Dydeetown World

by F. Paul Wilson

  The eyes widened. "Truly you…are God!"

  "We've already established that. Where did she fit in?"

  His upper lip curled into a sneer. "Meatbag clone…too stu…pid to know."

  "Yeah. You used her to make the drop for you here while you were trying to sell the ten stolen vials to Lutus. Told her you were going to marry her. She loves you."

  He made a noise like, "Glah!…stupid clone…going to…leave her stan…ding at the gate."

  Said nothing.

  "God can…I die…now?"

  Turned and started walking back toward the cave mouth.

  "Don't think so. You've still got some time coming to you."

  His voice rose to a shrill squeak, see-sawing up and down with the in-and-out of the machine's respirations.

  "Youuuuproooomiiiised!"

  Stopped. Had promised, hadn't I. As he wailed and keened, I turned and walked back toward his set-up, careful to make sure every footstep landed as hard as it could. Was reaching for the power switch when I heard Harlow-c's voice cry out behind me.

  "No—don't!"

  So I didn't.

  Watched the look of horror on her face as she stumbled forward. She had her fist crammed halfway into her mouth and her whole body was shuddering like a vaporbrain in withdrawal. Was afraid she was going to fall apart completely. But she held up until she reached the heart-lung machine, then crumpled to her knees in front of it. Her voice was a low moan.

  "Kyle-Kyle-Kyle! What've they done to you? What've they done!"

  But Barkham had finally gone over the mental edge. Maybe it was the sound of her voice that finally pushed him over. He said nothing, just rolled his eyes and made squeaky noises.

  Heard her begin to retch and pulled her away.

  "There's nothing you can do for him now."

  "I can stop the machine!"

  "Was just about to do that when you barged in. Stand over there while I—"

  "No! I'll do it. It's the least I can do for him."

  That was a laugh. "You don't owe him anything."

  She turned on me like some sort of wild thing.

  "I do! He's the only Realpeople who ever really cared for me and treated me decent. I owe him everything!"

  Said nothing. Just stood there and bit my tongue as she went over and reverently pushed in the power switch. She was irrational on the subject and probably too dumb to see the truth even if I drew her a picture. So I dropped it. Watched her turn away as Barkham's face turned a dusky color and went through its final spasms.

  "It's over," I said after a while.

  She stuck her chin out and strode ahead of me, leading the way back to the flitter, seemingly oblivious to the cold and the wide open spaces.

  After a long silence during which I told the console "Home" and we took to the air, she spoke without looking at me:

  "Did you see what they did to him?"

  Of course I'd seen. That wasn't what she wanted to know.

  "Yeah. Too bad. Really tore me up."

  She turned to me. "Don't you ever feel anything?"

  "None of your business, but I'll tell you this: I don't feel anything for guys like Barkham."

  "Because he was going to marry a clone?"

  "He wasn't. And even if he was, that has nothing to do with it."

  "How about for me, then? You know me. We've been together all afternoon and you know how I felt about him. How about feeling something for me?"

  "As a rule, I tend not to feel too much for clones, either."

  "How about for your wife, then? Ever feel much for her? Or your daughter? You ever feel anything for anyone?"

  Did feel something then: anger. Wanted to hit her. She had no right even knowing about Maggs and Lynnie, let alone talking about them. But I bottled it up. Good at bottling. Dangerous to show what's going on inside. People get to know your weak spots, your vulnerabilities, they can get to you.

  "That's me," I said lightly. "Feel-nothing Sig."

  "Maybe that's why she left you behind when she went Out Where All The Good Folks Go. Maybe she wanted someone who's alive rather than a walking corpse."

  "Maybe."

  Knew the clone was trying to get a rise out of me. Just leaned back and looked straight ahead at the darkening landscape.

  "Well, I'll tell you this, Feel-nothing Sig: I'm sneaking home and scraping up everything of value I can find and I'm getting a ticket on the first shuttle out tomorrow morning."

  "Why sneak?"

  "Ned Spinner. Remember?"

  "Oh, right. Your classy owner."

