by Steve Perry
“Pardon?” said Cordial, brow furrowed.
“Zen garden. You know, sand, rocks, contemplation. Meditation!”
Cordial whipped out an electronic notebook, made a quick gathering of jottings. “An excellent notion. I’ll make the suggestion. And please, any other thoughts… we’d appreciate them.”
“Can we get out of the car and enjoy the fresh air by the lake?” said Machiko.
A frown from Cordial. “Well… actually, there are other things you should see, and we should be getting on.
“Nonsense. We need to stretch our legs, don’t we?”
“Yes. After all, doesn’t this vehicle make these stops? I mean, it is a stretch limo, isn’t it?”
Cordial laughed. “Well, don’t we have a sense of humor? Very well, but only for a few minutes.”
“I’d like to take a look at some of these species of waterfowl,” said Machiko as she got out. “You must have some sort of genetic and cloning biofactory here as well.”
“Indeed, indeed. One of the features I was going to point out.”
Amid the fresh floral and water smells, the sweet of grass and the sour of turned soil, they strolled down to the edge of the lake. Machiko produced a handful of crackers that she’d taken from the snack bin, gave some to Til, and together they soon had a flock of the things feeding and fluttering before them.
“Idyllic,” pronounced Attila.
“Most disciplined,” said Machiko. “And very interesting. I think I’ve already got a few questions I’d like to ask Mr. Evanston.”
“Oh, I’m quite equipped with answers.”
“No, I think I’ll just use them for conversational fodder with our employer, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Now perhaps we should be—”
“Say, look,” said Attila, pointing to a rise just beyond the lake. “Another touring party?”
Machiko looked. She wasn’t equipped with Attila’s telescopic vision, but Cordial had supplied her with a pair of opera glasses to enjoy some of the scenery. She picked these up and examined the new arrivals.
They were a group of six men, all wearing stylized camouflage coveralls. Big hats and enormous goggles covered their eyes, and shoulder pads made them all look uniformly masculine and powerful.
“How peculiar. Who are these men, Cordial?” asked Machiko.
“Guests.”
“Ah! So these are some of the rich men who’ve come to hunt.”
Cordial nodded. “That is correct. Now, the limo is waiting, and there’s so much more I want to show you.”
Machiko put her glasses to her eyes.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “These guys have guns.”
“Shotguns, from the looks of them,” added Attila “How curious. Some sort of display of macho power. I also see holsters and bandoliers of ammunition.”
“Yes,” said Cordial with a forced cheeriness. “We of Hunter’s World work to create an ambience of imagination and virility. Longtime symbols of power are utilized to create a sense of security and self-confidence in our guests. We also create exercises to prepare our guests for larger, more dangerous hunts and—”
“They’re throwing bread to the ducks and swans,” reported Attila. “They seem to be gathering in great numbers.”
“What—feeding the birds is some sort of good-luck ritual before safari? I’ve never heard of that,” said Machiko.
“Not exactly. This park, uhm, serves many purposes, all calculated to bring on various moods and satisfactions. In fact, if you’ll just accompany me around to the other end, I’ll show you something very interesting, something that—”
A gigantic, echoing blast interrupted his words.
Other blasts followed.
Machiko swiveled to see what was going on.
“Goodness,” said Attila.
“Ha ha,” tittered Cordial nervously. “Just a display of high spirits among our guests.”
Ka-blam, ka-blam, ka-blam.
The men had lifted their guns and aimed them point-blank at the large gathering of birds trustingly partaking of the bready offerings. Now many of these ducks and such were just clouds of broken feathers and down, interspersed with a fine mist of blood and bone. Ruined duck bodies lay sprawled in the gory water. A flutter of wings took to the sky.
Whoops of joy.
Bloodthirsty success.
Ka-blam, ka-blam, ka-blam.
Flame and smoke poured from shotguns, and hard metal pellets shattered through a dozen more bodies.
