'What's your interest in this sales stuff anyway? I thought you were just a customer here… Or correct me if I'm wrong…'
'Oh, stop playacting, Mr Tenting. We know how much you know. We listened, remember? You don't really believe I have no interest in the… well, let's just call them the anomalies you found. We're talking about something in which I have the most intense interest, Mr Tenting. And you damn well know it.'
'And should we know who this "we" is that you keep referring to?' asked Madeleine. 'Or is that the royal "we" - on account of your king-size proportions?'
'Very amusing, Miss Maiden. In fact, so amusing, I'm almost tempted to tell you. It really is such a super little wheeze. But I think we'll proceed on a "need to know" basis. And, Miss Maiden, I can assure you, you don't need to know.'
'Not even for my curiosity?'
'No, Miss Maiden, not even for that. As charming and deserving as I'm sure it is.
'What I will do though - for this curiosity of yours - is I'll remove it.' And with this announcement came a truly obscene smirk followed immediately by a dreadful demonstration of the impossible number of teeth in Lysaars' mouth.
'But you knew that as well, didn't you? Both of you.'
Renton's mind was now working at a pace quite unusual for this hour of the morning, but it was working well. It had pieced together the promised short holiday, the threat to “undo a few things”, and now this final remark on the removal of Madeleine's curiosity. So he thought he already knew the answer to his next line of questioning - but he had to be sure….
'Lysaars, you can't just spirit us away,' he said. 'People know we are here. Everybody knows we are here. We'll be missed! How…'
'You let us worry about that, eh. I'm sure we can cope with it if we try. And anyway, you won't be away long. In fact you'll be back before you know it…'
'Back from where?'
'Where doesn't matter, Mr Tenting. It's what you come back with, and what you don't come back with, that's important. As you already know.'
Renton did already know and his stomach tightened at the thought. 'Lysaars, what do you…'
'Oh, Mr Tenting. Unremembering. That's what we're talking about. Unremembering! You two ruffians will simply disappear for a little while. Then, when you reappear, it'll be minus a little bit of your own memory but plus a little extra we've added… And, hey presto! Life is rejoined. You're happy. We're happy. And everybody can go about their business. And you, Mr Tenting, can carry on being as rude and as impudent as you like. And you can even go off and interfere somewhere else if you want to. But we will be rid of you.'
Renton swallowed. Just in case anything was planning to come up the other way. And there was a very good chance that something would come up the other way. After all, the emetic effect of terrifying news, even if you were expecting it, was not unheard of in the Tenting life history.
And on this occasion, the news could hardly be more terrifying. Because it was the news that someone had it in mind to give you a dose of unremembering. And even if you had someone along to share the experience, this was still just about the scariest news imaginable.
Renton knew all about unremembering - and largely through a series of ghoulish news stories over the years. He knew what it involved. And how dangerous it was.
The theory was simple: memory pattern replacement in the brain. It could be done and it did work - sometimes. Sometimes, on the other hand, it worked a little too well. In fact, more often than not, it worked a little too well. The subjects unremembered more than was planned. Like they'd unremember how to walk. And unremembering wasn't like forgetting, where it was possible to be reminded of something or to be taught how to learn what had gone. No, unremembering was for good. This was especially bad news if the process caused you to unremember something like breathing - or how to keep your heart beating throughout the day…
Unremembering was universally outlawed. But, like most forbidden fruit in the universe, it was available if you knew the wrong people. Renton was quite sure that Lysaars knew the wrong people.
'You're mad,' shouted Madeleine. 'You'll get life confinement if you try to pull a stunt like that. And incidentally, I'm a police officer, and… '
'I'm getting bored, Miss Maiden. And I get irritable when I'm bored. Doggerbat, the pipil.'
Lysaars slumped back onto the couch and retrieved his flat silver box. He extracted an irregular disc of greenish shell snaffled from some far away nest and placed it in his mouth. Then he scrunched.
Meanwhile Doggerbat, the slightly smaller version of Lysaars, had moved a couple of paces forward and was now in the process of activating his pipil.
