“You’re looking well, Mr. Manies,” I said.
“Thank you!” Manies said brightly, ushering us down the hall. “I’ve lost twenty pounds in weight, and I seem to have shed eighty years.” He led us through a heavy, inlaid door into an interior dining room, lit by a glistening chandelier mobile. Wooden chairs thickly upholstered in dark red velvet rolled up to meet us, and then bore us to the table.
“Just a very small breakfast this time, with a few very close friends and allies,” said Manies with a smile. “Let me have another look at the guest list.” With a flourish, he pulled a roll of paper from a small pocket in one of his elaborate cream-colored lace cuffs.
“Let me see, let me see.… Are the place-cards out yet? I see they are. Well. We have my dear wife Annabella Manies, Mr. Richer Money Manies.…” He coughed self-consciously. “Arthur Tanglin—I understand that’s the name you are going by now, Kid.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know how the rumor got started, but so be it. Obviously I’m not the Artificial Kid any more.” I reached up to tug a lock of soft black hair and a leaf of ivy. Manies looked interested. “I’ve been meaning to mention that delightful headgear of yours. It’s a far cry from the old spikes, but I find the change refreshing.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve grown used to it by now, of course.”
“My sagacious Arti. You certainly picked the right moment to change your image, I must say. You must let me supply you with some cameras before you leave. I’ll have the house cameras record you at breakfast and give you the tapes.”
“Thanks.”
Manies looked back at his list. “Saint Anne Twiceborn — you haven’t renounced your title, by any chance?”
“I am three times born, Mr. Manies.” Anne and I were both suspicious. We traded glances of mutual reassurance.
“Professor Crossbow—I’m afraid we shall have to leave a seat empty, in its memory. A very great loss to science. How I regret never having met it. Ruffian Jack Nimrod. Alruddin Spinney, if he can tear himself away from his composing desk. He’s working on a history of the Revolution, you know. Chill Factor and his Ice Lady. Your client Quade is fine, by the way; they’re still teaching her table manners, so she won’t be here, but she survived the purge quite handily, thank goodness. Plus my very good friend Cewaynie Wetlock, down from orbit, and my Alien.”
“Cewaynie Wetlock?” I said. “I remember her. I did a critique on one of her tapes just before I was chased out of Telset.”
“Yes. She owned the big drone that discovered your cameras. She edited the tapes for publication, too. You’ll love her. She’s a very talented and sweet young lady, and very anxious to meet both of you.”
Manies touched one of the studs on his heavy bracelet. “How long will it be, Quizein?”
“Another thirty minutes, sir. I’m having a bit of a time with the Alien’s main dish.”
“Oh.” Manies chuckled. “That Alien of mine! Its biochemistry requires a special diet, you know.”
“Who’s your surprise guest?” said Anne.
“What, my dear?”
“You mentioned eleven guests. Even counting the empty seat for Crossbow, I see twelve chairs here.”
Manies looked distressed. “You’ve spoiled it! Well, don’t worry, he’ll be here very soon. In the meanwhile, shall we beguile the time with a few tapes? I want you to see some of these, Mr. Tanglin. I want your comment on their technique.”
Manies busied himself with his bracelet. A tapescreen appeared, sliding down out of the ceiling near the opposite wall. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table, which was round—one of Manies’ affected bits of egalitarianism.
“I’m going to run this first one without the soundtrack, which was quite vile. This took place just after the massacre in the Decriminalized Zone after the first uprising.” He ran the tape.
“It’s Professor Angeluce!” I said.
“The late Professor Angeluce, yes.”
“Who’s the poor man tied up in the chair with the bag over his head?” said Anne.
“You’ll see that very soon, as soon as he finishes his harangue—there!” Angeluce whipped the black bag from the head of his trussed-up victim. It was none other than Richer Money Manies.
Manies chuckled at our surprise. “Yes, it’s me all right. Look at that expression of total fear on my face—maximum audience impact, eh? I had been arrested for ‘collaboration,’ just after you had made good your escape. My vocal cords were paralyzed, of course; otherwise, I would have protested quite violently, let me assure you. Now watch what he does with the gun.”
Angeluce jammed the muzzle of a handgun into Manies’ fat cheek and pulled the trigger. Manies’ head burst apart, and wet chunks of it tumbled into the air.
