Coils

by Roger Zelazny

  TEST RANGE. SOLAR-POWER LASER PERIMETER DEFENSE. LOTS OF SLAG HEAPS.

  HANG IN THERE, I answered. I MAY BE A WHILE. AUFWIEDERSEHEN.

  I checked through the main computer's catalog of ongoing projects, learning what some of those bizarre structures in the distance were.

  "… At a substantial pay increase," Barbeau was saying.

  "Where's Cora? I want to talk to Cora!" I called out, for I had checked and I knew that the PA system worked both ways.

  I knew that I was giving away my position for the moment, but at this point it didn't matter to me. I wanted his reaction.

  "Steve!" came the reply. "She's here. She's all right. In fact, she's really frightened at what you might be going to do."

  "Let me talk to her then." I had to ask that I didn't want him guessing that I'd already been in touch with her.

  "In time, in good time," he said. "But first—"

  "I'll wait," I said, and I took off running.

  I had been able to check while he was talking, and I knew now where the solar-powered laser perimeter defense test area was located. I also had a picture of what the thing was: It was a military research project, where laser power packs were charged by the sun. Apparently, the accumulated energy could be released like a lightning bolt. Details. Deal with that later…

  I ran toward that no man's land with the strange structures. She was back there in a furnished observer's hut in the test range area. Dirt roads with names like St. James Place, Park Place, Baltic Avenue and Boardwalk twisted through the lunar landscape over gray and white, limestone and fossil soil, where the tough, enduring vegetation looked three-quarters dead in the dry heat. There was wealth here—oil under the earth, and potash—and there was stored nuclear waste buried in ancient salt beds not far away, I remembered. I recalled the irony in what seemed the company's namesake, which I had once looked up—Angra Mainyu, in Persian mythology, was in the final analysis an anti-sun deity, a corrupter of that which he touched, the destroyer of the tree of life. When I pointed this out to Barbeau, he just laughed and said no, it stood for Allied Naturally Generated Radiation Assets and one shouldn't waste time looking for paradoxes and subtleties where simple answers suffice.

  The sun beat down fiercely as I passed among experimental solar-electrical pilot plants of various kinds. There were vats and towers and pyramids and banks of slanted sheets. There were structures with slowly turning paddles, emulating leaves I supposed. Some of them I'd never even heard of. And out farther—"near the slag heaps"—was Cora's prison.

  "… We're going to have to come to terms, Steve," Barbeau's voice said, from a dusky Christmas tree of a structure off to my left. "We need each other…"

  I turned at the corner of Mediterranean and Ventnor Avenues. I met her under a solar mirror. She was wearing a long black robe with a golden dragon on the breast.

  "Ann!"

  "I have found strength," she said, a little less flatly than on recent occasions. "They are coming for you now—the three men from the other house. One of them, their point man, is very near." She turned her head and I followed her gaze toward a low building bristling with antennae over on Marvin Gardens. "Do you know what 'kinetic-triggering' means…?"

  I saw nothing in that direction and when I turned back again Ann was gone.

  I took off toward that crouched porcupine of a structure, all of my senses alert. I thought that I knew what she meant. I'd read about research on a computerized laser hand weapon. It could be set to fire automatically at fast-moving objects. It was said that it could even be set to shoot down in flight an ordinary bullet aimed at its holder. The thing could also be used in conjunction with a helmet-headband, adjusted to fire at the point where its operator fixed his gaze. All of which meant that I was a dead man as soon as a line of sight opened between us…

  So… I coiled, seeking that electronic viper-brain somewhere ahead.

  Tzzz…

  … It was moving slowly, stage right, along the far side of the porcupine. But no computer, no laser beam performing its deadly dance. I turned it off and held it that way. I kept running.

  When the man stepped into view, I saw that he was holding what looked like an oversized harmonica in a vertical position in his right hand. He wore a metal headband about his dark locks, and there was some sort of lead running from it to a power pack on his belt, another from that unit to the thing in his hand.

