Liege-Killer

by Christopher Hinz

  Gillian smiled. “No, those gentlemen are engaged in another activity right now. They won’t be bothering us.”

  Miss Vitchy licked her lips. “My address is on the slab. You can come and pick up your scuddie.”

  Again, Gillian wagged his finger at her. “I’m afraid I can’t wait, Miss Vitchy. I suggest we go get my scuddie—right now.”

  She tried to sneer at him, but was unsuccessful. There was too much fear in her eyes. “All right,” she mumbled. “We’ll go and get your scuddie.”

  Gillian fell into step behind her. He was not certain, but the periodic laughter of the boys seemed even more hysterical than before.

  O}o{O

  Rome, concentrating, placed the empty wine carafe on Angela’s marble coffee table. Pleased by his dexterity, he settled back into the thick cushions of the lounger. “Would you like another drink?”

  “Seven is about my limit,” Nick drawled. “Small body weight, tiny metabolism. Hell, I’d be drunk in no time and doin’ somethin’ obnoxious like throwing up on your rug.”

  Rome rubbed his heel across the den’s shag carpet. “Angela would be most upset.” He burped.

  The midget shoved a stack of Angela’s preservative-coated twentieth-century paperback novels out of his way and hopped onto her prized cherrywood desk. Rome was glad his wife had gone to bed.

  “That was one hell of a good meal!” Nick crossed his legs beneath him. “Angela missed her calling. She should have been a chef in Irrya’s best restaurant.”

  Rome nodded carefully so as not to get dizzy. “You complimented her at the supper table. I’m sure she appreciated it.”

  “Yeah, but I want you to know that it wasn’t just a matter of being a good dinner guest. I swear to you, I haven’t had spare ribs like that since I was a boy.”

  “They were synthetic.”

  Nick did not hear him. His eyes grew distant. “There used to be a saloon in my old neighborhood. My parents would take me and my sister there for supper about once a month. I remember the waiter—a big fat Mexican with a little white cap. He always seemed like he was very happy.”

  “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  Nick stared out the den’s only window. A few stars were visible in the night sky of the adjacent sector. “She died when she was twenty. A car accident. Three years later, my parents were killed when some crazies set off a bomb in the middle of a department store.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The midget shrugged. “Life can be the pits. That’s about the time I bottomed out. After my parents were killed, I went under for the first time, into stasis. My greatest mistake.”

  Rome shook his head, tried to steer the conversation away from melancholia. “I’ve always read that the attitudes of the late twentieth century were similar to those of the late twenty-first.”

  A grim smile touched Nick’s face. “No, actually they were quite different. Both eras shared the lust for technological advancement and the willingness to go to war purely for profits. But the people were different. People had changed.”

  “How?”

  “The people had lost something by the end of the twenty-first century. When I was a boy, there was no shortage of social madness, but there were still lots of individuals around who held real values. I’m not talking about the religious revivalists, preaching God and country. No, I mean people who actually believed in being compassionate and looking out for those who had less—people who saw government essentially as a tool for preventing the strong from crushing the weak.

  “But when I woke up in 2086—well, those kind of people just didn’t seem to be around anymore. Compassion was a trait that you could order for your new house robot and the strong crushed the weak just for the hell of it.” He shook his head sadly. “For anyone still alive who remembered what it was like a hundred years earlier, the world had become a ship lost at sea in a violent storm. Those people, the ones who used to be the true anchors of civilization—they were gone.”

  An immense sadness threatened to engulf Rome. He sat up. His head began to pound.

  Why did I drink so much? I have better self-control than this.

  Nick shook his head. “The end of the twenty-first century was pure insanity.”

  “And what about our era?” Rome asked gravely. “Where do you think the Colonies are heading? What do you really think of us?”

  Nick adjusted his position, slid a boot across the desk. Rome reminded himself to check for scratches before he went to bed.