This was a small rod-like device. And up to this point in his life, Renton had never seen one, nor indeed had he even heard of one. But now he knew not just its name but also what it did. For what it did, and was doing now, was to take charge of people's bodies. Which is why both he and Madeleine were now walking towards one of Spazum's vast subterranean warehouses, accompanied by the pipil-wielding Doggerbat, completely unable to change their course, offer any resistance, or even cry out in alarm. Their minds were well and truly trapped inside their bodies, and their bodies were well and truly beyond their control.
In fact it was a bit like being caught by one of those celebrity game-shows, where you just can't bring yourself to turn the damn thing off - however much you might want to…
But anyway, that was it. They were stuck. And Renton was beginning to accept that they were starting their little holiday whether they liked it or not.
16.
Stringi Fin and his crew were three hundred light years from Corcul when their red and silver juggernaut suffered its fourth shivering fit. This was the biggest so far and it refused to be ignored.
'Get Rono up here!' shouted Stringi.
He was standing in the ship's bridgeroom, scanning a bank of displays and fiddling with an empty lager capsule. Tisu and Nigel were both in attendance, but it was Nigel who took the command. He immediately hurried off in search of the required engineering officer. Tisu remained. He was preoccupied in preparing an empty lager capsule of his own - his thirteenth of the day.
After their experiences in Ranamavana, Stringi had hoped for an entirely uneventful trip. But he had been denied this. Early into their journey there had been another brief episode of communal silliness involving the ship's fondue set and four wet towels. A little later an improvised long jump challenge had left Tisu with a sprained ankle and Nigel with a gashed wrist. And now this! Stringi's mood was not one of calm. He continued to scan the displays.
'Tisu, what are these gauges for here, the ones to the right of the nebuscope monitor?'
Whilst all on board were trained space crew, supposedly proficient in all their duties, they were also trained space crew who were aware of the power of computers - and how their spacecraft's computers would iron out any little wrinkles in the performance of their duties. They played out their rôles as professional space crew, but the invisible insurance of infallible technology was always there. And this did little to encourage what might be called due diligence in every aspect of their work, or even a detailed acquaintance with every one of those dials and gauges… Stringi certainly couldn't bring to mind the purpose of those pinkish gauges to the right of the nebuscope monitor. And neither, as would become apparent, could Tisu. But unlike Stringi, Tisu always relished the prospect of a bit of inspired guessing, and he was always prepared to have a go…
He approached Stringi's side. 'Erhh, don't they show the balance of the entropy phial system? Erhh, or is it the transfixer loadings, you know, the axial transfixer loadings?'
Stringi's eyes rolled. 'More likely it's your brain cell death rate! This ship hasn't got any axial transfixers. And the entropy phial system is sealed logic, you dolt! Jesu! I hope you've worked out where to piss on this ship.'
Stringi shook his head and turned his gaze to the displays to the left of the neboscope monitor. Forget the pinkish gauges. Better t
o find something he understood, something where he would be able to spot an abnormal reading, something that would tell him why his spacecraft was having the shakes…
But no luck.
'Where's Rono?' he roared.
'I'm here,' replied Stringi's flight engineer, who was now standing just two feet behind him.
'About time too. What the hell have you been up to?'
'I've been having a chilli sausage sandwich,' replied Rono indignantly, offering the remaining one third of his snack for the inspection of his captain.
'Jesu, Rono. This ship's shaking itself to bits and you're eating chilli sausage sandwiches. Don't you think you might apply yourself a little more directly to maybe solving this friggin' problem?'
'It's happened before. You didn't say anything about it then. Nobody did. What's the difference now? It doesn't seem to be doing any harm, does it?'
Stringi took a deep breath. 'Rono, my faithful flight engineer, I concede that we all chose to ignore an obvious technical malfunction of this craft. I imagine all for our own reasons. This was wrong. I admit I was at fault. And much more than you were - or Tisu or Nigel. Because I am the captain of this craft. That, however, is all in the past.