  After several moments his face fell and he began to shake the weapon. He slapped at the power pack.

  He tried to use the thing as a club when I closed with him. I parried the blow and caught him on the temple with one knuckle, hard. He fell.

  I stripped off his weapon gear and donned it myself. I reactivated the little computer as I took hold of the grip at the rear of the harmonica. Then I moved to the side of the porcupine and was about to seek the other two units.

  The thing vibrated almost imperceptibly in my hand and I heard a cry.

  To my left and perhaps thirty meters across the way, beside a big black metal housing surrounded by giant ceramic pots, two people lay sprawled. They both wore headbands and neither was moving. I coiled and turned off their weapons. Then I advanced upon them, my own deadly harmonica at ready.

  They were dead, though. I was appalled at the quiet efficiency of the thing that I held. I hadn't even seen my would-be attackers. If I had, I would have wrecked their weapons. Then I could probably have broken them a leg apiece and at least left them alive. I wanted to throw the thing away, but I was afraid that I might still need it.

  I turned back to the dessicated plain, facing in the direction of the testing range.

  "… There's no reason for all of this," Barbeau's voice boomed after me. "We solved the energy problem, didn't we, Steve? When you worked for Angra, you did a great service for your country, for all of Western civilization. There are still great things ahead. We can still deal."

  "Let Cora go now," I called out, "and you'll still be alive when we leave here! That's my deal!"

  "Steve! Wait! I can promise you a completely different setup than last time! You'll like this one!"

  "Cora! Now!" I shouted into the next speaker I passed.

  "I can't, Steve!"

  "Why not?"

  "She's my only insurance against you!"

  "Damn it! I said I'd leave you alone if you give her to me!"

  "That's a frail thing to lean on, boy!"

  "My word? I wouldn't have left Angra if I didn't have a few principles. My word is good!"

  "Now let's calm down a bit! I still want a deal, too…"

  I ignored him and kept going. I passed something that looked like a house of cards, another structure that was all piping with liquids gurgling inside…

  The weapon moved in my hand, and something burned in the air to my right. I was left with the outline of a monkey wrench within the afterimage. That, and a puddle of something molten on the ground. Where had it come from? Who could have thrown…

  Suddenly, the harmonica was stirring again, and a myriad of bright points filled the air—screwdrivers, pliers, crowbars, hammers… It was as if someone had fired the entire contents of a tool chest in my direction. The damned little thing burned them all.

  There was a shed far off to my right, near a funny-smelling chemical-electrical installation.

  "Marie!" I called, the picture suddenly coming clear. "Don't come out! This thing will burn anything that moves!"

  "I get the idea!" I heard her shout. "How's about pointing it the other way?"

  "Why should I?"

  "'Cause you win!" she called back. "I just quit my job with Angra about half a minute ago! Let me walk out of this place and I won't bother you any more!"

  "I wish I could believe you!"

  "I wish you would, too! I was dirt poor, Steve! I bet you never were! I didn't like what I had to do to make all that money, but I did it anyway! Because poor was even worse! I never much liked the rest of you, because it didn't seem to bother you! Not the
way it bothered me! This seems like a good time to quit! Let me go!"

  "You waited a long time!" I said.

  "Not too long, I hope! Can I come out?"

  I switched off the weapon's computer.

  "Okay! Come ahead!"

  She stepped out of the shed. She was wearing jeans and a red blouse. Her face was a dark, tense mask. She turned to her left and began walking back toward the front of the compound.

  "I left my bicycle by the security shed outside," I said. "You can take it"

  "Thanks."

  "And Barbeau heard every word we said. Don't get too near that building he's in. He's nasty enough to take a shot at you."

  She nodded.

  "I think I'm going to open a restaurant," she said. "You come by one day.

  "And watch out for the preacher," she added. "He's still around—somewhere."

  I adjusted the weapon to its simpler mode and covered her till she was out of sight. But nothing threatened.

