First Family

by Patrick Tilley

  ‘Yes, I remember. But I didn’t mean for you to go out there and jack the ass off them!’

  Steve waved the smoke away from his face. The fragrant odour was getting to him, pulling him back. ‘Stop it, Roz. Junk that stuff – please!’ He made a grab for the reaf.

  Roz pulled her hand out of reach. ‘No! Let me alone. It helps deaden the pain.’ She balled her left fist and smashed it angrily against Steve’s shoulder.

  Steve fended off the second and third blow then grabbed her wrist and twisted it until her arm went limp. ‘Listen to me!’ he hissed. ‘It wasn’t the way you think! What happened between us that night was great. It was a good feeling. If you were there, like you say, you’d know that.’

  ‘I was there!’ cried Roz. ‘It’s always been the same. In a moment of crisis, great emotion, or danger, something inside me flies out to join you. I was in that hut. I could smell it – the animal skins, the wood, the earth. And I could smell her – the oil on her body, the flowers in her hair. I loathed every minute of it. She had taken you over. You were trying to shut me out!’

  ‘Roz, it’s not true!’ exclaimed Steve. ‘I didn’t shut you out – not deliberately, anyway. This wasn’t something I could have shared with you. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I – I didn’t even know the word for it!’

  ‘You mean “love” – the way I feel about you?’ Roz laughed brokenly. ‘What do you think it was that brought us so close to each other? What do you think it was you felt when we –?’

  Steve cut in. ‘It’s not the same thing, Roz.’

  ‘It is!’ she cried. ‘Can’t you see? The only difference is you’ve always tried to deny the feeling we have for each other. I understood why. It hurt but it didn’t worry me because I knew you could never destroy it. But –’ She grabbed the collar of his coveralls, ‘– how, after all you’ve said, how can you say you love a Mute?! How could you even bear to touch one?!’

  Steve dragged her hand away and held it tightly. ‘Roz! Listen! I didn’t know about the Plainfolk then. They’re not animals and they’re not poisonous. If they were I wouldn’t be here. They are people, Roz! Okay, most of them look pretty awful, but they’re not dumb! And some of them – like Clearwater – are very special people. She’s a Mute, yes, but she’s not a lumphead like the others.’

  ‘What is she then – a yearling?’

  ‘No. According to the Manual, the straights traded in as twelvemonth old babies by the Southern Mutes are supposed to be straight-boned and smooth-skinned but they’ve always had multi-coloured bodies – right? I mean, that’s how you’re supposed to be able to tell the difference – between them and us.’

  Roz nodded.

  ‘Well, Clearwater is something else again. She’s a super-straight! Her body is absolutely perfect. Her skin is almost the same colour as yours. All over! She’s been raised to think of herself as a Mute but there’s nothing wrong with her brain. If she was dressed in a jump suit she’d look just like us!’

  ‘Not like us,’ muttered Roz. ‘We’re special, Steve.’

  ‘So is she, believe me.’ Steve put his hands on Roz’s shoulders. ‘And that’s not all. Cadillac – this other Mute who helped save me after I crashed – is the same. They’ve both got skins and bodies like Trackers, their minds are like our minds – maybe even better than ours! I tried to tell the Assessors about how intelligent the Mutes were but –’ Steve broke off with a laugh, ‘– they wouldn’t listen to me!’ He ran a hand down his kin-sister’s face. ‘I’ll tell you something else. There is such a thing as Mute magic. I saw ’em use it, Roz. It was fantastic…’

  Roz puffed on the reaf then leaned forward and gently blew smoke into Steve’s face. He held out for a brief moment then drew it in through his nostrils. Roz put her open lips on his and passed the rest of the smoke from her mouth into his.

  Steve drew it down into his lungs. ‘Mm-mmm… that feels good. Forgive me?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Roz. She placed the reaf between Steve’s lips. ‘Your turn.’

  Steve burned off a good half inch of grass, passed some of the smoke back into her mouth then swallowed the rest.

  ‘Mmmmm… things are beginning to look a lot better,’ Roz took charge of the reaf, lay back on the bunk and wriggled across to the other side to make room for Steve. ‘You’ll find another one in the box…’

  Steve used the coil to light up and lay down beside his kin-sister. ‘Hope they haven’t got some kind of shit detector fixed to the ventilation system.’

