizen Aw. Not so?”

“It’s so,” Ruiz agreed.

“Should the worst occur, your heirs will be well cared for.”

Ruiz saw no reason to mention that he had no heirs. “Am I the first to study the problem? No? Then what information have your operatives gathered?”

“As I said, very little. The poachers seem to have an efficient counterintelligence organization; our people disappeared without useful trace. Naturally, you’re not to discount the possibility that they’ve infiltrated Pharaoh Upstation, or the League infrastructure on Pharaoh.”

“Naturally,” Ruiz said dryly. He considered at some length, until Miktyas squirmed impatiently.

“And so,” Miktyas said. “Your opinion?”

Ruiz leaned back. “Is there no information at all? What help can you provide?”

“We have excellent backgrounding, language learning, cartographic conditioning — the usual. We can provide you with dossiers on the illegally harvested troupes, but this information is limited. The poachers make very clean snatches. We have an extensive network of League observers in place on Pharaoh, who will assist you in any way you desire. Your budget is essentially unlimited. We’re very disturbed by this problem; we want swift and decisive action.”

Ruiz considered. “What will you require of me?”

The factor rubbed her wrists, making a dry reptilian sound. “Enhanced degree of mission-imperative, of course. A terminal contingency net — our finest Gencha work.”

Ruiz felt a lurch in his stomach, though he’d expected the death net. No one would pay that much without a guarantee of some return on their investment.

“Is that absolutely necessary? The death net?”

The factor’s face curdled with disapproval. “Must you so refer to it? The TCN is only and merely a contingency mechanism. We hope, of course, that you return in perfect health, but yours is a risky trade, and if you meet with disaster, we want to know why. We’ll be much likelier to avenge your murder, with the net transmitting the circumstances of your demise. Don’t you want that?”

Ruiz sighed. “Oh, sure. Sure. When?”

Miktyas leaned forward, her eyes alight with urgency. “Now. Today. We have the Gench practitioner waiting in the lab; it’s ready to do the installation. What do you say?”

Ruiz sat silent for a long time, considering, looking inside his heart.

Finally he said, “Why not?”

* * *

Miktyas conducted Ruiz down a dozen levels, deep into the League medical section.