INFINITY HOLD3

by Longyear, Barry B.

  Anyway, if the Chopper had been sick, she should have been sent to the rubber hotel. If she was guilty of that scale of premeditated murder, by the man's own rules she should have been thinned by the application of lethal rays. Either she was sick or she wasn't, and the consensus in the Crotch at the time was that she was as salted as Manson, and she had done it without drugs.

  But the man is always changing the rules when it suits. The Chopper was dropped into the Crotch because she fit somewhere in between: she was sick, and the smear in the black rag knew she was sick, but the jury, the public and the press demanded a guilty body upon which to take out their fear and frustrations, much like the Chopper had done on them.

  I suppose the point worth pondering about all of this is that it worked. The family she had tried to help was rescued from the sewer, and several important reforms were instituted to streamline the operation of the department. This improvement, and what had inspired it, had caused much debate in Parliament and even more wind breaking on the vids.

  One of the vid commentators at the time had showed a still of Seraphine's supervisor all chopped up, many of the pieces on the desk next to a work basket overflowing with case reports. The commentator said about the new reforms, "Sometimes you just have to cut through the red tape." Not everything on the vids was a waste.

  The Chopper had to be in her fifties, but she was one of Rhome Nazzar's best ten, which meant she was still a hand with an ax. I sort of wondered who her cellmate had been back at Ol' Miss, and how long it had taken before she managed to get a night's sleep doing bunkies with the Blade. On the men's side we called her the Blade, which is why Stays and I hadn't recognized her name.

  It was while I was thinking about Seraphine Clay that I first realized that there are some very dangerous persons in a prison, and that they were all running loose on Tartaros. I wasn't thinking of the contract killers, leg-breakers, and yard monsters. The ones I was thinking about were the ments who kept a tentative hold on reality only by reaching through a bucket of blood. I thought about that, and I thought about the incredible fact that the only law the Razai had was a prohibition against holding prisoners. I was beginning to see Garoit's side of it.

  When that itch at the back of my neck eased a bit, I faced Sarah. "Won't that leave Nazzar's bunch at the point short a few? Should Stays and I go up and fill in?"

  "Sarah has it covered." Nance lifted a hand and rubbed the back of her neck. "Anyways, you're not in the army, Mr. Policeman. You got business someplace else."

  "You got another yard-monster snap-and-slash for me to referee?"

  "Something like that."

  That itch on the back of my neck returned. "Exactly what?"

  "You know a yard monster named Dick Irish?"

  "Oh, no." What I meant was, yeah. I was locked in the seat next to him in the pit ship when we left Earth."

  Nance lifted an arm and pointed. "Back at the end of the column. He just knifed and killed a mau named Freddy. It's turning into a salt-and-pepper thing real fast. Handle it."

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  Payback

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  By the time Stays and I reached the rear of the walking column, things were tense. The words were loud and the threats graphic. There must have been over four hundred sharks milling around. Toward the center of the mob, Dick Irish was in the clutches of two black yard monsters, the three of them surrounded by a salt-and-pepper wall of anger that had the maus and the haystacks getting ready to rock.

  It was clear to me that everyone was using Freddy's killing as an outlet for every frustration that had been accumulated for the past few lifetimes. The way the words were going, the black-and-white stripe of this zebra was the one running the animal.

  I knew what I looked like, and Martin Stays almost glowed in the dark. I looked around quick and found someone with the proper qualifications: big, black, armed, and quiet. I didn't recognize him, but he was standing apart from the shouting and was watching. I jabbed Stays in the ribs.

  "C'mon. It's time to integrate the po-leece."

  "We are integrated," he answered with a smile, "you just think we ought to darken the mix, noo?"

  I ignored him and walked up next to the candidate I had spied. Stays stood next to me as I asked him, "What's your name?"

  A towering glower looked down upon me and studied me like an insect. "Marietta," came the response.

  "Marietta?" I repeated.