  “Well,” Nick said brightly, “you have some beautiful women! Did I tell you about that tall blonde I met at the Southern Alpha Industrial Social Club last night?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So was I, but she wanted me to pay for it.” He smacked his open palm against his heart. “I’ve got pride, you know.”

  Rome pointed his finger accusingly. “Say it. You think the Colonies are heading for trouble. You think we’ve lost our anchors.”

  Nick laughed. “Oh, you’re heading for something, all right. But trouble? Who can say?”

  Anger came. “Don’t play games with me. You have a viewpoint culled from three distinct societies over a span of hundreds of years. That gives you a unique perspective.”

  “Don’t get carried away. I’m only a midget.”

  “All right, I’ll say it. These are pre-Apocalyptic times. The Colonies are about to enter their own particular version of the final days. Drake and La Gloria de la Ciencia are having their setbacks right now and E-Tech will make some temporary gains. But it’s only a respite for us—it can’t reverse the larger trends. E-Tech is going to fall. Technology is about to begin its endless ascent all over again. Humanity will grow miserable even while it praises the great advances of science.”

  Nick smiled grimly. “It sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  Rome sighed. “So you agree with me.”

  “Yes, I’ll confirm your worst nightmare, if you like. But, hell, I’m an eternal optimist. Things could always get better by tomorrow.”

  “They won’t get better,” Rome insisted.

  “Who do you think is behind this Paratwa?”

  The question caught Rome by surprise. He hunched forward. “You’re supposed to tell me that.”

  “You must have some suspicions.”

  Rome burped loudly. “The common feeling is that La Gloria de la Ciencia has something to do with it. Personally, I believe that they probably did awaken the creature and it got out of control.”

  Nick shook his head. “You don’t really believe that. We both know it makes no sense. Why should La Gloria de la Ciencia risk such a foolish act?”

  Rome shrugged.

  “I have a theory,” Nick proclaimed loudly. “I’ve used my extensive skills, culled from three distinct societies no less, to pinpoint the most logical suspect. The person who has gained the most from the Paratwa rampage is you—Rome Franco!”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “Is it? There have been four known Paratwa attacks. The incident at the zoo we can dismiss from consideration—that was flexing, plain and simple. And Bob Max was murdered to shut him up.

  “But now we come to the Jordanian Paris killings. The targets were obviously those two diplomats, both hardcore E-Tech supporters. And in Oslo today—how many dead?”

  “The final count was eighty-six,” Rome muttered.

  “First an E-Tech armory and then a park full of children. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

  “It tells me we’re dealing with a vicious maniac.”

  “He’s a nasty one, all right. But my point is, can’t you see the sympathy that these last two attacks have generated for E-Tech? If I were a demented public relations person, I’d be coming in my pants with excitement. I’ve calculated that by the end of the week, E-Tech’s acceptance ratio will climb a full seven percent throughout the Colonies. Seven percent! When was the last time your organization realized that kind of overnight gain?”

 
Rome put his weight against the armrests and carefully stood up. “You don’t seriously believe I had anything to do with...”

  “Of course not!” Nick snapped. “But there are other people within E-Tech who possess the wherewithal to carry it off.”

  Rome felt his face reddening. “You suspect one of my people?”

  “What about Haddad?”

  “That’s ridiculous! The Pasha’s been with me for decades. In no way would he condone such actions. Your whole theory is absurd!”

  Nick shrugged his tiny shoulders. “Perhaps his duty toward E-Tech compelled him. You and I can’t be the only ones who sense that E-Tech has been failing. What better way to turn things around than to release a Paratwa and set it against your own people? The majority of the populace would get behind you, support the organization in its hour of need. And through some careful behind-the-scenes planning, La Gloria de la Ciencia is set up to take a fall at the same time. E-Tech’s worst adversary is crushed while E-Tech realizes an immense gain in public acceptance. I couldn’t have written a better script myself.”

  Rome shook his head violently. “No! Not the Pasha.”

  “He’s tried to hinder Gillian and me at every turn.”