  Roz giggled. ‘If they have, I don’t think it’s working.’ She turned onto her side and lay against him, head up on one elbow. ‘Does this take you back?’

  Steve exhaled slowly and watched the smoke drift to the ceiling. ‘Yeah… Funny isn’t it? Five months ago, the idea that a intelligent human being would voluntarily inhale smoke from burning grass would have seemed absolutely insane. And yet –’

  ‘You now find everybody’s doing it.’

  ‘So you tell me.’

  ‘How was it out there?’

  ‘Good and bad. They’re an amazing people. Totally different to what I would ever have imagined – and to what we’ve been raised to believe. Most of the stuff we’ve been fed by the First Family isn’t true, Roz.’

  ‘So tell me about it.’

  ‘Okay… what d’you wanna know?’

  ‘Everything. Even the boring bits.’

  ‘It’s hard to know where to begin. How much time do we have?’

  ‘Masses. Chisum’ll tell us when we’ve got to go. If you haven’t finished we’ll fix up to come back here some other time…’

  ‘Yeah, why not…’ Steve began to feel agreeably light-headed.

  ‘Right… you and me… we’ve got forever…’ Roz opened the long front zip of her jumpsuit and began to wriggle out of it.

  ‘Okay, I’ll tell you about this old guy. Mr Snow. He’s a word-smith – that’s like a walking video-archive. Knows everything you want to know about, and about everything that’s ever happened. And that’s not all. He’s a Storm-Bringer. D’you know what that is…?’ Steve tried to raise his head and only half-succeeded. ‘What’re y’doing…?’

  ‘Trying to unzip this… fucking yellow thing you’re wearing,’ mumbled Roz.

  Steve was seized with a sudden desire to laugh. ‘Why…?’

  ‘Cos I wanna… wanna get inside it, that’s why.’

  He felt her hand slip under his T-shirt and slide down past his navel. ‘Hey… should you… should you… I’m trying to tell you about Mr Snow. He’s a summoner. He’s got…’ Roz began licking his left ear. ‘Hey, c’mon, give me a break! See… there are… these, uh… Rings of Power…’

  ‘Yeah, I know, I got one,’ she giggled. ‘C’mon, Steve. Let’s do it. Just one more time. Please! Oh, Sweet Christopher… it’s… been so long!’

  Steve felt the room start to spin. ‘Wait a minute… wait a minute… Don’t you want to hear about Mr Snow? How about Cadillac? Now he’s, uh… really bright. A real friend of mine. Did you… did I, uh… tell you I taught him to fly. Clearwater now… she, uh… she’s like Mr Snow. She does, uh… magic too…’

  ‘Yeah, I bet she does,’ whispered Roz. ‘Go on, tell me about it…’ She moved on top of him. ‘Ohhhh… oh! Steeeee-ve!’

  ‘No… listen… Christopher, what’s happening? Roz…’ He felt her naked body sliding over his. A softness… smothering him, swallowing him. The dim light around the bed space began to change colour, glowing and dimming in sync with the rhythmic movements of her body. ‘No, don’t… wait! There’s…’ His voice seemed to come from a long way away. He could no longer feel Roz pressing down on his belly. The body of his kin-sister began to twist out of shape, grew bigger and bigger until it loomed over him like a huge, threatening storm cloud… blotting out the light… the bunk became a whirlpool, sucking him down into a dark, impenetrable void…

  In Unit 7, on the same floor, Chisum sipped a cup of Java as he sat watching
the video-screen linked to the camera recording the action in the bedspace next door. Roz, who was seated astride her kin-brother, swayed drunkenly then toppled sideways and slid gently off the bunk onto the floor. Steve lay on his back sprawled diagonally across the duvet with one arm outstretched, hand hanging over the edge. The half-smoked reaf lay where he had dropped it, on the low table by the bunkhead.

  Chisum decided to wait another fifteen minutes before calling in Fran’s Q-Squad. Yes… it had been a good move to suggest using the subject’s kin-sister. Chisum had known she was a sensitive but hadn’t realised her power. She would need to be handled carefully. Or eliminated. Right now, she was the key to Steve. She had cracked him wide open. And now she could be used to apply leverage. Yes, a good night’s work – provided, of course, he hadn’t heard too much for his own good. But then, that was a risk everybody ran – especially in his line of work. Dismissing the thought, Chisum sipped the rest of his Java in leisurely fashion and let the blackjack tape he had put on as background music run to the end of the reel.