  "We clones have a saying: You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your owner. With luck, I'll be far into subspace before he misses me tomorrow night."

  "You can't buy a ticket. Clones don't have credit."

  Her smile was humorless. "How long do you think it'll take me to barter someone into buying me one?"

  "No Realpeople will buy a shuttle ticket for a clone. It'd be like leaving your name and address at the scene of a felony."

  "I have my—hey! You've still got my greencard." She stuck out her hand. "Give it back right now!"

  "Don't have it with me."

  "What?" If she hadn't been belted into her seat, I believe she would have leaped on me.

  "Don't worry—it's safe. I told you"—thinking fast as I could now—"I left it with someone to see if it could lead us to Barkham. Didn't think we'd find him up here."

  That seemed to mollify her a bit, but not much.

  "I want that card back, Mr. Dreyer, and I want it soon."

  "Don't worry. I'll get it back to you before the first shuttle tomorrow morning."

  But I was going to put it to good use before then.

  "You'd better. Because I don't intend to be anybody's property after tomorrow. I'll drop the -c from my name and be a free citizen of the outworlds. And nobody had better try to stop me."

  She looked at me defiantly, as if daring me to protest.

  "Fine with me," I told her. "Means one less clone on Earth."

  She leaned back in her chair. "Maybe I'll run into your wife out there. Should I say hello for you?"

  Didn't reply. Just stared straight ahead and whistled through my clenched teeth.

  -11-

  Dropped her off in Dydeetown.

  Don't know why they call it a town. It's just an old, old building on a short strip along the East River. Not a very imaginative building—big rectangular slab with lots of windows. Striking at night with all the red lights in the windows. Could have dressed it with a holo envelope, but people liked it the way it was. A landmark.

  Learned a lot about Dydeetown during my last search. Found out it was named Aphrodite Village before my time. Guess that somehow degenerated into what we called it today. And long before that it had been called "the U.N," whatever that means.

  Headed due east along the length of Long Island for the shuttleport that took up most of its eastern end. Glided into the third level of the short-term lot and went directly for the Safe Storage Service.

  I’d done a lot of thinking during that long silent flight back, and had Barkham's scheme pretty well figured out now. A neat scheme, one he would have got away with if he hadn't been so greedy.

  Or was it greed? Elmero had mentioned Barkham's reputation for burning everybody just for the fun of it. Almost a matter of principle with him. Maybe he hadn't been able to resist one burn too many.

  Figured it ran something like this: As Yokomata's Number One Man and the guy in charge of the Zem sale, Barkham had free rein in setting up the deal. He took his time, allowing The Man From Mars to take possession of the Zem where the smuggler would be comfortably anonymous—the Maine coast, for instance. Meanwhile, Barkham had rented space in the Safe Storage Service at L-I Port and was pseudonymously courting a Dydeetown girl who could make the drop for him in Maine and then be forgotten. The Man From Mars would test the Zem concentrate, find out it was the real thing, then authorize transfer of payment to Barkham's
unit in the shuttleport Safe Storage Service.

  The only possible hitch after that would be picking up the payment from the Safe Storage Service—someone might be watching for him. My guess was that Barkham planned to have his Dydeetown girl pick it up and bring it to him. And then he'd leave her behind in the shuttleport holding her useless greencard as she was led away by the yellowjackets for trying to emigrate under a false identity.

  And it would have worked too if he'd been satisfied with limiting his dirty doings to Yokomata and the clone. But no, he had to try and pull one off on The Man From Mars as well. The millions in gold—assumed it was gold—coming his way weren't enough. Had to spice it up by short-counting The Man From Mars. Were me trying something like that, I'd situate the blank vials in a circle around the center of the box, figuring anyone doing random sampling would select from the very center or the periphery.

  Had to hand it to Barkham: He must have been either crazy or ultra-driven or the cojoniest dregger there ever was. On top of everything else, he had the audacity to try to sell the pilfered vials to Yokomata's biggest competitor—an added insult to his boss.

  But somehow it went all wrong. The Man From Mars found out he'd been cheated; he caught up with Barkham, retrieved the missing vials, dealt with the cheater in his own inimitable way, and headed home. Why not? Had his Zem, and probably figured Yokomata had the payment.