“Very effective, eh?” said Manies grimly. “Those were raw terror tactics. A very sad and unsavory episode in our history, I’m afraid. Shall I run it over again?”
“God, no!” we said.
“Fine,” said Manies. He touched his bracelet again. “You might as well come in now; I’ve run our brother’s execution.”
A few seconds passed. A second Money Manies ambled into the room.
“There were three of us,” said the new Money Manies.
“Yes,” said the first Money Manies, smiling at our manifest amazement. “There’ve been three of us for almost eighty years now. Luckily, the man who was caught and executed was my youngest clone. I suppose I can call that lucky, being the oldest clone. Though you would hardly agree, brother?”
“Don’t we always agree?” said the new Money Manies with a smile.
The first Manies nodded. “Yes. The two of us were hidden in my privacy chambers when the Instant Death arrested our poor dead brother. We’ve spent most of our lives there, anyway, since we only appear in shifts. You must have known about my reputation for forgetfulness. Actually, my memory is excellent, but even with lifetapes it was hard to keep track of all three of me sometimes. Oh, we came out in force occasionally. At the last Harlequinade, for instance.”
“We were everywhere at once,” said the second Money Manies, chuckling genially. “I was the surprise guest of today’s breakfast, by the way. It was a surprise for you and Anne. Everyone else knows by now. I had to reveal the truth when I staged my coup.”
“My darling wife knew, of course,” said the first Manies, “but she’s a girl who knows how to keep her own counsel.” He winked. “I married her because she had the skill to satisfy all three of us at once.”
“Don’t look so crestfallen, Arti,” said the second Manies. “There was no way you could have guessed. We put all the talent we possessed into the deception.”
“And it paid off, of course. I have another tape now. This is the tape of Angeluce being run down and torn to pieces by the Telset mob. It took place about two hours after I managed to release Cewaynie Wetlock’s version of your tapes.”
“Wait,” I said. “I don’t think either one of us wants to see it. We’ll take your word for it.”
Both of the Moneys Manies rubbed their chins with an identical gesture. “You’ve changed, Arti. There was a time when you’d be clamoring for a sight of such a splendid vengeance.”
“Yes, I’ve changed,” I said.
“Well, rest assured that the unpleasant Professor got everything he deserved. We found most of his body afterwards. The missing portions seem to have been taken for souvenirs by righteously outraged citizens. The death of two hundred of us left many with scores to settle.” They sighed heavily. “It was the painful and bloody birth of a new age. I can’t say how much I admire that ivy of yours, by the way—it looks so green and young and vigorous. You know, it would make a splendid symbol for the New Cabal. You wouldn’t mind if we appropriated it?”
“Tell me what happened to the Old Cabal, first,” I said. “That’s the core of the matter. Angeluce was just their tool.”
“Oh yes, the Old Cabal, the Old Cabal,” said the elder Manies, nodding. “Well, the t
wo of us have been working with Cewaynie Wetlock on that. A delightful girl, I can’t tell you how much I admire her talent, especially in computer simulation. Could you believe she is only eighteen? She has genius, plus all the vigor and audacity of youth. I swear you’ll love her, Kid.”
“Tanglin.”
“Yes, Tanglin, of course. Well, brother, let’s run the first tape. Watch this closely, Arthur, I’ll want your professional opinion on this.”
The tape opened with an orbital shot of the glowing rim of Reverie. “Very effective, eh, Arti? She stole it from the beginnings of your combat tapes. She’s your biggest fan. Yes, here it comes, just over the horizon—look at that! Can you believe it’s simulated?”
“It’s an oneill. One of the old-style models,” I said.
“Yes, being an orbiter, Cewaynie knows them well. Now look at that rainbow insignia! It’s the Cabal’s oneill, where they’re meeting in secret session! We’ll put all this in the soundtrack, of course. We were hoping we could get you to narrate it.”
“I see,” I said.