'This particular malfunction is now manifesting itself at shorter intervals. At least, I think it is. And it's certainly doing it in a much more vigorous manner. And I'm absolutely bloody sure of that. That last shudder was more than just a knee-trembler; it was more like a bleeding earthquake!
'So you see, Rono, if this technical malfunction continues to develop along its already established course, I think there's a very good chance that this ship will shake so bloody hard, we may have to continue this conversation by radio link - we'll be that far apart. Because this ship, Rono, will have shaken itself to bits!'
Nigel, having retrieved Rono, had by this time, joined Tisu in some lager-liberating, but his real attention was clearly on the one-sided conversation between his captain and the flight engineer. His open mouth began to move. 'You think it's dangerous, chief?'
Stringi smiled a charming smile. 'No, Nigel, nothing too serious. We'll pull into the next layby and check out the boot. It's probably just some of Tisu's underwear that's got a bit lively back there. No real problem.'
Nigel swallowed.
'Nigel, use your brain. What I've just described is quite clearly dangerous. Even more dangerous than your cooking. Probably by a factor of about ten to one! Now just shut up and let's hear what Rono's going to do.'
Nigel reddened slightly. Rono looked both surprised and puzzled.
'What do you mean?' he said. 'What I'm going to do? I don't know what's wrong.'
'Rono, you're the flight engineer. It's your job to know. And if you don't know, it's your job to find out. Jesu, there must be some sort of diagnostic you can run.'
Rono's expression failed to inspire confidence in his colleagues. His response was equally un-reassuring. 'I think I want to lie down.'
'Lie down? Lie down? The only way you'll lie down is if I knock you down. And I will if you don't do something. Now! Quickly!'
'I'm sorry, Stringi, but I haven't a clue. You know what I do. Something goes wrong, SID lets me know, SID tells me what to do - and I go and do it. I go and replace something. But SID hasn't said anything about this shivering stuff.'
Indeed SID (the “Spacecraft Inflight Defects” system) had not made the slightest mention of the wobbles problem. It simply didn't recognise that there was a problem - because spacecraft didn't suffer from such a problem.
'So SID'll tell us there's a problem when we start breaking up, I suppose. Jesu, give me strength.'
'Sorry Stringi, but that's how it is. Anyway it might not be that bad. We might not even have another shake.'
The word “shake” was just out of Rono's mouth when the next shiver started. Or rather when a shiver started that very quickly built up to an extremely violent vibration. Rono dropped his chilli sausage sandwich. Tisu emptied the remains of his lager capsule down his trousers, and Nigel fell backwards through the door of the bridgeroom, opening up the cut on his wrist as he crashed to the floor. Stringi closed his eyes and waited for the sounds of tearing metal. None came. The vibration gradually lost its intensity and drifted into a mild tremble, which eventually faded into stillness.
'Holy shit!' exclaimed Tisu. 'SID must have spotted that.'
Stringi's complexion had become distinctly pale, but his fright spurred him into action. 'Tisu, go and do a damage tour. Nigel, get up and put out a beacon call and try and raise the nearest PANIC station. Tell them we want a rescue ballistic. Now! Rono, bring up SID on the Q-monitor. I've got an idea.'
The crew snapped into action in a way that they'd not done for years. It was like a drill from their novice days - before zeal and enthusiasm had been overtaken by indolence and sloppiness…
'Well, what's SID saying, Rono?'
'Plenty. Look at this list. I've got two days' work to put this lot right.'
On SID's screen was a list of defects, ship's ailments of every sort. And more and more were still scrolling past:
…ringpath conduits inoperative
tychoplinth inoperative
Heizenberg features uncertain
Bromorpholine residue leaking
shaver-socket room C/7 inoperative…
The list seemed endless, but the damage to the ship's systems was obviously extensive. Many of the displays on the bridgeroom consoles were showing unusual activity, and there were one or two peculiar odours, which suggested scorched plastic and hot oil.
