The Sam Gunn Omnibus

Orchestra(ted) Sam

Jade was surprised at how nervous she felt as she waited in the arrivals lounge at Selene’s Armstrong Spaceport. In ten minutes the shuttle from Space Station Epsilon would arrive, and her plan to smoke Sam Gunn out of hiding would start to unfold. She hoped.

Rocket shuttles from the space stations orbiting Earth were never delayed by weather or traffic. Once they broke orbit they were essentially in a dead fall that ended at Armstrong’s scoured and blasted concrete pads out on the floor of the giant crater Alphonsus.

Too nervous to remain seated, Jade paced along the curving glassteel window that looked out at the landing area. Two spindly-looking shuttles were standing on their pads. Beyond them the sky was as black as infinity but studded with brilliant hard pinpoints of stars and the streaming whiteness of the Milky Way. Out on the horizon she could see the low, slumped, tired-looking mountains that formed Alphonsus’s ringwall.

Jane Avril Inconnu was a petite, slim young woman with jade-green eyes and flaming red hair that she had allowed to curl down to her shoulders. In her fitted tunic and slacks of grayish green she looked almost elfin. Several of the other people waiting in the lounge seemed to recognize her from the videos she had hosted, but none of them had the courage to come up and speak to her. For which she was grateful; she had enough on her mind without trying to make friendly chitchat.

Can we do it? she asked herself for the thousandth time. Can we get him to come out into the open? Despite having spent the past several years of her life producing biographical videos about Sam Gunn, she had never met the wily, devious little imp himself.

A glint of light caught her eye. Again, another sparkle against the starry black sky. As she watched, her nose almost pressed against the cold glassteel window, she saw the shuttle take shape, its ungainly silhouette glittering in the harsh light of the distant Sun.

The shuttle touched down, feather soft, on the hot jets of its retros, blowing dust and grit across the landing pad. An access tunnel wormed out like a wheeled caterpillar and connected to its main hatch.

Jade ran to the reception area, suddenly as impatient as a schoolgirl. Working her way to the front of the small crowd waiting for the arrivals to get through customs, she wondered yet again if she could carry her plan through to success.

At last Jill Meyers appeared in the doorway, a small travel bag clutched in one hand. She saw Jade and grinned maliciously. Meyers was short and stubby, her face round and snub-nosed, with a sprinkling of freckles. Her light brown hair was cut short, and she wore a nondescript beige travel suit.

The older woman hugged Jade with her free arm while several of the other debarking passengers stared. Jill Meyers, former U.S. Senator and a respected judge on the International Court of Justice, was immediately recognizable.

Before Jade could say hello or even take a breath, Meyers whispered into her ear, “Now we get that little SOB to marry me!”

It wasn’t easy to keep Jill Meyers’s arrival in Selene a secret, but Jade figured that if Sam did find out that she was on the Moon it might help to smoke him out of hiding. She even half-expected Sam to show up in her office, sooner or later, brash and breezy, ready to embark on some twisty scheme or other.

Jade was not prepared, however, for the Beryllium Blonde.

She recognized Jennifer Marlowe immediately from the disks she had reviewed while producing her Sam Gunn bios. She was golden blonde, radiantly so, with long legs, wide innocent eyes of cornflower blue, and a figure that would drive any man to wild testosterone-soaked fantasies. Dressed in a glittering metallic sheath that hugged her curves deliciously, she swept unannounced into Jade’s cubbyhole of an office.

“Good morning,” she said, with a gleaming smile. “I’m Jennifer Marlowe, of the law firm of Raippe, Pillage and Burns.”

Astonished, Jade slowly rose from her desk chair and said, “Yes, you are, aren’t you?”

Marlowe sat on the spindly chair before Jade’s desk, still smiling enough wattage to light a shopping mall. But there was something cold behind her smile, Jade thought. Something hard and hostile.

“What can I do for you?” Jade asked, settling back into her own swivel chair.

The smile dimmed somewhat. “I’m here on a rather delicate matter, Ms. Inconnu.”

“Call me Jade; everybody does.”

“Your eyes. Of course.”

“Does this ‘delicate matter’ have anything to do with Sam Gunn?”

The Blonde sighed dramatically. “Of course. Who else?”

“I thought all those lawsuits against Sam had been settled,” said Jade.

“All but one,” the Blonde replied.

Jade raised her eyebrows a notch, waiting.

“A breach of promise suit,” the Blonde explained. “Sam promised to marry me—”

“Marry you!” Jade blurted, shocked. “Marry you?”

“That’s right,” the Blonde replied gravely. “And I’m here to see that he makes good on his promise. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll take all his assets. Every penny. I’ll leave him with nothing but the clothes on his back. Maybe not even that much.”

“NO WONDER SAM’ S in hiding,” said Jill Meyers that evening. She had invited Jade to dinner in the suite she had rented under an assumed name: Minerva de Guerre.

“This is going to make him burrow even deeper, wherever he is,” Jade said unhappily, picking at the salad before her.

Meyers shook her head, equally dismayed. “I had a talk with Doug Stavenger this afternoon. Strictly informal, of course. You’d think in a community as small and tight as Selene it’d be impossible for Sam to hide for long.”

Jade said, “There’ve been people living in the equipment and storage levels for years, castoffs and hideaways existing on their wits. I’ve even heard that sometimes they break into the emergency shelters up on the surface and live there for as long as they dare.”

“Stavenger didn’t mention that.”

“He wouldn’t, not to a distinguished visitor. He wouldn’t want you to know there’s an underground subculture in Selene.”