  I moved on, searching the area again for abnormal computer activity. Nothing special registered. Just the kapocketing of the various test plants. I reversed my earlier strategy now, staying out in the open, away from nooks and crannies where a fat man with death in his mind could be hiding. I tuned out Barbeau's monologue for a time. I passed the last of the big installations and before me lay a wasteland, just a few smaller bits of equipment here and there, and a few scattered huts. In the farther distance there were slag heaps.

  There were also a few towers with speakers attached…

  Well, one more time:

  "Listen," I said. "I just killed three of your men with those fancy guns and Marie is no longer with you. I took out the other three, too, in case you hadn't noticed. You don't have that much left. I know where Cora is. Call off Matthews. Patch in Cora's hut and let's make this a conference call. I want to make plans for getting out of here with a minimum of fuss. You go your way and we'll go ours. What do you say?"

  "If you mean that, give me back the computer," he answered.

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's just gone crazy."

  "Must be a malfunction," I said. "I'm not doing it."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Wait a minute."

  I spun through the Coil Effect. He was right. There was a massive computer malfunction in progress. Readings were skewed, systems were breaking down…

  "I see it but I'm not doing it," I said. "Let me check further."

  I dropped quickly from level to level, coming finally to the most basic place.

  "It's being caused by power surges," I said. "Your generator's acting up."

  "What should I do?"

  "Go back to New Jersey. We'll send you a postcard from the Caribbean."

  "Stop it, Steve!"

  "Screw you, Barbeau," I said.

  I coiled again, into the systems in the shed ahead. It was a great place to keep a prisoner. Sufficiently isolated that hundreds of employees could go about their business during normal work days without suspecting anything, it had its own plumbing and food supply and airconditioning and limited communications unit. It seemed as if it had actually been designed for occasional use as a cell. Knowing Angra as I now did, I was sure that this was not the first time it had functioned in this capacity.

  I froze when I read the latest message Cora had entered into the home unit:

  A FAT MAN IS HIDING BEHIND THE SLAG HEAP AT THE WEST SIDE OF THE HOUSE.

  That was it then. The killing power of the thing I carried had a greater range than Matthews did. And he was not a fool. I ought to be able to back him down.

  "Steve! Steve!" Barbeau began to scream. "The place is on fire!"

  "Then get your ass out of there!"

  "I can't! You've jammed the door!"

  "I didn't jam anything!"

  I coiled again, but the computer was still crazy and was rapidly degenerating even further. I did manage to discover that it was a fancy electronic lock on the control center door, though, and it was indeed jammed.

  "There is nothing that I can do!" I said. "You're too far away! Get hold of a fire extinguisher and try to break out!"

  "Stop it, Steve! I'll let her go! I'll do it your way!"

  "I didn't start it! I can't stop it! Smash a window! Jump! Anything!"

  "They're grilled over!"

  "I'm sorry!" I said. "I'm helpless!"

  "I'll get you yet!" he cried, just a few seconds before the power failed entirely.

  But that few seconds was enough.

  A flash like a sudden bolt of lightning blinded me. The hut toward which I was headed collapsed and began to smoulder. I heard a man scream. The public address system went dead. I began to run.

  The flames were only just beginning as I pushed my way through the wreckage, but I knew that the place would soon be a mass of fire. I pulled at a section of wall. I moved a fallen beam. I saw her there, lying there, still.

  I heaved at the rubble which still covered her. I could not tell whether she was breathing. There were smoke and flames all about me by the time I had her free. I picked her up and made my way back out of the ruin. Now I knew what a laser perimeter defense did.

  I heard moaning as I left what remained of the building. Matthews was lying on the ground about forty feet away. I lowered Cora and felt for her pulse.. It was weak. She was breathing shallowly. Her right arm looked broken. Her scalp and forehead were badly lacerated. I raised her eyelids, having read a lot of neurological literature during my incapacitation. Her right pupil was a pinpoint; her left one was normal-sized. I began wiping blood from her face and arm.

  "Cora!" I said. "Can you hear me?"