  The forbidden music track ended with a triumphant crescendo on brass and percussion instruments. Chisum put the small cassette player away then pulled the video-tape of Roz and Steve out of the recorder and put a call through to Fran’s men. ‘Be right with you,’ promised the voice on the other end. Chisum picked up his emergency aid case and went into Unit 8.

  Roz and Steve were still lying where they had keeled over when the drugged grass took effect. Chisum put the half-burnt reafs back in the box and put the box in his case, then he injected Roz with a strong dose of barbiturates, dressed her quickly and expertly and laid her out alongside Steve. He then rearranged Steve’s clothing and was in the process of zipping him up when the four-man Q-squad came through the door. All four were dressed in black and silver-blue jump-suits – the mark of men from the Black Tower: Amtrak Execs, one step below the First Family. And, as Chisum knew, any or all of them could be Family. It was one of their favourite disguises.

  ‘Where you going to pump him?’ asked Chisum.

  ‘Here.’ The man who spoke had the kind of face and voice that said “I’m in charge”. ‘It’ll save time. How long have we got?’

  ‘As long as you want,’ replied Chisum diplomatically. ‘But ideally, I should have him back in the White House before 0600 hours.’

  ‘No problem,’ said the man. ‘Leave it with us. How about the girl?’

  ‘She’ll be out cold till 10 or 1100. I’ll ship her back to Inner State U later.’

  ‘Have you got the tape?’

  Chisum took the video-recording of Steve and Roz from his emergency aid case and handed it over. ‘Interesting stuff.’

  The man nodded. ‘Yes. We were watching.’ He checked the time. ‘Come back at 0530.’

  ‘Wilco,’ said Chisum. He left the accommodation unit without a backward glance.

  ‘Okay, let’s get to work,’ said the man.

  Two of his companions lifted Steve off the bunk and laid him out on the couch. The third man, who had brought a case similar to that carried by Chisum, bared Steve’s forearm and injected him with a carefully measured dose of Sodium Pentothal. The other two pulled a tall camera tripod from another bag and connected up a portable video-camera to a monitor and the nearest power socket. With the aid of a counterbalanced extension arm, they set the camera pointing straight down at Steve, adjusting the focus so that his head and shoulders filled the screen on the monitor. One of them slotted the number 3552 into a clapper board that carried a digital time/date display and held it briefly in front of Steve’s face. ‘Subject 3552, Operation Overlord, Q-squad 6…’

  His companion checked the picture balance and sound levels on the equipment and gave a satisfied nod. ‘Up and running…’

  The Exec who had administered the ‘truth’ drug went into the galley to make coffee, humming in tune to the endless music-track that drifted through the ceiling-mounted speakers.

  The man in charge took a chair from the set around the table and placed it by the arm of the couch on which Steve’s head lay. He sat down and placed a gentle hand on Steve’s forehead. ‘Steven? Can you hear me? I want you to nod your head if you can hear my voice.’

  Eyes closed, face totally relaxed under the effects of the drug, Steve responded with a slight movement of the head.

  ‘Good… very good,’ said the man. His voice was deep-pitched, the cadence measured, reassuring. ‘Now, I want you to help me. I want you to tell me who you are. First, tell me your full name.’

  Steve breathed deeply. His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment then he replied in a slurred, detached voice. ‘Steven Roosevelt Brickman…’

  ‘Thank you. That’s a great help. Now, tell me your number…’

  Eight

  When Steve opened his eyes, he found Chisum sitting beside him on the edge of the bunk, shaking him by the shoulder and gently slapping his face. ‘Hey, hey, c’mon! Wake up! Wake up!’

  ‘Wassa…?’ Steve sat up woozily and was seized with a fit of coughing. The smell of burning rainbow grass filled his nostrils and the taste of it coated his tongue.

  Chisum’s nose wrinkled. ‘How much of that stuff did you smoke last night?’

  ‘Don’t remember…’ said Steve hoarsely. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. ‘Is there anything to –?’

  ‘Yeah, here – drink this . .’ Chisum handed him a mug of water that fizzed noisily.