“Why does the governing council permit it?”

Jade shrugged. ”It’s small enough so that it would be more trouble to root out than it’s worth. At least, that’s the official line.”

“This isn’t going to help us find Sam.”

“No,” Jade agreed. “It isn’t.”

Meyers drummed her fingers on the table top. “There’s got to be a way to find Sam.”

“But if we do, La Marlowe will get him. One way or the other.”

“What’s she really after?” Meyers wondered aloud. “I mean, Sam doesn’t have anything in the way of assets, does he? He must be pretty close to broke.”

With a slight shake of her head, Jade answered, “He must have something that she’s interested in.”

“But what could it be?”

Jumbo Jim Gradowsky was a large man, terminally untidy in his clothing and personal habits, his desk a perpetual disaster area. And he was clearly unhappy.

“You’re moping,” he said to Jade. Despite the successes of Jade’s series on Sam Gunn, Solar News’s corporate headquarters on Earth had not deigned to enlarge the office space in Selene. Profits first, was the motto in Orlando.

Sitting in front of Jumbo Jim’s messy, cluttered desk, Jade nodded despondently. “I guess I am moping,” she admitted.

“You’re going through your assignments like a sleepwalker,” Jim added, pushing aside a small mountain of reports and memos to reach for the milkshake mug on the corner of his desk. Several of the monomolecular sheets slid languidly to the floor.

“I guess I am,” Jade repeated. Then, pulling herself up straighter, she said, “It’s this Sam Gunn thing. I can’t get it out of my mind.”

Gradowsky took a long pull on his milkshake. Wiping chocolate foam from his lips with the back of his hand, he said, “All right, here’s what I’m going to do. You’re off all assignments for the next three days. You spend the time tracking Sam down.”

“Three days? Jim! Thanks!” Jade wanted to jump over the desk and kiss him.

“Three days,” Gradowsky warned, holding up three fingers. “Then I want you here with all your brains working.”

“Thanks, Jim,” she repeated, bolting from the chair and heading for the door.

Monica Bianco was sympathetic but not terribly helpful. Her office, like Jade’s, was nothing more than a cubicle with shoulder-high partitions, although she had adorned the wobbly walls with photos of her abundant family back Earthside. Every timeJade saw the pictures she thought about how much she wished she had a family. But she had no one—except, maybe, Sam Gunn.

“I don’t see how you can flush him out,” Monica was saying. “If he’s squirreled away in the maintenance level or out in one of the emergency shelters it’d take a small army to find him.”

Jade agreed gloomily. But she insisted, “There’s got to be some way.”

“Like what?”

“Like … I don’t know.”

Monica leaned back in her chair. “You’ve been following Sam’s life for the past three years. Don’t you have a feeling for how he thinks? How his mind works?”

“Well, sort of.”

“So?”

Jade thought about it for several silent moments. Then it hit her. “That’s it!” she shouted, and ran from Monica’s office, leaving the older woman sitting open-mouthed behind her desk.

Sam wouldn’t hide out in some ratty corner of a warehouse, she told herself as she slid behind the desk in her own cubicle. Not Sam!

She called up the guest list of the Selenite Hotel, the poshest hostelry on the Moon. He wouldn’t use his own name, of course, Jade told herself as she scanned the list. Some of the names were blanked out and photo IDs missing, guests who wanted complete privacy.

Then she spotted a face that was obviously phony. A gold turban wrapped around the head of a man whose luxuriant black beard was so thick that all she could see of his face was a generous beak of a nose and tiny, squinty eyes of some indeterminate light color.

Who else? Jade asked herself.

The name beneath the image read “Sri Malabar Singh Satay.” Jade laughed aloud. A phony if I ever saw one! she told herself. Just as phony as that snout and beard.

To make sure, she looked up his biography. It was impressive. If the data could be believed, Malabar Singh Satay was one of Earth’s foremost musicians, a concert pianist, and scion of a fabulously wealthy Sikh family that had fled the biowar that had depopulated the Indian subcontinent and now made their principal residence on the island of Malabar in the East Indies.

Yeah, right! Jade said to herself. So what’s he doing on the Moon?

She contacted the Selenite Hotel and was put through to Mr. Satay’s suite with only a minimum of delay. A darkly beautiful woman with large, lustrous eyes answered her call and agreed, in a silky voice that carried an exotic slightly singsong lilt, to allow Jade to interview Mr. Satay that very afternoon.

Jade laughed to herself all the way to the hotel. He thinks he can fool me with that phony beard and schnozzola, she thought. Fingering the voice analyzer she was carrying in her purse, Jade told herself, I’ve got his voiceprint on the chip; no matter what kind of crazy accent he tries to use, the analyzer will pin him down. Once it chimes, Sam’s game is up.

The same woman opened the door to Satay’s suite and welcomed Jade in with a bow and a sweeping gesture. Despite the fact that she wearing a perfectly ordinary pants suit and hardly any jewelry at all, she looked exotic and terribly beautiful to Jade. Must be the perfume, Jade told herself as she followed the woman into a sumptuously furnished living room. A massive grand piano stood in one corner, beneath a smart screen that showed a view of the long-destroyed Taj Mahal.

“I am Indra,” the young woman said. “Mr. Satay’s daughter.”

Daughter? Jade immediately felt her face flush with emotion. But before she could say a word, Malabar Singh Satay stepped into the room like a Mogul emperor entering his throne chamber.