  There was no reply. I rubbed her wrists. I tried to place her into the most comfortable position…

  "Steve!"

  I turned my head. Willy Boy, badly burned, was propped on an elbow. The left side of his face looked charred. His left eye was closed. His garments still smoked.

  "Come here," he croaked.

  "You've got to be kidding. I don't need a coronary, thanks."

  "I won't hurt you… Please."

  I looked at Cora. I looked back at him. I couldn't think of anything else to do for her.

  There was something peculiar about Matthews—and then I realized what it was.

  I stood.

  "Okay," I said. "But you listen to me first. I can feel that little gadget in your chest working overtime. Maybe you know now what I can do to machines. I'll come and see what I can do for you. But if I feel the least pain in my chest I'm going to turn your pacemaker off." I snapped my fingers. "Like that."

  He grinned weakly as I left Cora and moved toward him.

  "You might call this a heart to heart talk then," he said.

  As I moved nearer, he began reciting numbers and then he said something in German.

  "Get that?" he finished.

  "No."

  "If you've got something to write with, write 'em down. Please."

  "What are they?"

  He said them again and I scribbled them onto the same piece of paper from my wallet that I'd used for my phoney Angra account number.

  "… And Maggie Sims in Atlanta," he said hoarsely. "Here's her phone number…"

  "What is all this?"

  "She's my sister—the only family I got left. Call her and give her the name of my Swiss bank and that number. I hate to see all that money go to waste…"

  "Shit!" I said. "Your dirty money can rot in Switzerland and your sister in Atlanta! You killed Ann and you tried to kill me! The hell with you!"

  I turned away and headed back for Cora. Then I halted.

  "Willy Boy…" I said. "Maybe we can make a deal."

  "What?" he whispered.

  "You used to be in the healing business. Do it for Cora and I'll call your sister. I'll tell her what you said."

  "Steve, I ain't done that in years."

  "Do it now."

  He was silent for a little while. Then, "Bring her over," he said, "and I'll
give it a try."

  I went back to Cora. She was still breathing, shallowly. I gathered her up and carried her over to Willy Boy. I set her down beside him.

  "Okay," I said.

  "Prop me up against this pile of stuff, will you?"

  He was heavy, but I managed to shift him into a sitting position against the nearest mound of slag. He bit his lip and remained silent while I did it. But then he began coughing. It went on for a while.

  Then, "Can you turn me a bit to the left?" he said. "And then get my flask out of my hip pocket?"

  I managed to roll him to the side. I located his flask. I pulled it from his pocket and unstoppered it. I began raising it to his lips, but he took it into his hand and guided it himself. He took a long pull, then began coughing again. When he stopped, he took another drink and then lowered it. He breathed heavily then for a moment and nodded.

  "Okay," he said.

  He looked at Cora, and then he grinned. He rolled his eyes upward in an expression of mock-piety.

  "Got a minute, God?" he asked. "This here's old Willy Boy, prayin' off his regular network. Now our sister here is ailin'…"

  "Cut it out," I said, feeling uncomfortable. "Just do it, huh?"

  But he ignored me.

  "… An innocent child, so far as I know," he went on, "she just got herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's sad. I don't know if she's got faith and all that, or if it matters much any more. But how about a little grace and mercy and healin'?" He was still grinning. "Let's have a touch of the Spirit to ease her troubles…" He raised the flask and took another drink. "Now, we used to do this thing reg'lar together. Maybe for old times' sake and love and compassion and all that stuff—"

  Suddenly his voice broke and he closed his good eye.

  "Damn!" he said. "I feel the Spirit! I do feel it!"

  His display bothered me more and more. I had never considered myself especially religious, but there seemed no reason for all this mockery and… whatever it was.

  "… So I'm gonna lay hands on our sister here," he said, and now his voice was changed to a more serious tone. He'd been too much of a showman once, I decided. But… could this have been his real style?

  He reached over and touched Cora's head.

  "Now a little silence for prayer," he said, bowing.