'Right, and no mention of what caused it all. Switch it to fault-find.'
'What?' said Rono. 'Don't you want to know what the problems are?'
'They're obvious. What I want to know is what's caused them. The shivering. And it's occurred to me that SID's got a fault-find function, hasn't it. Why didn't I think of it before? In fact, why didn't you think of it before?'
Stringi certainly couldn't think why he hadn't remembered the fault-find. But, of course, it was obvious! You fed in whatever malfunction symptom you wanted and SID would diagnose the cause of the malfunction and then offer a cure. Easy then. Switch it to fault-find and tap in “ship shivers”.
Rono did this at Stringi's command and SID responded instantaneously with 'Error, re-enter'.
'Try "ship shudders",' snapped Stringi.
'Error, re-enter,' came the response.
'"Ship shakes", try "ship shakes".'
'Error, re-enter.'
'Stringi,' shouted Nigel, 'the communications are all as dead as a democrat. And I can't get a beacon up. I can't raise a soul.'
'Shit. Try and fix it, Nigel. As quick as you can.'
Stringi's pulse rate rose a little higher as his mind took on board this further complication, but he pressed on with his task.
'What about "ship trembling"?'
'Error, re-enter,' came the answer
'"Ship vibrating", try "ship vibrating".'
The screen flashed up the message: 'See inflight personal entertainment equipment (-female) and state malfunction'.
'Oh God!' shrilled Rono. 'We're all going to die and SID's going to tell us about defective dildos. Jumping asteroids!'
At that moment Tisu arrived back in the bridgeroom and a moment later there was the faintest hint of another shiver. Tisu's attention was obviously washed away from the task of walking by this new sensation, and simple though this task was, the diversion was enough to cause him to trip over his own feet. He fell forward towards Nigel who was still busying himself with trying to resuscitate the ship's communications system.
Nigel was destined not to succeed, just as Tisu was destined never to meet the floor of the bridgeroom. Within a split second the slight shiver had screeched up into something which caused both Tisu and the floor to disappear along with Nigel, Rono and Stringi and the rest of the spacecraft. Where the vehicle had been that split second before there was now only a vast expanding pulse of energy studded with micros
copic particles of the ship and its cargo and crew.
Rono had been exactly right in his prediction of their death just seconds before the event. Stringi had been wrong as to its manner. The spacecraft had not shaken itself to bits. It had vapourised into nothingness. Within only a few hours, news editors around the universe would be compiling another lead story on another disappeared spacecraft. Again they would have to try to do this without the benefit of any gory pictures of the aftermath or any morbid eyewitness accounts.
As with all those that had disappeared before, absolutely nothing remained and the cause of the disappearance would be yet another complete and utter mystery.
17.
Doggerbat liked using his pipil.
In fact, he'd become something of a pipil expert, a real dab-hand in the art of restraining and controlling his victims with the pipil's magic power.
But he hadn't achieved this level of expertise through what might be called normal business use. He hadn't honed his pipil skills by using the machine for purposes which were “wholly and exclusively” connected with Lysaars' affairs. Far from it. His practised ways were more to do with the pursuit of pleasure than of business, and the pleasure generally involved attractive young ladies and it was generally conducted in very private situations.
Pipil power had changed his life. Not only had it cured him of his celibacy, but it now also provided him with a very welcome diversion to what was otherwise a rather violent but often very boring life. He was always waiting for something: for Lysaars to emerge from some secret meeting, for some special delivery to arrive, for some victim of a beating to regain consciousness. But pipil control was entirely different.
He set the timetable. He chose what to do and where to do it. And far from having to wait for something, he actually had to get on with whatever he had in mind as promptly as he could. The one significant drawback to pipil technology was that its power to control worked for only a very short time. It just wasn't able to overcome the normal desire of the subject's brain to resist what the pipil was forcing it to do. The result was that after something like fifteen minutes the tensions between the opposing commands in the mind of a subject would build up to the point where physical rupturing of the brain tissue was almost inevitable.
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