He was much taller than Jade had expected, his skin a dark, almost coppery color. The turban adds to his height, she told herself. And the beard hides most of his face.

“Ms. Inconnu,” said Satay in a low, gravely voice. He pressed his hands together before his face and dipped his chin slightly. The voice analyzer in Jade’s purse remained silent.

She bowed back, self-consciously. “Mr. Satay,” she murmured. She saw that he was wearing white silk gloves. To protect his pianist’s hands, she thought. And not leave any fingerprints.

Satay was much taller than Sam would be, Jade realized. Tall and slim and somehow elegant-looking in a thigh-length brocaded jacket with a high, tight collar. He gestured Jade to the striped couch in the middle of the big room, then perched straight-backed on the facing armchair. Indra moved silently behind Jade; she couldn’t tell if the woman had taken a chair or left the room altogether.

“I am so very glad you asked for this interview,” Satay said. “It is always a pleasure to be interviewed by the news media, yes indeed. I am afraid that I am something of an egotist. It must very likely be an essential part of a concert pianist’s personality.”

Fumbling for an idea, Jade stammered, “It… it’s not often that we … the people of Selene, that is … we don’t get many distinguished musicians visiting us.”

He seemed to smile. With the beard and luxuriant mustache, it was difficult to tell.

“Oh my goodness, not at all. On the contrary, Ms. Inconnu, Selene has a very illustrious symphony orchestra. Indeed, many of the finest musicians on Earth have come here to retire and then extended their careers in the low gravity and relaxed social atmosphere of your delightful community. I feel honored to be allowed to perform with them, certainly I do.”

As they chatted on, Jade became more and more convinced that this elegant man actually was who he claimed to be, and not Sam Gunn in disguise. After nearly an hour of talking, he got up and went to the piano, stripped off the silk gloves, and began to play the languid opening bars of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” for Jade.

“Rather appropriate, considering where we are,” he said over the music, “don’t you believe so?”

Jade had to agree. It wasn’t until Satay had completed the piece with its stirring final movement that she realized she was no closer to finding Sam than she had been before meeting the pianist.

As the last notes faded away, Jade sat on the sofa, too awed by the music to applaud.

“That’s … beautiful,” she breathed, knowing that her words were terribly lame.

“Thank you so very much,” Satay replied, without moving from the piano bench. He eyed her for a silent moment, then asked, “Are you not the woman who narrated those illuminating biographical shows about Sam Gunn?”

“Yes,” Jade said. “I am.”

“They were magnificent, truly,” said Satay. “You captured such a complex personality so well, so faithfully. A magnificent achievement.”

It was Jade’s turn to say, “Thank you.”

“You must know him very well, very well indeed.”

“Actually, I’ve never met him.”

“Never met him?” Satay’s bushy brows rose almost to the edge of his turban.

“No. Never.”

“Would you like to?”

Jade felt her pulse quicken. “Yes! Of course!”

“He’s coming here this evening,” Satay said. Then, his face darkening, he added, “He has been courting my daughter.”

“Sam?” “Sam”

Jade turned and saw that Indra was not in the room. She had left her father alone with her.

Slowly, she asked, “When you say ‘courting,’ do you mean that Sam has proposed marriage to your daughter?”

His face darkening even more, Satay replied, “Not a word about marriage, not one syllable.”

Jade nodded.

“The man is notorious,” Satay growled.

“Yes, he is.”

“My daughter seems infatuated with him.”

“Sam can be very… infatuating.”

His bearded face broke into a fierce smile. “I have it! Why don’t you join us for dinner? We will make a foursome of the evening.”

Her heart thundering, Jade said, “I’d love to.”

Jade scooted to her meager apartment and changed into her best evening wear: a simple sleeveless black frock adorned with a pearl necklace and earrings. Trying to calm the excited pounding of her pulse, she made her way back to the hotel and Satay’s suite.

The pianist was wearing a splendid gold brocade jacket that made Jade feel shabby. Indra was dressed in a silk sari of deep rose interwoven with glittering silver threads.

Sam was not there.

“He is late,” Satay murmured as his daughter poured iced tea for them.

“He’ll be here,” said Indra as she handed Jade a tall frosted glass. “He must be very careful, you know.”

“Careful?” Jade asked.

Indra nodded. “Unscrupulous people are searching for him. They want to—”

The doorbell chimed. Indra fairly flew to the front door, her sari flapping. Jade saw that her father looked grim.

Indra opened the door and in he stepped. Sam Gunn.

He’s an elf! she thought. Jade saw that Sam barely stood as tall as Satay’s shoulder. Even Indra was a few centimeters taller than he. He was smiling widely at her, a gap-toothed grin that looked slightly lopsided. His face was round and freckled, his nose a button. His brick-red hair was neatly combed, except for a couple of cowlicks sprouting from the back of his head.

My hair’s a little lighter in color than Sam’s, Jade thought. And my face is very different. But we’re almost exactly the same height.

Sam kissed Indra’s hand as he entered the spacious room; she smiled beamingly at him. He clasped his hands in front of his face and bowed politely to Satay, who bowed back, stone-faced.

Then Sam turned and seemed to realize for the first time that there was one other person in the room.

He looked at Jade, blinked, then said, “Hey, I know you.”

Jade said nothing. She couldn’t. Her throat was so constricted that not a word could come out.

Walking toward her across the thickly luxuriant carpeting, Sam said, “You’re the kid who hosted those bioshows about me. Jane something, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Gunn,” Satay intervened, “may I present Ms. Jane Avril Inconnu.”