  "That's right. You're that little spic, Bando Nicos." She jabbed me in the chest with a finger about the size of a ham. "Why're you sniffin' 'round me, down an' brown?"

  He was a she, but she was still big, black, armed, and not caught up in the moment. Besides, with three-fifths of the gang composed of women, it made sense to have women in the cops. I glanced at Stays, but he had his back turned toward me. I looked back at Marietta.

  "You know what I do?"

  She nodded, that glower even deeper. "You must be the onlyest po-leece-man in the whole world."

  "Not really. I have Watson here." I pointed over my shoulder at Stays.

  "Unh," replied my candidate. "Deppity Dawg. So, you wanna invite me up to your dune to polish your badge or what?"

  "You see what's going on here?"

  She nodded. "I got eyes."

  "I need help. You want the job?"

  That powerful glower melted into an equally powerful grin. "Why you sweet little thing. You want me in the po-leece?"

  "We're going to call it something else, but that's right."

  "I thought you were makin' a move on me, chili pepper!" She slapped my arm, and laughed loudly. "Man, Pancho, I thought you were after a ride on the magic mountain."

  Despite myself, I blushed. "No. But I could use the help."

  She nodded, then she gave out a huge sigh. "But maybe I was wrong about you, chili pepper. That might have been one sweet ride."

  It was dark, but the heat from my face felt like it could be seen in the dark. I turned toward Stays, but he was kneeling on the sand, holding his guts, quaking. I thought he had been knifed, and I knelt beside him. I was not much relieved to find that he was only laughing so hard he couldn't get his breath. I punched his arm and hissed, "Whenever you're finished, asshole, we have a killing to handle."

  I stood up, checked the load on my rifle, made certain that Marietta was behind me, and waded into the crowd. Every now and then the sharks refused to part for me. Then a huge black arm would reach over my shoulder, tap the immovable object to get its attention, and suddenly the immovable object would stroll.

  When I faced Dick Irish his expression changed from panic to hope. The crowd quieted a bit and I nodded at him. "Dick. What's going on here?"

  Dick Irish's eyes grew wide. "I did Freddy like I said I would. He broke my arm and I gave him the payback."

  A voice from the salt said, "Spic, if you let the pepper do Irish, there'll be a war right here."

  "Shut your face!" bellowed Marietta. "Pancho'll do what's right. The rest of you don't have no business here, so git!"

  "Yes we do," shouted a voice. "This gang isn't bossed by a big gun; we vote! We got a right to see how this is handled."

  I looked back at Marietta, closed my eyes, and nodded. "He's got a point."

  "Yeah, and it sticks right through that hat he got on." Marietta glowered as she scratched her chin with her rifle's front sight blade. "Okay." She lowered her weapon and faced the voice. "You all can stay and watch, but no bad words—no threats. If you threaten something, what you say is exactly what you goin' get. If you threaten to kill the chili pepper here, you'll be dead before the echo gets back to you."

  I remember standing in the middle of that nightmare thinking that Marietta's offering was an interesting policy addition. Threatening murder is the same as committing it. That would sure put a cramp on most of the conversation that takes place among sharks. Either that or it would solve any future over population p
roblem we might have. However, it was not the time to discuss law. Right at the moment Marietta's rule was the only thing covering my ass, so I kept my ass and the rule both.

  I looked at the black yard monsters holding Dick's arms. "We only got one law in the Razai, and that says no prisoners. Let him go."

  "Is your gourd dribbling, Pancho?" asked the yard monster hanging on Dick's left arm. "What if he just strolls on out of here?"

  I shrugged. "What about it? What we're going to do about him thinning Freddy can be decided if he's here or at the other end of the column. It makes no difference." I looked at Dick. "If you got something to say, though, you better stick around."

  I pointed at the yard monsters holding Dick. "Well?"

  I heard the word "Well?" boom out over my head. I silently applauded the instincts that had chosen Marietta from the crowd. The yard monsters released Irish. He shook out his arms, rubbed his wrists, and took a couple of steps toward me.

