by Stan Ruecker
“I’m not important,” the alien answered. “Except to myself, of course. But there’s nothing about me that’ll attract anyone’s attention. I just do my job, that’s all.”
The pile of snakes reached into a box beside Ray’s stretcher and pulled out something like a remote control unit.
“This is going to hurt,” the snakes said. “At least as much as the molten lead. Or at least, I hope it will.”
Ray watched a tentacle turn a dial on the remote, but missed the next few minutes of the conversation because a truck ran over him.
“—tell the difference,” the snakes were saying.
“Excuse me,” Ray said. “I missed something again.”
“Just talking to myself,” the snakes said.
“What are you?” Ray asked. “Some kind of mad doctor, or what?”
“Doctor?” the snakes answered. “I don’t think the translator got that quite right.”
“Doctors,” Ray said. “Where I come from, they’re supposed to fix people. If you get sick, or hurt, you go to see a doctor, and they try to make you healthy again, or better.”
“You primitive cultures,” the snakes said. “The things you come up with.”
“So you’re not a doctor?”
“No one is,” the snakes said. “Not like what you describe. Why would they do such a crazy thing?”
“I don’t know,” Ray said. “I guess they make a pretty good living at it.”
“I suppose in some primitive economies—” the snakes began, but stopped themselves. “But don’t get me started on that. I’m not an ethnologist. I just want to know what hurts you and how much.”
“Indifference,” Ray said. “We can’t stand being ignored. It’s a misery to all my people.”
“Nice try,” the snakes said, and turned the dial again.
Up the ladder
“Is it money you want?” the PM asked. “I’m sure my people can get you money. I have to be back within a day or two. The people will go wild. The country will erupt. Lives are at stake, here.”
“Your office has released the agenda for your holiday,” Usha told the PM. “Apparently you’re up north somewhere for a few days, then off to Paris.”
“They’re good people,” the PM said. “They know what to do.”
“I just hope they don’t find us, sir,” Usha said. “We aren’t looking for a disaster, here.”
“Where are we?” the PM asked.
“It’s probably a good idea if you don’t know that,” Usha said. “Sorry.”
In fact they were in Paris, sitting in a quiet room in one of the RISK corporation’s detox centres. They’d kept the PM unconscious for a day while they moved him out of the country, then cleaned him up and dressed him in a freshly drycleaned suit and brought him to, sitting in a comfortable chair in a room with no windows.
“That’s a terrible disguise,” the PM said, indicating Usha’s false beard. She’d shed her caftan in favour of a shapeless sweater and pants, but she’d kept the turban and added sunglasses.
“It’ll do,” she said. “You’ve never seen me before, and there isn’t much of me to see in this get up.”
“So how much do you want?” the PM asked. “Is your demand reasonable? I don’t come from a wealthy family, you know, and I don’t think the government will be willing to cooperate with terrorists. We have a policy to oppose terrorism.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Usha said, although she wondered if the more than ten million American dollars the PM had in Swiss accounts wasn’t wealth in its own small, unassuming way. “We don’t want any money. In fact, we’re just going to hang onto you for a couple of days, maybe a week. Then you can go back. I hope you’ll be comfortable here. There are all sorts of amenities.”
“I’d like to use the bathroom,” the PM said. “If you don’t mind.”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to forego your privacy,” Usha said. “I am sorry.”
Since there was no bathroom door, the PM didn’t have much alternative. Usha didn’t pointedly watch him, but she didn’t turn her back, either.
He came out, drying his hands on one of the towels.
“How long,” he asked, “are you planning to keep me here?”
“That depends on a couple of things,” Usha said. “But don’t ask me what they are. I just work here.”
“Well,” the PM said, “who does know?”
“My boss would know,” Usha said. “Would you like to talk to her?”
“Yes,” the PM said. “I would.”
Usha spoke to the computer.
“Computer,” she said. “Please put a call through to Red Herring. Tell her this is Eric the Red and Big Red would like to talk to her.”
“Big Red?” the Prime Minister said.
“Sorry,” Usha answered. “We had to call you something.”
“Herring here,” Kim’s voice said. “Hello, Mr. Big. I hope Eric’s been keeping you comfortable?”
“I have no complaints,” the PM said generously. “Other than that I am outraged to be handled in any fashion by terrorists.”
“It isn’t quite terrorism, sir,” Kim said. “In fact, I’d say it’s more like counter-terrorism in this case.”
“I don’t understand,” the PM said. “My own security is quite competent.”
“Well,” Kim said, “I have my own opinion there, of course, in light of the fact you’re inside our perimeter and not theirs.”
Perimeter, the PM thought. Are they military people?
“I would still like,” he said, “to find out what you intend to do with me.”
“We’re going to keep you for a few days, if that’s all right,” Kim said politely. “Until we complete a parallel operation. We need to have a bit more data before we can let you loose to make the biggest mistake of your political career.”
“What?” the PM said, and looked at Usha, of all people, for an explanation. Usha shrugged and widened her eyes expressively. Don’t ask me, the expression said.
“What are you saying?” the PM asked. “Are you mad?”