“She not only narrated your shows, Sam,” lndra added, “she produced them.”

Sam stepped up to Jade. We’re exactly the same height, she told herself.

With a grin, Sam said, “You’re a natural redhead, like me. Not many of us around.”

“You have to have the right genes,” Jade heard herself say.

Satay announced, “I have dinner laid on here. I know how much you want to avoid being seen in public.”

It seemed to take an effort for Sam to take his eyes away from Jade. “Yeah, right,” he said absently. “Too many prying eyes out there.”

Indra hooked her arm around Sam’s and guided him toward the dining room. Following them, Jade took Satay’s proffered arm.

“Why are you afraid of prying eyes?” Jade asked as they took their seats around the square glass-topped dining table. A pair of squat, silvery robots stood along one wall, glasses and pitchers on their flat tops.

“Yes,” said Indra. “You told me that all those lawsuits against you have been dropped.” She was seated across the table from Jade, and the two men faced each other.

“I’m involved in a pretty delicate business,” Sam said as one of the robots rolled up beside him. He took a water glass, then asked Indra what she wanted.

“A martini, please,” Indra replied. Satay asked for a double.

“And you?” he asked Jade.

“Is there any wine?”

The robot’s synthesized voice replied, “There is an excellent Sancerre in my cooler, ma’am.”

Sam opened the insulated door in the robot’s chest and pulled out a green-tinted bottle. “From France,” he murmured appreciatively.

Once they had all sipped at their drinks, Jade asked again, “Why all the secrecy, Mr. Gunn?”

“Call me Sam.”

“Why all the secrecy, Sam?”

He laughed; Jade thought it was a trifle forced. “You’re a newshound, all right. A regular bloodhound.”

“Well?” Jade insisted.

Sam glanced at Satay, then said, “I’m involved in negotiations to buy the Selene Philharmonic Orchestra.”

“Buy the orchestra?” Jade asked, surprised. “But you can’t! It’s owned by the people of Selene.”

“Not really,” Sam said.

“That is what I thought, also,” Satay interjected. “I was led to believe that the Philharmonic is a municipal organization, not privately owned.”

“It’s a little tricky,” Sam started to explain. But when he looked at Jade he asked, “What do I call you, anyway? Ms. Inconnu? Jane? What?”

“Mrs. Johansen,” Jade answered. “You know my husband.”

“Spence?” Sam’s voice jumped an octave. “You’re married to Spence Johansen? He’s here at Selene?”

“Yes, to both questions.”

Sam thought that over for all of three seconds. Then, “Okay, but I can’t call you Mrs. Johansen: too stuffy.”

“My friends call me Jade.”

“Jade,” he repeated. Indra cast a less-than-friendly glance at Jade, then touched Sam’s arm possessively.

“Perhaps we should begin our meal,” Satay suggested. “Before the robots become impatient.”

They all laughed politely.

Throughout the dinner Sam regaled them with tales of his adventures with Spencer Johansen, and Larry Karsh, Elverda Apacheta, even his double who—he claimed—had returned to the black hole out beyond the orbit of Pluto. On and on, Sam talked nonstop until they had finished dessert and were sipping cognac from oversized snifters.

“I still don’t understand about this orchestra business,” Jade said, trying to get back to the subject she was interested in. “Why should you want to buy the Philharmonic?”

“Sam is a philanthropist at heart,” Indra said.

“Really?”

Sam gave her a wry grin. “It’s like this. Legally, the orchestra is owned by a consortium of Selene’s citizens. Its revenues come from private donations—which are never enough to cover its expenses. The difference is made up out of taxes and annual fund drives.”

“So?”

“So I figured that if I owned the orchestra I could foot its expenses, whatever they are, and spare the citizens of Selene the annual begging campaign.”

“And the taxes,” Indra added.

Sam nodded.

“But where would the money come from?” Jade asked. “As I understand it you’re broke.”

Waggling a hand in the air, Sam said, “Well, not exactly broke. I still get a trickle of money from my share of the Hell Crater resort complex.”

“I thought you signed all that away to Rockledge.”

With a grin, Sam replied, “So did a certain silver-haired slimeball named Pierre D’Argent. But I kept one percent. He was so glad to get his hands on the complex that he overlooked that little piece of fine print.”

“One percent of the gross,” Indra said, with a tiny giggle.

“Is that true?” asked Jade.

He looked deeply into her eyes before answering. “More or less,” he said at last.

Satay spoke up. “I must say that it will be quite an experience for the orchestra to be under your management.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam said absently, still staring at Jade. “You know, kid, you remind me of somebody … but I can’t put a finger on who it is.”

Jean Margaux, Jade replied silently, her insides trembling. But she said nothing.

A long awkward silence filled the sumptuous room. Sam kept staring at Jade, as if trying to fathom her innermost secrets.

At last Indra said sharply, “There are people here in Selene who would not want to allow Sam to gain control of the orchestra.”

“The notorious Sam Gunn,” Satay murmured.

“That’s why I’ve got to be careful,” Sam said, still unable to take his eyes off Jade.

At last she found her voice. “There’s also the Beryllium Blonde, isn’t there?”

Sam frowned. “La Marlowe? She came all the way here to nail me with a phony breach of promise suit.”

“Breach of promise?” Indra’s dark eyes flashed.

“I never promised her anything,” Sam said, patting her hand. “She’s just a lawyer trying to make an ill-gotten buck.”

“What about Jill Meyers?” Jade blurted.

