DeVille's Contract

by Scott Zarcinas

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Tiffany making sure that Santosa’s oxygen mask was correctly sited over his face. “Marketing, as I have already said, is about mind control, and the mind is controlled easier and longer when a scalpel is used instead of a sledge hammer. Maintaining the LIE, ladies and gentlemen, is the removal of free will in such a way that nobody knows that it’s gone.”

  He had already reached the other side of the podium. The auditorium was so quiet he could hear someone sniffing in the back row.

  “How then, do we fool our employees into believing they still have free will when in fact we have already taken it away from them?” He was almost finished now, building up to his climax. He spun, head down, returning to the center of the podium, then faced the audience and said, “We make the employees believe they still have the power of choice. But here’s the clincher. We provide them with choices from our own range of lifestyle products. Freedom of choice therefore becomes an illusion, because we control the very menu from which they make that choice. They don’t know it, but everything they choose is to LeMont’s benefit. The system always wins. LeMont will continue to profit fore eternity. The LIE has been maintained for ever and ever. Amen.”

  The ovation was spontaneous and thunderous. Shareholders in every row stood and cheered and called out his name. Some punched the air, whooping and hollering. Even the whole of row A was standing and applauding. Louis bowed in appreciation, taking it all in.

  “You’re the weasel!” he heard someone yell.

  A loud cheer went up. A section of the crowd in the back row started stamping their feet. “LOUIS! LOUIS! LOUIS!”

  Louis straightened, glancing along the aisle to row B. The Grand Pooh-Bah was applauding in his wheelchair, his oxygen mask dangling beneath his chin; but the cheering crowd, to Louis’ dismay, had swamped Santosa’s little helper in a sea of ecstasy. It was useless to even try to keep looking for her.

  He put the microphone back on its stand and waved to the crowd. The foot stamping spread down the rows to row D, causing the podium to tremble like the quake that had passed through earlier. It’s a goddamn stampede, he mused.

  “LOUIS! LOUIS! LOUIS!”

  The stamping got louder and louder, quicker and quicker. Whooping and hollering. Yelling and screaming. He couldn’t hear himself think. All he needed were the red, white and blue streamers, the confetti, the balloons, and he could run for the goddamn presidency.

  “LOUIS! LOUIS! LOUIS!”

  The podium was now trembling so much it was difficult to keep his balance, like standing on a trampoline with fifteen goddamn kids bouncing all around. He made a grab for the teetering microphone, but it fell over just before he wrapped his claws around it. Dust dislodged from the ceiling and floated down on all the shareholders, coating his jacket. There’s your confetti, Louis.

  “LOUIS! LOUIS! LOUIS!”

  He still couldn’t see Tiffany, and it was starting to concern him. He had done what had been asked of him and now he didn’t know where to take it next. Goddamn it, he needed her. He needed direction.

  Then at that moment, something large fell from the ceiling. It smashed into the middle of the auditorium with such a force he was thrown off his feet, hurling him backward. The banner was dislodged from the wall, crumpling to the podium like a mainsail that had been ripped loose by a sudden gust of wind. The stamping and chanting fell into silence. One second they had been screaming his name, the next as if The Master had Zipped them out of existence.

  Louis propped himself up, wondering what the hell had just happened, then dragged himself to his feet. Had the stomping and chanting loosened a chandelier from its bolts? Is that what had fallen? He dismissed the idea immediately. He had only seen chandeliers in the lobby. Besides, this thing was massive, at least half the size of the goddamn room. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It was difficult to see even to row A. Dust was everywhere. He could hear a few splutters and coughs coming from somewhere behind the swirling cloud. Someone else had started to moan, a confused sound, like someone knew they were hurt but didn’t know how the hell it had happened.

  He staggered to the edge of the podium and cleared his throat. “Is everyone all right?”

  Nobody answered. Just a few more spluttering coughs and moans.

  He repeated himself, and again he wasn’t answered. “Tiffany! Santosa! Can you hear me?”

  When neither answered, a surge of dread swelled up inside and began to overwhelm him. He looked up to see where the thing had come from, and for a brief second was struck with confusion. Then he understood the cause. He was no longer looking at the ceiling. He was looking at the goddamn sky-vault. “What the hell?” he said.

  Almost the entire ceiling had vanished, like he was now standing in the middle of an open-air amphitheater. From the dust cloud more shareholders began to moan and splutter and cough. What was he supposed to do now? This wasn’t in The Master’s plan. He figured the first thing he had to do was leave the building. It wasn’t safe to hang around. Got to look after Number One, Louis. You know the drill.

  He cautiously made his way off the podium to the aisle, feeling his way along the seats of row A, wondering where the hell the shareholders had gone. There should have been bodies at least. At row B, Santosa’s wheelchair was also missing, so too his little helper. He didn’t even get to row C. A massive crater had swallowed half the goddamn auditorium, and the only thing that had prevented him from stepping over the edge and plummeting to its depths was the twisted frame of the aisle seat. To his despair, the crater was between him and the only way out. He took a step back, trying to peer into it, but the dust made visibility almost impossible. “You have to test its depth,” he said to himself. “You have to find a way through it.”