  “The Pasha’s doing what he thinks is best for the organization,” Rome forced a smile. “And he’s human enough to be suffering some professional jealousy toward you and Gillian. Had we not awakened the two of you, he would have been totally in charge of the Paratwa investigation.”

  The midget paused. “Perhaps someone else, then. E-Tech is a big organization. There are numerous individuals, or small groups of individuals, who could pull something like this off.”

  “No.”

  “Do you mean: ‘No, it’s not true,’ or ‘No, I refuse to consider such a thing’?”

  “It’s not true. I know my people.” Rome sat down. His head ached.

  “Why did you bring me here?” asked Nick.

  “I thought you might enjoy a home-cooked dinner for a change.”

  “Bullshit! You brought me here because you no longer trust your executive staff. You needed to talk to someone outside of E-Tech.”

  Rome sighed. “You’re wrong. It’s not that I don’t trust them. It’s just that none of them seem to fully understand the ramifications of these events. Believe me, they’re good people. They want what’s best for E-Tech. I’m certain that none of them could be guilty of the monstrosity that you’re suggesting. But something’s wrong here. This whole affair with Drake and the West Yemen Corporation and Bob Max ... It feels wrong.”

  “That’s rather vague.”

  “I know. I wish I could explain it better. It’s just that I can’t help feeling that we’re all being manipulated—E-Tech, La Gloria de la Ciencia, the ICN—everybody.”

  Nick did not react. He sat quietly for a long time, legs tucked into the lotus position, tiny fingers drumming gently on his knees. After an interminable minute, Rome broke the silence.

  “Are you sure you don’t want another drink?”

  Nick closed his eyes, then opened them and smiled. “No. I should be going.”

  “Time for another mysterious conversation with Gillian?”

  Nick grinned. “It’s become quite a challenge. Sooner or later, Haddad’s people are bound to catch me and trace the line. After all, he always knows exactly where I am. Subcutaneous bugs are very effective.”

  “Gillian didn’t seem too troubled by them.”

  Nick chuckled. “Gillian just doesn’t like all that attention.”

  “I’ve ordered the Pasha to keep you under surveillance, nothing more. Naturally, he will try his best.”

  Nick hopped off the table. “You could go all the way with us. Order Haddad to leave me alone.”

  “I can’t do that. After what the Paratwa did in Oslo today, I’m convinced that you and Gillian have as good a chance as anybody of stopping this monster. But I’ve got to protect E-Tech. The organization can’t openly support a pair of ... mercenaries.

  “Do you know that the Pasha and most of my staff think I’m crazy for trusting you and Gillian? And sometimes I think they’re right. I start feeling like I’m betraying E-Tech.” He shook his head and laughed bitterly. “I find it astonishing to realize that I gave a Cohe wand to a complete stranger. For that action alone, I should resign from the organization. Do you have any idea what the repercussions would be if my behavior were made public?”

  “Sure. Two weeks ago they would have hung you. Today, with a brutal Paratwa on the loose, they would praise your courage.”

  Rome shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to imagine what the twenty-first century was like.”

  “Don’t feel bad. Most people who lived through it couldn’t imagine it either.”

  Rome accompanied Nick to the front door of the house. The midget smiled.

  “I really did enjoy dinner. Make sure you tell Angela.”

  “I will.”

  Dwarf grass, illuminated by the porch lamps, fell away from Rome’s elevated rancher. A path of inset wooden blocks twisted its way down to the street level. Nick’s rented car was parked by the curb.

  They stared straight up at the display of stars. A half-moon was just coming into view.

  “You know,” began Nick, “it’s never really dark in Irrya.” He pointed to the other two livable sectors flanking the cosmishield panels. Both were ablaze with light.

  “On some evenings it’s cloudy,” Rome offered.

  “Still, I’ll bet you it’s never pitch black.”

  “True.”

  “On Earth, there used to be places where you could go, outdoors, on a cloudy night and not be able to see your own hand in front of your face.”