  "Bando, I told you I was going to thin Freddy once we got out of the pit ship."

  "Yeah." I moistened my lips. "Dick, will you stand by what I decide in this, or do you want us to put up someone as a black rag? Maybe you want a jury."

  Dick Irish shook his head. "I'm not sayin' I didn't do it, Bando. I'm sayin' that it was somethin' that needed to be done. I don't want no judge. I know you'll do what's right by me."

  I knew the answer before I asked the question, but this was for the record. "Dick, you thinned Freddy, right?"

  "Right, but you know—everybody knows—he broke my arm back in the Crotch. I owed Snowflake a couple of decks, and—"

  "Dick," I interrupted, "that was back in the Crotch. This is Tartaros."

  "So?"

  "So did you hear it when we made the rule? Did you hear when we said if it happened before the landing, it's done past? Nance was going to have it read out to all you muscle heads."

  "Yeah, I heard it, but that don't make no difference to me. See, back in the Crotch he broke my arm. I don't—"

  I lifted my rifle, aimed, and fired, striking Dick Irish in the heart. His face looked very confused as he went over backwards and turned his face up to the belly of the Spider. He dropped to the sand and was still. It was very quiet.

  From behind me I heard Marietta's shocked whisper, "Damn, Pancho!"

  I spoke to the crowd. "It's payback, just like in the yard. If you steal, payback is you return what you took plus a little. If you can't return what you took, then you return something worth as much. If you can't or won't return the stuff, or stuff worth as much, you get thinned. You lose it all."

  I looked down at Dick's still form. "Dick Irish took a life. He couldn't return what he took, so his payback was to give up the life he had." I looked around at the crowd.

  "If it happened before the landing, it didn't happen. Before the landing is done past. Tartaros is a new hand. Play it that way. The cards you were dealt last hand don't play here."

  There was a moment of silence, then a voice asked, "What about Dick's stuff? Who gets it?"

  "Yeah," said another voice. "And what about Freddy's stuff?"

  I looked around at the faces. "Did Freddy have any relatives?"

  A slender woman with night-black skin held up her hand. "We sleep together. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears. "I loved him."

  "What's your name?"

  "Ginger."

  I held out my hand. "Anyone else?"

  One of the yard monsters who had been holding Dick said, "Freddy was my friend."

  "Did you sleep with him?"

  "What're you tryin' to say, you spic-ass little grease ball motherfucker?"

  I grinned. "Nothing offensive, I assure you." I held my rifle across my chest. "But here is the way I see it. Sleeping together here on the sand is as much of a marriage as anything we got. A wife gets the husband's stuff, unless he makes a will giving his stuff to someone else." I looked at the one who claimed to be Freddy's friend.

  "If there's something particular you'd like, talk to Ginger about it."

  "What about Dick's stuff?" came a voice.

  I got angry. "What's with you people? Hard of hearing?" There were a few blank expressions, so I spelled it out. "Payback. Dick took something from Freddy, and he can't pay it back. So he owes Freddy everything he's got. Ginger gets the lot."

  "Hey chili pepper, who appointed you judge and jury?"

  There was some laughter and a lot of angry grumbling. I walked over until I stood next to Dick Irish's body. I turned him over with my toe, looked down at the dumb son of a bitch, and said, "He did."

  The rest of the scene faded from my awareness as I looked down at Dick's face. The big, dumb son of a bitch just couldn't let go of the past. I wondered if any of us could. Was the time before the landing really done past? Had I simply performed the final atrocity upon Dick Irish, and with his permission?

  My rights and wrongs were very confused, and I began to feel sick to my stomach as a wave of fear washed over me. I had just thinned one of the honker yard monsters, and the rest of the white should be on me like winter. Taking Dick away from the black yard monsters should have had the maus all over me.