Sam’s eyes snapped wide with genuine surprise. “Jill’s here too?”

Realizing she had blundered, Jade tried to retreat. “She’s got more claim to marriage than the Blonde.”

With obvious irony, Satay asked, “Sam, are you perhaps a Moslem? How many wives can you have?”

“That is not funny, father,” said Indra.

Sam looked from father to daughter and then back to Jade. “You can see why I have to be careful,” he muttered.

The dinner ended on a definitely sour note. Jade excused herself at last and headed back toward her apartment, two levels above the hotel. As she walked disconsolately along the long, gray-walled corridor, she heard someone call her name.

Turning, she saw it was Sam pushing his way past a strolling elderly couple.

“Wait up a minute,” he said, hurrying toward her. “You can’t just walk away from me, can you?”

“Not from you,” Jade admitted. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” He seemed sincerely troubled that Jade was obviously so upset.

“You’re in real danger, Sam,” she temporized. “Marlowe and Jill Meyers both intend to get you to marry them. And Satay wants you to marry his daughter—or get out of her life.”

“I’ve been in trouble before. I can handle it.”

“But why—”

“Look,” he said, waving his arms as they walked along the nearly deserted corridor, “I cuddled up to Indra so I could get to meet her father. I need Satay on my side to help impress the committee that’s running the orchestra.”

“Impress the committee?”

“Those stuffed shirts think I’ll steal the orchestra and take it to the other end of the Milky Way or something. They don’t trust me!”

Jade started to laugh, but then she saw that he seemed genuinely hurt.

She said, “Can you blame them? Your reputation doesn’t put you on track for sainthood.”

“Aw, Jade! From you? You’ve followed my life and you know what I’ve done: the good, the bad, and the so-so. You think I’m a bum too?”

That made her smile. “No, I don’t think you’re a bum, Sam.”

“Half the things I’ve been blamed for I never did. Honest!” He clapped one hand to his heart and raised the other over his head.

“The other half is quite enough,” Jade countered. “You’re no saint, Sam.”

Breaking into a grin, he replied, “Who wants to be?”

They were only a few meters from Jade’s front door. As they walked up to it, Jade asked, “Sam, what’s your real reason for wanting to buy the orchestra? And how can you handle it, financially?”

“You going to invite me in?” he asked, with a sly grin.

“No.”

“Scared?”

“Yes, but not in the way you think.”

He cocked his head to one side, his grin slowly vanishing. “Okay. I’ll answer your questions, but not out here in the corridor.”

Jade knew she had to out-maneuver him. Thinking swiftly, she said, “Let’s do lunch tomorrow. There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

“Not the Blonde.”

“No.”

“Not Jill?”

Smiling, Jade said, “I want you to meet Minerva La Guerre.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s heard of you,” Jade said.

He shrugged. “Okay. Lunch tomorrow. Where?”

“In her hotel suite. I’ll set it up.”

“High noon,” he said.

“You’ll answer my questions then?”

Another shrug. “We’ll see.”

Jade gave Sam a swift peck on his cheek, surprising him so thoroughly that he stood there with his mouth hanging open while she ducked into her apartment and locked the door behind her. She leaned against the door, breathless. He’s my father! Jade told herself. I know it. I can feel it.

With a glance at the security screen by the door she saw that Sam was slowly walking back up the corridor, in the direction they had come from.

Her insides trembling,Jade walked uncertainly to her desk. She sat tiredly on the spindly little wheeled chair and stared at the phone’s blank display screen. Then she nodded, her mind made up, and phoned Jill Meyers. After that, she called the Beryllium Blonde.

Jennifer Marlowe was smiling with lots of brilliant white teeth, but Jade thought her eyes betrayed her true feelings: the Blonde was tense, wary, suspicious.

Jill Meyers was the epitome of graciousness as she led Marlowe and Jade across the sitting room of her suite and into the small dining area next to the kitchen and the waiting robots. Jade followed behind them.

“You know,” Jill was saying, “I was asked to serve on the panel of judges when Sam was being tried for genocide.”

“You were?” the Blonde said, her cornflower blue eyes taking in every stick of furniture, every sparkle of jewelry that J ill wore.

“I declined,” Jill said, gesturing to one of the chairs. “I was too emotionally involved.”

“You would have voted to acquit Sam.”

Jill laughed. “I would have voted to have him hanged. Before the first witness was called.”

Marlowe giggled appreciatively as she sat demurely on the chair Jill indicated. Even in zippered-up coveralls of baby blue, Jade thought, she couldn’t help looking like a sexy centerfold model.

Once the three of them were seated and the serving robot had brought them glasses of fruit juice, Jill said, “This meeting is Jade’s idea. Sam’s going to be here in half an hour, so I suggest we get down to brass tacks.”

La Marlowe turned to Jade. “And just what do you hope to accomplish, Ms. Inconnu?”

It’s Mrs. Johansen, Jade corrected silendy. But she let it go. Aloud, she replied, “Two things: I want you to drop your suit against Sam, and I want Sam to marry Jill.”

If either point surprised the Blonde she didn’t show it.

“How do you propose to do that?” she asked.

“I’ll need your help.”

Jill broke in, “Off the record, is there any real basis for your suit? I mean, I’ve known Sam longer than both of you combined and I’ve never heard him utter the word ‘marriage.’ ”

Marlowe smiled enigmatically. “I have it all on disk. Sam promised to marry me.”

“Disks can be faked,” Jade said.

“This one has been authenticated,” Marlowe said calmly.

“By whom?”