The massacre was truly something to see, a Fourth of July of excess. As the shots ended and the ducks that had escaped flew away pell-mell, Machiko found herself gaping. The manly men were stomping around the flesh-and-feather detritus, laughing and clapping each other on the back.
The yautja had never done anything like this. Their prey were always hunters themselves. For food they would take down prey, yes—but never in such a disgusting display.
Machiko found herself sick to her stomach.
“My goodness,” said Attila “It seems a little excessive, doesn’t it? And the waste!”
“Oh, the lab-and-factory folks can whip up more, I quite assure you.”
“But the mess… hardly idyllic.”
“A momentary thing, I assure you,” said Cordial. “Look—the service robots are already coming.”
A number of robots—true robots, of the servo-sort, of plastic and glass, waldo arms, and visible gears and equipment—appeared as though magically, hustling down on this barbaric scene. Quickly, the brave hunters picked up a few of the less-damaged birds for souvenirs and then let the robots deal with the rest. They set off for further park adventures, bloody and happy, tilting flasks and singing songs.
“Truly, where else in the galaxy can such exercises be discovered?” said Cordial. “Now perhaps another side of the park, and then on for the rest of the tour.”
“Mind if my android and I take a little walk alone around the lake?” said Machiko.
Believe it or not, she thought to herself, the brave huntress is feeling a little queasy.
Cordial eyed his wristwatch. “I really do have to stick to my schedule… and we do have excellent drugs in the car that will doubtless eradicate any stomach or intestinal distress.”
Machiko nodded. She’d be able to get Attila alone eventually and hear those words that he’d heard pass between Livermore Evanston and the lawyer…
But apparently not now.
“That genetic factory you mentioned?”
“Yes?”
“The one that seems to be able to spew forth so many ducks and swans and all that expendable plasm and life things into this world?”
“I did mention such an establishment, didn’t I?” He sounded a little uncomfortable, as though he hadn’t realized the creature that had exited the bag had been a cat.
“If it’s not too much trouble—could we have a look at that during our tour?”
Cordial, though obviously a bit discomforted by the request, said, “Certainly,” with some of the verve and brightness returning to his speech.
Machiko followed Attila back into the car.
She wished she could talk this over with him now, without the ear of this flunky canting toward them.
She didn’t feel real good about this “factory” thing.
Not good at all.
10
They drove past more houses, some built, some under construction, all dynamically engineered and brilliantly architecturally designed.
They drove past other parks, this time noticing roving packs of guests with guns, some bloody, some not.
They drove past a magnificent skeletal stadium, its promise explicit in the scaffolding that enclosed the growing shell.
All to the accompanying glowing descriptions of their guide, Mr. Cordial.
Finally, at the very end of the settlement, across a long field, crisscrossed by numerous fences, force fields, and other barriers and sentry posts, there loomed
the most impressive building yet.
“Quite a building,” said Machiko.
“More a compound, don’t you think?” suggested Attila when Machiko made this statement.
“True, quite true.”
In truth, there were more buildings than one, all of different shapes and sizes, but all were connected numerously by catwalks and gondolas and tubings and what have you, making it look like some gigantic monadic hamster colony. Machiko could see people walking back and forth, and a great deal of vehicular activity as well. It looked like a lively and productive industry, peculiarly stuck into a series of interconnected contemporary cathedrals. Glass and prismatic light; the occasional wisp of smoke stringing into the blue background of sky.
“Yes, there it is,” said Mr. Cordial, gesturing absently. “Naturally we can’t import the creatures we need for hunting purposes, so we grow and breed them there ourselves. A unique and still very experimental process, I might add, one that Mr. Evanston is watching over very carefully.” He coughed. “Now, I’m sure that you’re both tired and would like to make yourselves comfortable in your quarters before the other welcoming festivities our employer is preparing for you.” He tapped on the partition between them and the driver, signaling him to drive past the intersection where a turn swung into the service road of the genetic-factory compound.
“We’re here,” said Machiko, “but we’re not going to get to look inside?”