  But Yokomata didn't have the payment, and had no idea where to look.

  I did. And I had the key to Barkham's unit—right inside Jean's phony, too-thick greencard. Why Barkham hid it there I'll never know. Maybe to keep it off his person and safe—he knew Jean would treasure it—or maybe the irony of it appealed to the same kinks in his synapses that made him want to cheat everybody he knew.

  Didn't know and didn't care. The card was mine and that was all that mattered at the moment.

  Stepped up to the counter of the Safe Storage Service. The card slipped easily into the slot. Waited for the contents of the designated storage unit to arrive. A standard packing case about the size of my head popped out of a chute a meter or so to my left. Anticipating the extraordinary weight, I picked it up without showing the strain, tucked it under my arm, and headed back to the short term lot.

  The weight was pretty much what I'd expected: about 20 kilos. Just about the same weight Lynnie had been when Maggs took her away. Wondered if Maggs had carried her along this same path to the shuttle ramp, telling her about the exciting ride ahead and why her Daddy wasn't there.

  Shifted the weight in my arms. Yeah, my five-year-old Lynnie had weighed just this much when she was taken from me. Started thinking of how it used to feel to hold her, and then thought of all the times I hadn't held her when I could have and should have, all the missed opportunities, all the too-busy, shouldered-aside chances to show her how much she was loved by and how much she meant to the emotionally inarticulate fool who pretended to be a father and a husband, chances that would never come again. Never, ever, never—

  Stopped and waited for my vision to dear. Didn't know what was wrong with me. Thought I'd shut Lynnie away in my mental closet, the one with the foolproof lock that only failed sometimes in the wee hours of the morning when it popped open and let out all the things I hide away to make everyday life bearable.

  Tucked all the loose ends back in—I'm good at that—and hurried on.

  Soon as I had the flitter airborne again, I opened the package. Lots of little black statuettes of Joey Jose, my favorite comedian, each about eight centimeters high, forty of them arranged in two double-decker rows of ten. By their weight I knew they were gold. Calculated that forty half-kilo pieces of gold came to a bit over two million Solar credits.

  Swallowed hard. A lot of credit. More than I'd ever thought I'd hold in my lap.

  Where to go? That was the question. Who did this belong to? By rights, the Styx Corporation had first call since it was the producer of the stolen Zem concentrate. But couldn't go to them—too many difficult questions to answer. Could play the old finders-keepers game but that didn't seem too smart. Yokomata would come calling if I suddenly got rich. Best to turn it over to her and have done with the whole affair. At least I'd collect the 50K bounty and maybe even a bonus for returning the gold too.

  But I wanted to test the water first—see what sort of mood Yokomata was in before dropping by with my little present. My office was closest. Headed there.

  The roof of the Verrazano Complex was after-hours quiet at this time of night. I’d carried the box halfway to the downchute when a too-familiar voice stopped me.

  "What you got there, Buttonhead?"

  Looked to my left and saw Rednose, Fourfingers, and Yokomata's driver standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a luxury Ortega. And sitting with her stumpy legs dangling out its right rear door was Yokomata herself.

  Didn't like the looks on their faces—like ground-level dogs coming upon a wounded cat. Hoped my voice wouldn't squeak.

  "Just going to call you!" I said to Yokomata, ignoring Rednose.

  "Really?" she said. "Whatever for?"

  "Found Barkham. Wanted to collect my bounty." I hefted the box. "Found this, too. Figured you were looking for it."

  "There wouldn't happen to be some statues of Joey Jose in there, would there? I'm terribly fond of his humor."

  "So am I," I said, trying to keep the conversation light. "Was hoping you'd let me keep one of the statues as a reward for returning all forty of them—a total of twenty kilos of weight."

  The heavies stirred at mention of the weight.

  "Think of all the buttons you could buy with that, Buttonhead," Rednose said.

  Yokomata continued: "And you were in the process of delivering it to me, weren't you?" Her tone was ominous.