“Yes,” Kim said. “Or I wouldn’t take on this kind of job. But here we all are, aren’t we? And I guess I might as well make the best of it.”
“What is the best of it?” the PM asked.
“Well,” Kim said, “for one thing, I can let you talk to my boss, if you want to.”
“There are too many bosses,” the PM said irritably. “Why is it so complicated?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” Kim said. “But there’s some information you need to have before we can let you loose.”
“Information?” the PM said. “You had to kidnap me in order to give me information? You are mad.”
“I already said I was,” Kim said. “But the point still remains—we have information that you don’t, and there was no way to get it to you in a way that would convince you. That’s why you’re here.”
“I can’t believe you expect me to accept data from terrorists,” the PM said. “Does it seem likely to you?”
“Ah,” Kim said, “you got me there. But you’ll have to talk to my boss. I’ll call you guys back when I get ahold of her. Don’t hold your breath, though. It could take a few hours. Is there anything else you need? Anything we’ve forgotten?”
“I want to be released,” the PM said.
“You will be,” Kim promised. “But first I want you to talk to Red Emma.”
Kim told her computer to hang up, then put a call through to Rachel. To her surprise, Rachel’s computer admitted that she was home.
“Rachel?” Kim said. “Is that you?”
“No,” Rachel said. “It’s Red Emma.”
“Right you are,” Kim said. “And the PM would like a word with you, if you can spare a minute.”
“What’ve you told him?” Rachel asked.
“Just that he’s going to screw up unless he listens to you. I said we know something he doesn’t know. And I promised we’d l
et him go.”
“How’s he taking it?” Rachel asked.
“He isn’t thrilled,” Kim said. “But he isn’t panicking, either.”
“Well,” Rachel said, “that’s good.”
“Still,” Kim said. “I’m not sure it’s going to be easy to tell him anything. At least, not so it’ll go in.”
“He doesn’t have to believe us,” Rachel said. “As long as we don’t let him go, he can’t put that bill up. But it’d be easier for us if he’d just agree to wait until we can tell him more.”
“Do we necessarily want to tell him?” Kim said. “Even when we find out more, it might not be the kind of information a person in his position should have. There’s every chance it won’t make any difference to him who’s behind the money, as long as he’s getting it.”
“You’ve got a point there,” Rachel admitted. “But if he’ll agree to wait on the bill, I’m willing to put him inside the circle of disclosure. Just because a man isn’t loyal to his country’s interests, that doesn’t mean he won’t be loyal to the interests of the whole planet.”
“When did you become an idealist?” Kim asked. “And at your age, too.”
“I guess you’re right,” Rachel said. “But I don’t see how he can use the information against us even if it doesn’t convince him to change his plan.”
“Now you’re talking,” Kim said, “although some phrase about sinking ships comes to mind.”
“We can’t keep him indefinitely,” Rachel said, “so unless you’re planning to have him fall in love with somebody, we might as well try telling him the truth.”
“You’re the boss,” Kim said. “And I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to go for Usha. She’s not looking her best in the disguise she chose.”
“Too bad for the Prime Minister,” Rachel said. “Usha’s got a lot going for her.”
“Tell it to her husband,” Kim said, and Rachel grinned.
“Probably better he doesn’t know what I think,” Rachel said.
“Do we want me to put the call through?” Kim asked. “Or should I give you the number?”
“I think it’s better if we have you do it,” Rachel said. “Why don’t you get in touch with Usha, then patch me in. There’s no sense me knowing anything about where they are.”
Kim called Usha.
“Eric the Red here,” Usha answered.
“This is Red Herring,” Rachel said. “I’ve got Red Emma on the line.”
“Okay, Herring,” Usha said. “I’ll pass the call over to Big Red.”
Usha nodded to the Prime Minister.
“It’s all yours, sir,” she said.
“Hello,” Rachel’s voice said. “How are you doing, sir?”
“Are you in charge of this—outrage?” the Prime Minister said. “If so, I demand that you release me this instant.”
Rachel left a long pause.
“If you aren’t able to speak to me right now,” she said, equitably. “I’ll call back later.”
Now it was the PM’s turn to leave a pause.
“Excuse me,” he replied. “I was forgetting my manners.”
“Being kidnapped isn’t the most comfortable condition to be in,” Rachel admitted. “I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience and the disruption of your life, sir. But we have reason to believe you are being used by a group that is growing too powerful to ignore. We wanted a chance to speak with you before you took a major step in forwarding their interests.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Prime Minister said.
“The group I’m referring to calls itself the Foundation for the Preservation of Humanity,” Rachel said. “They’re blackmailing you into putting forward a bill to block computer development past the Turing threshold. Does this sound familiar to you?”
“I am promoting such a bill,” the PM answered. “Or rather, that was my intention before this current outrage was committed on my person. But no one is forcing me into it.”
“Whatever you say,” Rachel said. “But my sources tell me these people have a technological breakthrough of their own.”
“Is it dangerous?” the Prime Minister asked. “I was given to understand they were a peaceful foundation. India does not deal with terrorists.”
“It isn’t terrorism,” Rachel said. “But they have a device that could conceivably garner them genuine global power. I felt we needed to find out more about them before a major mistake was made in the form of that bill of yours.”