“By two separate and independent teams of analysts.”

“Hired by your law firm?”

Smiling again, with even more teeth, Marlowe said, “Why, Ms. Inconnu, that would be unethical, wouldn’t it?”

“How much?” asked Jill.

Jade was surprised by the question. Marlowe simply widened her smile slightly.

“How much do you want to drop your suit?” Jill asked. She looked slightly irritated, Jade thought.

“You’re a very wealthy woman,” said Marlowe. “Old money is the best kind.”

“How much?”

“I’m sure a jury would award me ten million, at least.”

Before Jill could reply, Jade said, “Wait a minute. There’s something else involved here.”

“Something else?”

“What?”

Jade said, “Sam’s up to something. He—”

“He’s always up to something,” said Marlowe.

“So what else is new?” Jill quipped.

“Why is he trying to get control of the orchestra?” Jill asked. “I mean, Sam doesn’t do things like that without some ulterior motive.”

Both the women nodded agreement.

“I wonder what he’s really up to,” Jade murmured.

Jill grinned. “It must be something convoluted, knowing Sam.”

Marlowe said, “Whatever it is, he still has to deal with my breach of promise suit before he does anything else.”

A silence fell upon them. Jade realized that Jill hadn’t pursued her offer of settling Marlowe’s suit, not since the sum of ten million dollars had been mentioned. That’s how old money keeps its money, Jade thought. Philanthropy goes only so far.

“Why does he want the orchestra?” Jade wondered again.

“Ask him when he gets here,” said Jill Meyers.

“If he shows up,” Marlowe said. “I wouldn’t put it past him to pull another disappearing act.”

“But he promised me!” Jade protested.

Both the other women stared at her. Marlowe said, “How can you be so naive? You’ve done all this biographical research about Sam and you still think—”

The doorbell chimed.

For an instant none of them moved. Then Jill said to the suite’s communications system, “Display entry hall, please.”

A misty Japanese landscape on the far wall of the dining alcove dissolved into an image of Sam Gunn out in the entry hall. He was fidgeting nervously and whistling something too low for Jade to make out.

“Hey, is anybody home?” he shouted. “Have I got the right room number?”

Jade pushed away from the table and sprinted toward the door. He could be halfway down the corridor by the time I get there, she worried.

But when she slid the door open, Sam Gunn was standing there, in slightly faded coveralls, a lopsided gap-toothed grin on his round, freckled face.

“There you are,” he said. “I was starting to worry.”

“It’s a big suite,” Jade began to explain, “and we were back in—”

But Sam was looking past her. Turning, Jade saw that the Blonde was standing in the middle of the spacious living room.

“You!” Sam gasped.

“Hello, Sam,” said the Blonde. Then she added, “Darling.”

Turning back to Jade, Sam growled, “You’ve led me into a trap! How could you?”

“It’s not a trap, Sam,” Jade said, struggling to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“You can’t hide from me forever,” Marlowe said, moving toward Sam like a cobra slithering toward its prey and sliding an arm in his. For his part, Sam stood there open-mouthed and wide-eyed like a paralyzed mongoose.

Jade cleared her throat. “Um, Sam, there’s someone else I want you to meet.”

Jill Meyers entered the room, smiling almost shyly. “Hello, Sam.”

“My God!” Sam blurted. “I’m surrounded by assassins!”

But he disengaged from La Marlowe and went to Jill with open arms. “I thought so! I knew Minerva La Guerre had to be a phony name!”

“And you came anyway?”

“Sure,” Sam said carelessly. “Why not?”

He gave Jill a hug; then, with Jill on one arm and Marlowe on the other, he grinned at Jade and asked, “So what’s this all about?”

“You promised to marry me,” said Marlowe.

“You’ve promised to marry me,” Jill Meyers said, “several times.”

“I never spoke the word ‘marriage’ to either of you and you both know it.”

“I have you on disk, Sam,” Marlowe said.

“Yeah, along with Godzilla, King Kong, and the Emperor Ming of Mongo.”

“You agreed to marry me, Sam,” Jill repeated.

The Blonde insisted, “I’ve got authenticated evidence—”

Jade wished she had a referee’s whistle hanging around her neck. She raised both her hands and shouted, “Wait! Hang on for a minute. This is getting us nowhere.”

Sam disengaged his arms and bowed politely to her. “And just where do want us to go, Oh most beautiful of producers?”

Jade pointed to the long, low-slung sofa against the wall. “You sit there, please.” Turning to Marlowe, “And you there, on the armchair.”

“And me?” Jill Meyers asked.

“This armchair, on the other side of the sofa.”

Once they were seated, Sam looked up Jade with a pleasant smile. “Okay, we’re all in our places with bright shining faces. Now what?”

Jade replied, “Sam, you promised me that you’d tell me why you’re so interested in the Selene Philharmonic.”

“I never promised.”

“Yes you did.”

“Did not.”

Jade began to fire another retort, then she realized, No, the little scamp never did promise. He implied that he’d tell me, but he never promised.

“You’re right, Sam. You didn’t promise. I apologize.”

“But he promised to marry me,” Marlowe said, as firmly as a judge pronouncing sentence on a doomed prisoner.

“Okay,” Sam said lightly. “I’ll marry you.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Jill Meyers snapped. “If you marry anybody, Sam Gunn, it’s going to be me. I’ve waited too long and been left at the altar too many times to let you go off with … with this … with anybody else.”

Smiling as benignly as a saint painted by Raphael, Sam said, “Don’t worry, Jill, I’ll marry you. Honest.” “You can’t marry both of us!” Marlowe said.