  Steve inspected the contents suspiciously. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something that’ll help get your ass off that bunk and your feet on the floor. C’mon! Get the lead out! It’s 0545 and you’re due to card-in on A-2 at 0630.’

  Steve drank the contents of the glass then swung his legs off the bunk and sat slumped over, hands hanging between his knees. ‘Think I’m gonna be sick…’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Chisum rubbed him vigorously on the back. ‘Breathe in, c’mon – all the way.’

  Steve did so. It triggered another bout of coughing but he began to feel better. His brain sharpened sufficiently to enable him to remember his kin-sister. He jerked his head up. An invisible lead weight dropped with a soundless thud against the base of his skull. ‘Roz! Where’s Roz?!’ he gasped.

  ‘Right behind you.’

  Steve twisted round, almost slipping off the edge of the bunk in the process. Roz lay, fully dressed, stretched out on the far side, breathing deeply through her mouth. Her eyes were rolled up under half open lids. Her left arm was angled across her stomach, the other lay palm upwards, the butt end of a reaf resting between her fingers. The duvet underneath had been scorched brown where the reaf had extinguished itself – a little touch Chisum had arranged before rousing Steve with an injection designed to counteract the effects of the Sodium Pentothai.

  ‘Columbus, she looks awful!’

  ‘She’ll be okay. Let her sleep it off. I’ll take care of her later.’ Chisum took the butt from between Roz’s fingers and picked up the other he had put back on the bunkhead table where Steve had dropped it before the arrival of the Q-squad. He sniffed them and grimaced disapprovingly. ‘Kentucky Blue… no wonder you got blocked out of your skulls. Strong but iffy. Know what I mean?’

  ‘No. What do you mean?’

  ‘The quality’s variable. If it’s good, you can tunnel out on three of four puffs but if you get a sour bag it can be bad news. Instead of your ears turning into wings, it’s like getting punched between the eyes by a two hundred pound Provo. A real downer.’

  ‘Terrific’ Steve stood up and leaned against the wall to steady himself. ‘How could you let her smoke that shit?’

  Chisum assumed an air of injured innocence. ‘How could I let her? Why did you let her?’

  ‘It was you who got her started!’

  Chisum waved the butts under Steve’s nose. ‘Not with this stuff. I only ship sweet grass. Okay, it was through me she maybe got to know it was around – but I didn’t push it.’

  ‘I bet!’

&n
bsp; Chisum remained calm. ‘Steve, I don’t give a bucket of beaver piss what you think. But as it happens, I didn’t make Roz do anything she didn’t want to. If you ask me, she got into smoking shit on account of you. She never touched the stuff until the news came that you’d powered down.’ Chisum turned away with an angry laugh. ‘Columbus! You try and do a guy a favour…’

  Steve grabbed his arm. ‘John! Look, uh – I’m sorry – okay? I didn’t mean to get uptight. I’m just… Christo! I feel like a ton of rock just fell on me!’

  It just did, thought Chisum. But you won’t know that till later, flyboy. He turned on an understanding smile and patted Steve’s arm. ‘Did you manage to talk?’

  ‘Yeah, a bit.’ Steve felt better now that the floor had stopped moving under his feet. ‘I know we ended up arguing. But then that’s not unusual.’ He threw a last anxious glance at Roz then stepped down into the living area. ‘This place is okay, isn’t it?’

  Chisum looked puzzled. ‘What’re you getting at?’

  ‘I mean there’s no chance that, uh… well – that someone could have been listening in?’

  Chisum laughed dismissively. ‘Why would anyone want to do that?’ He handed Steve his yellow hard-hat and the borrowed toolbox.

  Steve looked unconvinced. ‘It happens, doesn’t it?’

  Chisum grinned and ushered him down the hallway and out into the lobby. ‘If it does, the boys in the Black Tower are not going to tell me.’ He shut the entrance door to Unit Eight, led the way over to the freight elevator and thumbed the call button. ‘Relax. Listen – if that place wasn’t safe, I’d have made my goodbye speech on tv a long time ago.’ Chisum was referring to the ritual confession of error made by Trackers following a death sentence for a Code One offence and prior to their televised execution by firing squad.

  They entered the elevator and were carried downwards. A fearsome thought struck Steve. ‘Christo! What about those two guys on duty outside the ward?! Supposing they checked up during the night? They’ll have reported me missing!’