“Go ahead,” the Prime Minister said, and Usha handed him a cup of tea. “I’m listening.”
Ray meets the boss
Ray had another night before his second meeting with Commander Ash. He spent it locked in a cell with Cinnamon, who’d appeared without explanation from the guard sometime after supper. Ray was asleep when a commotion outside the door woke him up. He thought he’d heard barking.
“Cinnamon?” Ray said, sitting up on his pallet on the floor.
The door crashed open, and the guard half flung Cinnamon into the room. She turned to bark at him, and the guard pointed his weapon in her direction.
“Come here, girl,” Ray said, and she backed over to where he sat.
“You will keep this dog,” the guard said.
“What?” Ray said. “When did you learn English?”
“I wouldn’t learn your language,” the alien said, “if my knowing it made you suffer. I’m just using a translator.”
“Oh,” Ray said.
“Which reminds me,” the guard said. “They sent one for you to carry. I don’t know why we bother, but here it is.”
He threw the little unit at Ray’s head, but Ray managed to catch it rather than getting hit.
“Until tomorrow,” the guard chuckled evilly, and left.
“I’m afraid I didn’t leave you anything to eat,” Ray said to Cinnamon. “They didn’t tell me you were coming. But there is some water.”
He poured a little water into his bowl and set it down for her to drink. She was clearly thirsty, but after she’d finished the bowl she came and sat as close to Ray as she could get without actually lying on top of him. And that was how the two of them spent the night.
In the morning a guard came.
“You better stay here,” Ray told Cinnamon, and got up to face the guard. The pile of snakes whipped out a tentacle and grabbed Ray’s arm. Cinnamon growled, but Ray calmed her down.
“It’s okay,” he said to her, “I’m just going to go out for a little while.”
The guard escorted Ray through a maze of hallways to a massive door, which opened on its own. The guard motioned him inside, but stayed out itself.
Ray found himself in a comfortable but spartan office. There were a couple of massive, oddly-built chairs, a throw rug on the bare tile floor, and, in charge of it all, another very unattractive pile of snakes.
“Have a seat,” Commander Ash said, via Ray’s little translator.
Ray sat.
“Thanks,” he said, sitting down opposite the commander.
Ash immediately stood up and started walking, or rather slithering, around the room. Whenever he got out of sight, Ray cursed himself for agreeing to sit.
“So tell me,” Ash said, thumping something he held in one tentacle against something he held in another, “are there many of you?”
“Not really,” Ray said. “We’re pretty insignificant. We’ve hardly managed to fill up even one planet, yet.”
“That’s too bad,” Ash said. “Only one planet, eh?”
“Sorry about that,” Ray answered. “We’re doing the best we can, but we aren’t very advanced. Give us another thousand years or so and we hope to’ve done something pretty impressive with the old solar system, but right now we’re just getting settled in.”
“Primitives,” Ash said. He slithered pensively behind Ray’s chair, then fell silent. Ray fought the urge to squirm.
“My medical staff informs me you have this ability to fall completely uncons
cious,” Ash said. “I have to wonder about that. What good is it?”
Ray thought for a minute.
“Actually,” he said. “It works out okay. Nobody wants to bother with someone who isn’t awake. You might as well go around attacking inanimate objects, don’t you think?”
Ash slithered back into view.
“On the other hand,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard Ray at all, “there’s something to be said for the chance to catch somebody—we don’t have a word for it.”
“Sleeping,” Ray said.
“Okay,” Ash said. “Whatever you say. One planet, huh?”
“That’s all,” Ray said. ”Really, I don’t know if we’re worth bothering about.”
“Everybody says that,” Ash said. “And frankly, I don’t care how many there are of you. You’re a species, aren’t you? ‘Wipe out a species, get the medal for it.’ That’s my motto. My predecessor, Void, he used to talk about subtlety. ‘I peel the grape,’ he would say, ‘where others trample the vintage.’”
“Interesting idea,” Ray said.
“I crushed him like a grape,” Ash boasted. “Even you can see that he was important in his own eyes. He became something special. Therefore it was my pleasure to remove him.”
“Commander—” Ray began, but Ash suddenly rose up menacingly, like a bowl of baking soda reacting to a splash of vinegar.
“Not ‘Commander,’” said Commander Ash. “‘Nullity.’ You will call me ‘Nullity,’ or I will end this conversation. I am not so stupid as to accept the recognition I deserve.”
Ray thought about that for a minute.
“Okay, Your Nullity,” Ray said. “What I was going to ask was, how exactly did you defeat your predecessor?”
“I exploded his ship,” Ash said. “By blowing up the planet it was orbiting. He was far too close—busy peeling his grape.”
“I see,” Ray said.
“You understand me, do you?” Ash asked. “I don’t care about the individual. I don’t care about the small. I care about the big picture. Void had his grapes. I don’t even care what’s grown. I slice it into strips, whatever it is, and watch it writhe.”
“Why?” Ray asked, then wondered what he was thinking. Why would I deliberately provoke a pile of snakes? he thought. Do I like getting knocked unconscious? I must be under too much pressure.