“Of course, your voice has changed now. Oh, here comes the good part.” A fat, glimmering yellow spacecraft lumbered onto the screen. It bore an insignia of linked beads. “These are the good guys—our side. Now watch them open up on that oneill. Bang! Wham!” The Moneys Manies gripped the arms of their chairs in excitement. “Look at the atmosphere gush out! Look at those pieces of debris! But it’s not over yet! The oneill fights back! Lasers rake the vacuum! Wau, that was close, wasn’t it? But now we fire again! The oneill splits open, it’s a direct hit! They’re abandoning ship. Count those little lifeboats, Arti—there are thirteen of them, no mistake there! But it’s too late for the wicked Cabalists! The mighty hand of vengeance is upon them!”
The other Manies took up the narration. “These close-ups are marvelous, aren’t they? Pow! There goes the first one. That was Red. You’ve noticed the crafts with the little directional arrows on them, I’m sure. Pow! Pow! Look at that one wobbling—we had to have a few misses for verisimilitude, you know—Pow! Pow! PowPowPow, two with one shot! Her technique is incredible, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anything like it! Now watch her pursue them to the limits of the atmosphere. Look at those reentry glows from atmospheric friction. That just slows them up, though—Zap! They’re helpless! Well, that’s the last of them. Wonderful, wasn’t it?”
“Very exciting,” I said stonily. “Good theater.”
“Ah, I knew you’d say that. Cewaynie will be so pleased. That was just the surface-dwellers’ version, though. We’ve done another one for consumption up in the oneills. As you recall, they believe that the Cabal had its headquarters on the planet’s surface. All right, brother, run the tape.
“Now look at this. It’s all done underwater! All with studio techniques, too, and by a woman who’s never gone diving in her life—except with drones, of course. Notice the bead bracelets on the arms of these valiant frogmen. Those big guns they have are torpedo launchers. The design is authentic, too; I took it from the Confederate archives. Here we go, it’s just past this rill in the ocean’s bottom—look at that! The Cabal’s secret headquarters, whole fathoms deep! No wonder we never found it, eh? It’s wonderfully squat and evil-looking, isn’t it? We were going to have some enemy frogmen come out of that airlock there, get in some exciting underwater hand-to-hand combat. But we thought that would be gilding the lily. You agree, of course.”
“Right,” I said.
“I knew you would. Now watch them firing their torpedoes. Boom! Blam! We’ll put the sound effects in when we do the soundtrack, of course. Water carries sound quite well. I’m doing the soundtrack myself, since it’s not Cewaynie’s specialty. All right, here they come, puttering out in their little underwater lifeboats. You notice the insignia again. Too late for them, the hand of vengeance, et cetera et cetera. There goes the first one. Those rushes of bubbles are very dramatic, aren’t they? Very visually exciting. Boom. Boom.” Manies seemed to be losing interest. “Right, there goes the next one and the next one. Now, look at this, Orange pulls out of the way of the torpedo but it goes right on to hit Green. Bit of unconscious humor there, perhaps. Boom. Yes. Well, there goes the last of them.”
“You’re being very audacious,” Anne said. “What happens when a floater and a surface dweller get together to compare notes on your stories?”
“Oh, each one will believe he’s seen the truth, while the other has been suckered in by the official line. No? You don’t believe so? Well, perhaps we’ll release just one of them, then. It seems a shame. Which one do you think is better?”
“How about showing the truth instead?” I said bluntly.
“The truth? Oh. Well. The Corporation isn’t quite ready for that as yet. The Gestalt Theory and everything. The Chemical Analogue Theory of the Body Politic. It’s a very volatile situation politically. The Academy has disowned Angeluce of course—I saw to that. Even so, they were behind Angeluce all along. At least, they supplied his huge financial backing. They were determined to destroy Crossbow and all his evidence once and for all. But if the Reverid government embraced Crossbow’s anti-Determinist theories, there would still be trouble. Reverie is just one planet after all, and the Academy is a very large enemy.”
“That didn’t stop Rominuald Tanglin,” Anne said.
“Yes, and you see where it got him, begging your pardon, Arti.”
“Well, privately then,” I insisted. “Let’s hear the real story, Manies. The truth.”
“Well. Yes. The truth. Well, that’s a bit of a ticklish situation, isn’t it? A question of definition. Of perception. Of subjective interpretation.” There was a double pinging from the bracelets on the wrists of the Moneys Manies. They looked up in some relief. “Ah, I see it’s a topic that will have to wait till breakfast. Here come our guests.”