  "Of course."

  "Strange. It appeared to me that you were going to your office."

  "Going to call first."

  Her smile would have looked at home on the face of her pet tyrannosaurus. "How polite. By the way, how was my trusted associate, Mr. Barkham, when you found him?"

  Her smile broadened as I described his final circumstances.

  Then she said, "Put the box down."

  "And put your hands over your head," said Rednose.

  Did as I was told and when I straightened up I saw the three of them had blasters out and pointed at my midsection.

  "No sudden moves," Fourfingers said.

  Rednose stepped forward, a smirk on his face. At first I thought he had a blaster in each hand, then I saw the one in his left was the dose gun, the one loaded with Truth.

  "I don't think we have to worry about Buttonhead, here. He doesn't carry. Do you, Buttonhead?"

  He did a quick frisk of my flanks and found nothing.

  "Satisfied?"

  "Not quite. First thing we do right now is make sure you're telling the truth about Kel. After that, maybe it'll be interesting to try what The Man From Mars did to Kel on you."

  He raised the dose gun. Had to move now or maybe lose my chance forever, so I joined the two contacts on the outer aspect of each of my wrists. The front of my jumpsuit exploded as a staccato series of bluefire energy bolts sprayed out in a horizontal arc, riddling the three—Rednose first and then the pair behind him—sending them twisting, spinning, writhing to the roof surface.

  Yanked my wrists apart—seemed they'd been joined for minutes but it had only been a matter of a heartbeat or two—and started toward Yokomata's Ortega. Couldn't see much, what with the dark, the meaty-smelling steam rising from the corpses, the smoke from my scorched jump front, and the blotchy afterimages of bolts from the chest zapper.

  My foot struck something and it skittered in front of me with a metallic scrape. Without slowing I stooped and picked it up: somebody's blaster. Dimly saw Yokomata ahead of me, moving within the frame of her flitter door. She could have been trying to get away or reaching for a blaster of her own. Took no chances. Fired off a bolt into the air and shouted.

  "Not another move,
lady!"

  She froze and glared at me as I came up to her. She was unarmed.

  Had her.

  Bloaty. What was I going to do with her?

  -12-

  We were airborne, riding low over the sluggish surface of the East River. Dydeetown's rectangle of red lights sparkled on our left. The flitter was on slow autocruise which would keep it moving along the present traffic lane at a leisurely pace. Yokomata sat stiffly in the other front seat. Behind us the corpses of her three dead thugs lay in the rear section where I had forced her to toss them.

  Felt strangely calm about killing them. Never killed before, but for the life of me I couldn't dredge up any remorse. Self defense and various other sorts of dreck, but to be frank, it seemed like the chest zapper had done it, not me. Felt removed from the whole incident. And if I wanted to dig way down into my gut, I was glad they were dead—especially Rednose.

  Sat facing Yokomata now, blaster in hand, the Truth dose gun on my lap.

  A bad situation all the way around. Wasn't sure how to get out of it, so I'd been talking to her in a matter-of-fact tone, playing it by ear, but to no avail. She hadn't uttered a word since I'd cut loose with my chest zapper. Had to break her down some if I was going to get anywhere. And then it occurred to me how.

  "What's your procedure for unwanted bodies?"

  No reply.

  I shrugged and gestured toward the rear door with the barrel of my blaster.

  "Then we'll improvise. Get back there and toss one of them into the river. Then we'll find a deserted spot in Brooklyn for the second, and in Manhattan for the third."

  "Don't be an idiot!" she said.

  Contact.

  Figured the last thing she wanted—next to being blasted herself—was to have the bodies of her toughies all over Central Bosyorkington.

  "Got a better idea?"

  She gave me a level stare. "You saw a demonstration in my yard yesterday."

  The dinosaur! Forgot all about that. The perfect garbage disposal.

  Told the console, "Home at max."

  The Ortega rose toward the upper lanes with a lurch and soon we were streaking northwest.

  "Now," I said to her, "let's talk some business. I'm willing to forget your attempted doublecross back on the roof. You forget your three dead men, and we'll start off even again."