“I’m sure you must understand,” said Cordial. “The activities inside those buildings are of a very sensitive and secret nature. Now, I’m certain that Mr. Evanston will allow you a tour. In fact, he probably wants to take you himself. However, we can’t just barge in without warning. I sincerely hope you understand.”
Attila said nothing.
Machiko nodded her head. “All right,” she said. But inside she still felt bothered. “Take us to our quarters, then.”
Cordial relaxed. His entire attitude toward his guests seemed to change. Machiko sensed danger signals being dulled. Good. That was what she was hoping for.
“Thank you. I understand your curiosity, but I have my duties.”
“Yes,” said Machiko Noguchi, unmollified.
* * *
Their bags and clothes and other belongings were waiting for them at their room.
After all the luxury they’d experienced, the room itself was rather plain, one of ten lining a nondescript corridor in a brown-wrapper two-level building.
It was more like a barracks than a hotel, and while Attila seemed disappointed, Machiko was most emphatically not.
“We’re hired soldiers here, in a way. I think that’s what Livermore Evanston wants to remind us of.” She sipped some tea Cordial had provided, looked out the window, and watched the limousinoid float away into the distance. The tea was iced, and it was exotic, rich, and cold; it sluiced away some of the stardust that had lined her throat.
“Okay, Til. Spill.”
The android was sitting in a chair, looking thoughtful.
“I heard only a few words, but they were significant. I caught… ‘hunting trip’ ‘all dead but me’ ‘bugs’ “—he cocked his head—” and ‘other hunters.’”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s what we’re here for, right… the bugs.”
“But who brought the bugs?”
“I believe you know what I’m thinking…”
“I’ve heard your stories about Ryushi, but surely…”
“What do you think about that factory, Til?”
Attila shrugged. “Makes sense to me. Manufacture your own lions and tigers and bears.”
“You think maybe Evanston was manufacturing bugs for hunting as well?”
“Why would he bring you to get rid of them?”
“Hell! They’re bugs! Something always goes wrong with bugs!”
“I don’t know. Why would he want to play with those things when he really hasn’t even gotten Hunter’s World off the ground?”
“Mysteries. Secrets.” Machiko took a swallow of the slightly bitter tea, winked at her associate. “I like it. Puts some spin on the game, eh?”
“Makes me nervous!”
“Yes, well—it’s a hell of a lot better than sitting behind some desk, monitoring mining operations.”
“No comment here.”
Machiko was about to ask him his opinion about the duck hunters in the park when there was a loud knocking on the door.
Attila got up and opened it.
Standing in the hallway were two tall, broad-shouldered men. Each gripped in his big hands a keg studded with microrefrigeration nodes.
“Hey, now!” bellowed one. “Welcome to Project Bug Spray. I’m ex-Captain Dick Daniels, late of the Colonial Marines, and this here’s Ned Sanchez. Ned used to work for a security firm on Earth that dealt with the things.” His eyes tracked from Attila to Machiko. “And you must be Machiko Noguchi.” His eyes traveled over her firm, slim body in a taunting, hungry manner that she abhorred. She felt herself tensing: not another one of these jerks.
“Yes.”
“Nice to meet you. We hear you’re going to be heading up this operation, so we thought we’d come over and introduce ourselves. Kinda been sitting around on our thumbs since we got here, and it’s nice to know there’s some action on the way, now that you’re here.” All said through an overfamiliar leer. He had a musky, hair-out-the-undershirt presence, and an overbearing, muscular aura that seemed to say, Let’s get these formalities over with quick and then slip between the sheets, babe.
“Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?” he boomed. He held up his keg. “We brought our own.”
“I’m tired,” said Machiko. “I only have a minute.”
“That’ll do!” A big grin split the man’s swarthy, Roman-nosed face, and he lumbered in, handing the keg to Attila and offering Machiko a large, firm handshake. He smelled of hair and beery lunch, but he had a natural power to him, reflected in the firm muscles and the self-confident gait. His blond hair was tousled, but he was no spring chicken. It looked as though this guy had been in some heavy-duty scrapes and, from the scars on him, hadn’t come out unbloodied. But unbowed? That was another story.