Sam raised two fingers. “You forget, people, that there are two of me. My duplicate is out at the black hole in the Kuiper Belt, but I can call him back. He’ll be overjoyed to make you his wife, Jennifer. I know, believe me.”

“Your duplicate! I don’t want a duplicate. I want the original Sam Gunn.”

Spreading his arms in a gesture that might, in another man, have indicated helplessness, Sam said, “But which of us is the original? We have the same physical makeup, down to the quantum vibrations of our atoms. We have the same memories, the same personality. Take your pick. For crying out loud, neither one of us knows who’s the original and who’s the copy.”

Marlowe gaped at him, her startling blue eyes wide.

Jill laughed. “I’ll take either one. Whichever I can get.”

Laughing back at her, Sam said, “Atta girl! That’s my Jill.”

Marlowe sank back in her armchair, silent, looking confused.

“What’s the matter, Jen?” Sam asked. “You can have your dream come true. You can marry me. We’ll live happily ever after, more or less.”

The Beryllium Blonde slowly shook her head. “I don’t want either one of you!” She rose to her feet, her face a mask of frustrated anger.

“All right, Sam. You win. I’ll drop the suit; fat lot of good it would do me if one of you is willing to go through with a wedding.”

She turned and headed for the front door.

“Ms. Marlowe!” Jill called to her.

The Blonde stopped, but didn’t turn around.

To her back, Jill Meyers said, “Ten million is way too much. But I’ll send you one million. You’ve earned that much in aggravation, I imagine.”

The Blonde turned and said, “Thank you,” through gritted teeth. Then she marched to the door and left.

Once the door slid shut, Jill broke into delighted laughter. “Talk about chutzpa! Your twin would marry her! How could you say that, Sam?”

“Because he’s exactly like me. He’d marry her and they’d have a terrific honeymoon. I wouldn’t give you much of a chance for afterward, though.”

Jade sank into the armchair that the Blonde had vacated.

Sam turned to her. “Okay. La Marlowe has left the field of battle and I’ve surrendered to my beloved Jill. Is there any other business?”

“Beloved Jill?” Meyers murmured, delighted.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “After all these years, you still want me?”

Jade was surprised to see tears in Jill Meyers’s eyes.

“Yes, I still want you, Sam. I love you.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he bantered. “But, for what it’s worth, I love you too, Jill.”

She leaped out of her chair and onto Sam’s lap. Jade felt her cheeks flush as they kissed passionately.

Sam at last came up for air. His face looked red, too. “Okay, kid,” he said to Jade. “I guess that wraps up everything with a nice blue ribbon.”

“Um, not quite,” Jade said, almost in a whisper.

“What? You want to know about the orchestra?”

“That, and—”

Sam didn’t give her a chance to finish. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But it’s strictly between us, right?”

Among us, Jade corrected silently.

With Jill still on his lap, Sam explained, “If that committee of bluenoses lets me take control of the orchestra, I’ll appoint Satay as its musical director. Then he can apply for citizenship in Selene and get it.”

“He wants citizenship here?” Jade asked.

“And Selene won’t allow him in?” asked Jill Meyers.

“Selene’s very strict about awarding citizenship,” Sam answered. “Otherwise they’d have a horde of refugees streaming here.”

“But Satay’s a famous musician,” said Jade.

“And you’re a judge of the International Court,” Sam countered. “Have you applied for citizenship?”

“No,” Jill admitted.

“If you did, you’d find out how tough they can be.” Stroking her back gently, Sam went on, “Fortunately, you’re going to marry a Selenite. That’ll make you a citizen automatically.”

Jill kissed him on the cheek.

Sam cocked a brow at her. “Say, is that why you want to marry me? To get citizenship here?”

Before Jade could blink, Jill pulled both Sam’s ears hard enough to make him yowl.

“Okay, okay,” he yelped. “I was only kidding!”

“Wait a minute!” Jade interrupted. “Back up! Why is it important to you to appoint Satay the leader of the Philharmonic?”

“Like you said, kid, he’s a famous musician.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that.”

“He wants to get away from the Indonesian government,” Sam said, “and their taxes.”

Jade considered that for a moment, then asked, “And what do you get out of it, Sam?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. There’s something in this for you, isn’t there?”

“Child, you cut me to the quick.”

“Knock it off, Sam,” Jill Meyers said. “What’s cooking in that twisted mind of yours?”

“Gosh, you people are so suspicious!”

Jade suddenly understood. “Satay has a considerable fortune, doesn’t he? Family money that he’ll bring to Selene with him.”

“I suppose,” Sam replied, trying to look innocent.

“And if you help him gain citizenship, he’ll be grateful to you, won’t he?”

Sam nodded, then admitted, “He’ll also be grateful to Jill.”

“To me?”

“For marrying me. Then I won’t be a danger to his daughter anymore.”

“Ah-ha,” Jill said.

“How will his daughter feel about that?” Jade asked.

Sam shrugged, not an easy thing to do with Jill still on his lap. “She’s young. She’ll find somebody. Besides, she doesn’t have control of the money.”

“And just what do you intend to do with Satay’s money?” Jade demanded.

“The matter duplicator,” said Jill. “I should have thought of it before this.”

“Matter transmitter,” Sam corrected. “I’ve sworn off duplicating things. Or people.”

“Two Sam Gunns are enough to make an honest man of you?”

Sam waggled his free hand. “More or less.”

“Matter transmitter,” Jade murmured.