Manies’ wife appeared at the doorway and glided up silently to her husbands. She was wearing a remarkable dress of linked beads, but it was the wreath of fresh ivy in her black hair that caught my attention. A chair rolled up to her and she took it. It bore her to the table, between the two Manies.
Ruffian Jack came in, patently drunk. Spinney was behind him, carrying his mantis on his shoulder with a thin wire leash. Jack rumbled a greeting as they took their seats. They were both wearing wreaths in their hair.
Then Chill Factor and Ice Lady came in, smiling broadly, dressed very prosperously, almost to the point of bad taste. Chill had taken off his skin-tight, ice-blue mask, because there was a long, hastily stitched slash in his forehead. I saw that they both had new sets of cameras, big ones, almost small drones.
“Arti, our little angel, our star pupil, our salvation!” crowed Chill. “Let these arms embrace you, let this heart almost reach its melting point with gratified pride and joy!”
He embraced me cautiously, careful not to freeze my unprotected skin. Parts of the bodytight I had borrowed from Ruffian Jack stuck to his icy forearms.
“Anne, darling,” said Ice Lady, swaying up to Anne and laying her whip gently and caressingly aginst Anne’s cheek, “we’ve never met, but I’d like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking care of our little Arti, who’s more than a son to us but our beautiful vicious brute and one freezing hell of a fine actor. You’re welcome in our gang, anytime.”
It was the highest compliment she could offer. Anne seemed to sense this. “Thank you, Ice Lady,” she said.
“We’ve taken good care of your Quade,” Ice Lady told me. “It was the least we could do for you, Kid. She’s just fine, and dying to meet you. We’ve told her all about you. Is it true you’ve changed your name?”
“Yes, it’s true,” I said.
“Everything seems to be changing,” sighed Chill Factor. “The Zone’s rubble now. We meet on the beaches to fight, when we can. Mostly, we’ve got our hands full with the Civic Detail. Look at this rip in my forehead. Who would have thought a noncombatant could do that, eh? I tell you, the Revolution has got these people’s
blood up.” He shook his head sadly. “The Instant Death’s disbanded, too. Our best enemies.”
Then Cewaynie Wetlock came in. She walked tentatively, with the hesitant, stiff-legged stride of an orbiter newly come to gravity. She was wearing a floater’s blue overalls. She was painfully young, pale, and slender, with light blonde hair swept back from her forehead and caught in a beaded barette. Like everyone else, she was wearing an ivy wreath.
“You’re the Kid,” she said worshipfully, walking carefully up and seizing my arm for balance, with both hands. “I’m Cewaynie Wetlock. Gosh, can you ever forgive me for taking your cameras? I did it sort of on impulse—I was afraid Angeluce would find out I was exploring the Mass, and I was afraid I’d lose the chance. My telephoto picked you up almost at once. If only my drone had had a voder unit! But I hadn’t expected to find anyone in the Mass. Least of all you, Kid.”
“Tanglin,” Anne said.
The Alien came in, carrying a heavy tray with a hinged metal lid. Steam curled up around its edges. “Let’s eat!” said the Alien from behind its filmy white veil.
The moving chairs predetermined our seating arrangement. Annabella Manies had her slim back to the tape screen. To her left sat the elder Manies, then Cewaynie Wetlock, Ruffian Jack, Alruddin Spinney, Crossbow’s empty chair, the Alien, Ice Lady, Chill Factor, Anne, myself, and, finally, the younger Manies on Annabella’s right.
Quizein, on his own two good legs this time, came in and deftly distributed plates, chopsticks, knives, and forks to all the humans present. To the Alien, he gave a round dish with steeply sloping edges and two pincerlike utensils that the Alien gripped with double-jointed fingers. The Alien had the covered dish to itself. Ignoring etiquette, it eagerly lifted the hinged cover a bit, snaked in a pincer, and nipped out a fatty-looking gobbet of some unidentifiable food. Heavy mandibular crunching came from behind its veil.
“This informal meeting of the New Cabal will come to order!” said the elder Manies with a smile, rapping the wooden table with the back of his fork. “Quizein, serve the first course, if you please.”
The Artificial Kid Page 26