“Got some mugs or something?” he asked. Attila went to find something.
“Say, you’re one solid woman. You’ll have some beer with us, won’t you?”
“I’m drinking tea.”
“Oh, c’mon.” He turned to Attila “Get a brew for my new sweetheart, will you, guy?” he roared off at Attila “We don’t know what we’re getting into here. Might as well party while we can, right, angel-eyes?”
With no warning Daniels stepped over and put his big arm around Machiko’s back. She could immediately smell that he’d been drinking beer before he’d arrived. Somehow his big hand wriggled down to her backside and squeezed her right buttock as though testing the ripeness of a melon. The buffoon was large, probably weighing over twice as much as Machiko, and probably figured he could get away with this kind of behavior by sheer intimidation.
Machiko barely thought about what she was doing; her reaction was automatic. She pulled the hand away, grabbed his arm by the wrist, stepped away, and with practiced ease flipped Daniels over. He landed heavily on the floor. Machiko stepped on his face as she twisted his arm at a startling angle, just short of damage.
“Next time I break it, chum. Understand?”
“Jeez. I was just joking!” objected Daniels.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I understand, I understand!”
She let him go, and he got up.
Sanchez’s eyes twinkled, and there was a slight smile on his face.
“I told you to cut that kind of stuff out, Daniels.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Daniels, getting up and dusting himself off. “Guess there’s a reason you’re going to be in charge.” He grinned uneasily. “Can’t really even say you’re my type, but I’d park
my butt behind your command any day. Nobody’s gotten the better of Dick Daniels in a long time.”
A rollicking partyer from the feel of him.
“I’m not here for anyone’s amusement, Daniels.”
“Cripes. Give me that beer. I sure need it now.” He took the proffered glass and downed a large gulp. Attila handed one to Sanchez as well.
Keeping himself well away from Machiko, Daniels eyed Attila “What—we got ourselves another teetotaler here?”
“Not really,” said Attila. Rather than getting into android territory, potentially volatile if you weren’t sure of your company, Attila took a beer. “I generally prefer to wait until dark.”
“Good move,” said Dick. “A smarter asshole than yours truly. Here you go, Sanchez—to the pretty powerful personality we’ve hitched up with. I feel sorry for the bugs.”
“If Ms. Noguchi doesn’t mind, I’d like to try some of the beer I noticed in the refrigerator. That’s a local brew of some potency, I believe. And if I’m not entirely wrong, it’s a nut-brown ale.”
Machiko raised an eyebrow. “Good call, Mr. Sanchez. You know your beers, then.”
“From porter to lager,” said the man easily. “My favorite is bitter. At room temperature.”
“An Anglophile?”
“Nope. Limey bastards are just as rotten as anybody. I just like their beer, that’s all.”
Ned Sanchez was slender, younger than his companion, and certainly darker, though there were suggestions of gray threading through his long black hair, tied in a ponytail at the back of his head. He was friendly and relaxed, but there was a hard and remote core of reserve to this man, and an unreadable nature to his fierce, empty black eyes. Otherwise, he had a face like a Greek demigod, and his beauty was not lost upon even so jaded a soul as Machiko’s.
“Sure. I don’t know about room temperature. The tea is cold. I don’t generally drink beer, but once in a while I enjoy something of quality.”
Sanchez shrugged. “I’ll live through the experience of a cold ale. Little hot outside, anyway.”
Dick slammed his big hand against his buddy’s back. “Shit Neddy and me, we done some heavy maneuvers today with the guys, just funnin’, you know, but keeping in shape—and he barely pops a sweat. Quick shower, and he’s ready for another evening of brews and babes.” He straightened himself with feigned pain and examined a fancied bruise. “I don’t know, though. Maybe just an evening of brews might be safe.”