  Rome found it hard to imagine such places.

  Nick started down the path, hesitated. He turned. “I’d like to spend tomorrow down in the archives. Could you give me Begelman for the day?”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “Thanks. And tell Angela I’m always free for supper.”

  Rome watched Nick’s rainbow hardtop vanish around a bend. The cool night air felt invigorating and he stood on the porch for a long time, trying to imagine a world without E-Tech.

  O}o{O

  Gillian’s tiny room at the Hotel Costello consisted of a fur-lined bed, a small dresser with a data monitor mounted above it, a window overlooking an alleyway three stories below, and a rather oddly combined bathroom-kitchen cubicle. On his first day at the hotel, he discovered that he could stand in the shower and dry himself under the air jets while stirring vegetables in a wok on the ancient thermal-top stove. There was something to be said for convenience.

  “I’m hungry,” whined the boy. Jerem sat on the edge of the bed, kicking his legs violently against the base of the mattress.

  Gillian leaned against the dresser and continued what he had been doing for the past hour: studying Jerem Marth and his growing agitation at being deprived of scud.

  “I’ve got some fresh vegetables boiling,” Gillian offered. “A little later, I’ll bake some haddock.”

  “I don’t like fish,” Jerem stated flatly. “And I don’t want vegetables.”

  “You need strength. You can’t live on scud.”

  “Yes, I can.” The blue eyes glared defiantly for a moment, then dropped to the floor.

  Gillian shrugged. “I told you when we got here—no scud.”

  “You could go and get some.”

  “No scud. Be brave. Try and put it out of your mind. If you fight it, things will be easier on you in the long run.”

  The boy frowned. “Why did you take me away from Miss Vitchy? She always gave me a swallow when I wanted it. She was nice.”

  “I told you before. You’re through with Miss Vitchy.”

  His legs kicked angrily. “I’m leaving here! Right now!” His eyes wandered from Gillian to the bolted door.

  “You’re staying.”

  “I’ll start screaming as loud as I can and the patrollers
will come.”

  “No scud. It’s over.”

  He sneered. “What do you care? You shouldn’t care whether I drink scud or not.”

  The boy’s indignant tone was a good sign. There was a hint of genuine feeling in his voice. The scud was beginning to lose its iron hold over his emotions.

  Jerem reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of cash cards. “I’ll give you twenty-five bytes if you take me back to Miss Vitchy. And I know where she keeps some of her money. She’s rich. She’s got megabytes! I could show you. You could get more.” His legs continued kicking.

  “No scud.”

  In a fit of anger, the boy threw the cash cards at Gillian. They splattered harmlessly against the wall.

  “Do you think your mother is looking for you?” Gillian asked gently.

  For an instant, pain was scrawled across Jerem’s face. He jumped to his feet and kicked the side of me bed. His shoulders quaked with anger. He pointed a finger at Gillian. Instead of shouting, though, he burst into a fit of laughter.

  Gillian listened closely, heard the strain; the threads of agony coursing within the scud-induced hysteria. It should not take much longer. The boy had gone beyond mere craving, had entered a more dangerous period. Now he would try nearly anything for a sip at the bottle.

  The laughter stopped as if turned off by a switch. Jerem smiled unnaturally.

  “Could you go out and get me one of those shell steaks? I’ll pay for it.”

  Gillian shook his head. “We’re having vegetables and fish.”

  “If you go and get me a shell steak, I promise I won’t pester you about scud anymore.”

  Gillian answered calmly. “You will not be given an opportunity to get scud. It’s over. I can be tricked, but certainly not by a scudclown.” He added, “Scuddies are too dumb to trick people.”

  “I’m not dumb!”

  Again, Gillian sensed genuine emotion. The boy’s outrage was real.

  “No, you’re not dumb. Jerem Marth is not dumb. It’s the scud that makes you act stupid.”

  Jerem bit his lower tip. “You just think it makes me stupid, but it really makes me smart.”