  I looked around at the few remaining faces, for most of the crowd had rejoined the column. Why were they letting us get away with it? Marietta, Stays, and I were armed, but so were many of those in the crowd. Marietta was intimidating, and Stays and I could probably take care of ourselves against an equal number, but the three of us together were nothing against an angry armed mob.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned and saw Stays. I shook my head as I whispered to him. "I don't understand. Why're we still alive?"

  Stays gave my shoulder a pat and said out loud, "The reason is simple, Chief. We aren't just a mob of con artists, psychos, thieves, and killers. Those sharks hate what you did, and probably hate you for doing it. But every one of them, deep down, knows it had to be done."

  I spat on the sand. "It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it?" I turned my back on the pair and began walking toward the head of the column.

  "That's right," Stays answered.

  I turned and looked back. Stays was standing in the sand, looking up at the belly of the Spider. He paused for a moment and slowly began nodding his head. "That's exactly right." He pointed a finger at me, and then at Marietta.

  "We're not a gang like the others out here, brother and sister crowbar. We aren't together because some big gun threatened us. We're together by choice for our own mutual interests. We are a tribe, a society, a civilization."

  Marietta rumbled out a laugh and said to Stays, "Man, you got more bull in you than Elsie's ass."

  Stays laughed. "That's why I get the big money."

  They both laughed, and I didn't want to listen to them. I especially didn't want to listen to them laugh. All I wanted to do was to put down this anvil I was carrying and to get the picture of Dick Irish's face out of my head.

  It was still night, but in the east the sky began turning purple. It was bed down time, and I wanted to find Alna. I aimed my feet toward the front of the column. In the half-light of dawn, the column halted. I saw Rus Gades in a group of about twenty sharks sitting in a circle off by themselves. They became silent as I walked up behind Rus. I pulled the book out of my kit bag and held it out to him."

  He took the book, but kept looking at me. "What's bothering you, Bando?"

  "Bothering me." My head was filled with squirrels. "I just killed somebody." I looked around the circle of faces. "I just killed somebody I didn't want dead."

  By the light of the dawn, Rus began paging through the little book. When he reached the page he wanted, he handed the book up to me and said, "Read that. It might help."

  I looked down at the page marked with the pumpkin-colored ribbon and began skimming the lines. Blah, blah, blah it ran with a few platitudes generally concerned with asking for help in letting go. It was about how to let go of fear, of pain, of guilt, of sadness, of all kinds of things.


  I handed the book back to Rus. "My problem isn't trying to let go of pain. My problem is trying to get pain to let go of me. Keep the book."

  I turned my back on them and continued toward the front of the column.

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  A Policeman's Lot

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  It was light by the time I found Alna. She was wrapped in her sheet and was sleeping at the bottom of the western side of a dune. The air and the sand were still icy, but in minutes that would change.

  I sat next to her and looked down at her face. She smiled when she slept. I wondered where she was in her dreams. Was she in a safe, beautiful place? Had she found a strong, handsome protector? Had she conjed up a magician that could fix her and fill all of those incredible needs she had?

  I was surprised to feel a tear streak its way down my cheek. I reached up to brush it off and felt the week's worth of growth on my face. Pretty soon all of the men would be pussyfaced. I looked at the glisten of the tear on my finger with the detachment of a scientist observing a curious natural phenomenon. Maybe I was tired, or maybe it was the wind, or maybe I had gotten something in my eye. Things like that used to seem important to me at one time. Macho is, after all, the Spanish word for asshole.

  Then everything that I could see became blurred, pain twisted my guts, and the tears could no longer be argued out of existence.

  I climbed to the top of the dune and sat cross-legged on the sand as my guts writhed. I stifled the cries by burying my face in my hands, but the tears flowed and I choked on them.

  The edge of Alsvid peeked over the horizon, filling the sky with that brassy light. I didn't know why I was crying. Was it killing Dick Irish? Irish was a waste and the universe was better off without him. In fact Jesus could have done a lot more for the human race if, after love one another, he had said, "But first thin the Dick Irishes, the dumb sons of bitches." The death of Dick Irish was no loss.