“You bet. If the Indonesian government tries to keep Satay’s money in Indonesia,” Sam explained, “I’ll be able to zap most of it here to Selene.”

“Once you get a matter transmitter working,” said Jade.

“If you get a matter transmitter working,” Jill corrected.

“It’ll work,” Sam assured them.

“But Professor Townes is out in the Kuiper Belt with the other Sam, isn’t he?” Jade said.

“So what? He proved that a matter transmitter can work. Now any bright team of kids can duplicate his results.”

“If they’re real,” Jill muttered.

Sam gave her a hurt look. “They’re real, Oh love of my life. We’ll produce a matter transmitter and turn Selene into the greatest tax haven in the solar system.”

“Is that all you can imagine doing with a matter transmitter?” Jade asked.

His expression turned crafty. “Well, I’ve gotta admit that another thing or two has crossed my mind.”

Jill giggled. “I’ll bet.”

“It ought to make transportation through the solar system a lot easier,” Sam mused.

“And cheaper?” asked Jill.

Sam pursed his lips, then answered, “You’ve got to pay for the energy, honey. It takes a lot of energy to zap a mass even my size across a laboratory.”

“You blacked out half of Selene doing it.”

“So we’ll build big fusion power plants,” Jill said. “You could get rich, Sam.”

“With my looks and your brains,” he said to Jill, “the whole solar system is our oyster!”

Jill laughed and kissed him lightly.

“Okay,” Sam said, turning to Jade. “Does that clear up everything for you?”

Suddenly Jade’s throat felt dry, so tight she could hardly speak. “Almost,” she choked out.

“What else?” Sam asked.

Jade had to swallow hard before she could say, “I… Sam, I think you’re my father.”

For long moments the room was absolutely silent. Jill, sitting on Sam’s lap, stared at Jade. Sam, for once in his life, seemed dumbfounded. His hazel eyes were wide, his mouth hung open.

Jade stared at him. She couldn’t speak. She could hardly breathe.

“Your …” Sam gulped before he could say, “Your father?”

Jade nodded.

“Jean Margaux,” Sam said in a whisper. “That’s who your face reminded me of.”

Jill slid off Sam’s lap. “Maybe you two ought to talk this through by yourselves.”

Sam clutched at her. “No. Don’t go.”

Jade couldn’t fathom the expression on Sam’s face: Anger? Guilt? Fear?

“Jean and I had an affair after we came back from the Belt,” Sam muttered, remembering.

Jade found her voice at last, although it was barely above a whisper. “Rick Darling told me.”

“She tried to contact me after I left Selene,” Sam went on. “I never called her back.”

“She was my mother,” said Jade.

The beginnings of a crooked little smile snaked across Sam’s face. “You’ve got my red hair, all right.”

Jill spoke up. “We could do a DNA comparison. That’d prove it, one way or the other.”

Sam shook his head. “We don’t need that.” He slowly got to his feet. “Jade, I’m sorry it’s taken all these years for us to meet each other. I’m sorry that I haven’t been a real father to you.”

Jade rushed to him and, as Sam folded his arms around her, she felt for the first time in her life that she’d found her place in the universe. Tears filled her eyes, and she heard Sam snuffling, as well.

“By God,” Jill Meyers said, “you’ve got me crying, too.”

Thus it was that Sam Gunn and Senator/Justice Jill Meyers were married in Selene’s nondenominational chapel. It was not a grand wedding, not the enormous bash that Jill had once planned, so long ago. A simple, brief ceremony.

But Douglas Stavenger, Selene’s power behind the throne, gave the bride away. Spencer Johansen served as Best Man. Frederick Mohammed Malone came from his space habitat and stood beside Sam on legs newly made strong by stem cell therapy to serve as an usher. As did Larry Karsh, who flew to Selene from his mansion in Utah with his wife and son. Jane Avril Inconnu Johansen was Matron of Honor.

The small group gathered in the chapel’s pews included gangling Russell Christopher from New Chicago, Zoilo Hashimoto, and a pair of elderly women, twins, who smiled and cried at the same time through the entire ceremony.

The reception, back at the Selenite Hotel, was hosted by Garrett G. Garrison III. Jim Gradowski ate almost all the roast beef, while Monica Bianco nibbled daintily on caviar canapes. Champagne flowed. A good time was had by all.

When the moment came for the bridegroom to offer a toast, Sam stood on a chair and raised his champagne flute.

“For once in my life, I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

The crowd hooted.

“Well, in the past week I’ve found a daughter and married the one woman in the solar system who’s willing to put up with me. I think I’m the luckiest guy on Earth.”

“We’re not on Earth, Sam!” shouted Spence Johansen, one arm tight around Jade’s shoulders.

“That’s right. I stand corrected.”

“Where’re you going on your honeymoon?” Melinda Karsh asked. Her teenaged T.J. stood between her and his father.

Jill looked surprised. “Honeymoon? We haven’t even thought about that.”

But Sam said, “You know, I’ve never been to Saturn. It’s supposed to be spectacular, with those rings and all.”

“There’s a big habitat out there,” said Professor Solomon Goodman, “with a scientific community of about ten thousand men and women.”

Sam looked at Jill. “How about it? Would you like to spend a month or three at Saturn?”

Jill nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds like fun.”

“Ten thousand men and women,” Sam mused. “I wonder what they do for entertainment?”

“Now Sam,” said Jill, “we’ll be going out there for a honeymoon, not for business.”

“Yeah, I know. But still…”