  Summoning his courage, he shuffled forward, careful not to slip over the jagged rim. He still couldn’t see, so he crouched on his knees. “Hello! Anyone down there?” he called. Strangely, his voice seemed to echo, but nobody replied, only the moans and coughing from the auditorium. Looking around for something to drop, he found only the twisted wreckage of the aisle seat. It’ll have to do, he thought, and pushed it over the precipice, listening to it fall.

  It didn’t drop very far, less than two seconds for it to thud into the bottom. He shuffled on his knees to the edge as far as he dared to go. At that moment, a draft of warm air blew away the swirling dust inside the crater. Then the air fell still and the dust began to close in again, but it was more than sufficient to give Louis a sight of what had fallen through the ceiling. He froze, locked in a mind-hold.

  The alpha-omega logo was staring straight back up at him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  He Will Come

  THOUGH he knew the logo had no power other than what he gave it, Louis still couldn’t find a release from the mind-hold. It was as if some lingering fear was still exerting itself over him, a ghost of the past he couldn’t exorcize, telling him that he had no choice than to give in to it. There is no escape. There is no escape. There is no escape.

  Something then moved at the bottom of the crater between him and the logo, breaking the mind-hold. The dust was still settling and he couldn’t quite see through the goddamn stuff. Nevertheless he got off his knees, not quite believing it could happen for a second time, hoping all the same that it had. “Who’s down there?” he asked. “Show yourself. I’ve had enough of your games.”

  Nobody answered, though several seconds later, at a rare silence between the moans and coughing, he heard the sound of rubble dislodging inside the crater. Then he saw a flash of movement through the dust, something that looked like a long tail. He had been right. Someone was definitely down there.

  Behind him, several shareholders started moaning again. He tried to ignore them, focusing on what was happening in the dark hole in front of him. He heard a scrape, and then more rubble dislodging to the bottom. His eyes blinked open with alarm. Something was climbing the walls of the crater. Maybe it wasn’t the
White Rabbit. Maybe it was the goddamn peelers. But what did they want? Surely they weren’t still after him. Not after that speech. He deserved a goddamn promotion, not an interrogation. “Who… who’s there?” he said.

  Out of the settling dust a face appeared. Louis took a step back. “Louis? I don’t believe it. Is that you? To be sure, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  Louis stared at the guinea pig peering up out of the crater. “Frank O’Lynn? What the hell are you doing down there? Are you hurt?”

  “To be sure, I’ll live,” Frank O’Lynn said, but it was a joke Louis didn’t find amusing. Scratching a fleabite on his cheek, Frank O’Lynn glanced around at the auditorium, then up at the gaping wound that used to be the roof. His eyes were big and round and Louis could see in them a flood of incomprehensibility, a sudden realization that he had been an integral part of the cause of this destruction. All around, the moaning and coughing was swelling by the second. Visibly graying at what he was hearing, Frank O’Lynn found his voice. “We must leave, Louis. To be sure…” He cleared his throat, though it didn’t seem to do much good. It sounded like an old LP record found in his grandfather’s attic, scratchy and covered in dust. “To be sure, it’s not safe.”

  Louis reached across to help him out of the crater.

  “No. This way.” Frank O’Lynn kept scratching his cheek as he had, then disappeared beneath the rim. Louis looked over as another warm draft cleared the dust inside the crater. Frank O’Lynn was already standing on top of the alpha-omega logo, but there was absolutely no way in hell he was going down there. The guinea pig then pointed somewhere to the side that Louis couldn’t quite see. “There’s a tunnel. To be sure, it’s the only way.”

  Louis glanced over his tail. It was still difficult to make out anything inside the auditorium through the dust. “What about The Master? She’s gone. I can’t find her or Santosa. They might be hurt.”

  “She’s probably Zipped somewhere before The Tower collapsed. To be sure, she’ll be all right.” He was now scratching his other cheek. “Come on! Hurry! The peelers will be here any minute.”

  Another moan nearby made Louis jump, jolting a memory: When The Tower does fall, He will come. “Shouldn’t I stay and help? Isn’t this the prophecy?”

  “Forget the prophecy,” Frank O’Lynn said, clambering off the logo onto surrounding rubble. To Louis’ surprise, a Snipe was stuck to his back, one he couldn’t yet read. “To be sure, the whole thing’s a massive failure. Why do you think The Master didn’t hang around?” He now pointed to the open roof. “The sky-vault is still there. Can’t you see? The plan didn’t work. If you don’t come with me now, I’m leaving you. Give my regards to the peelers.”

  Louis peered further over the rim. He could see the cone of rubble Frank O’Lynn had used to clamber up to the top of the crater and then down again, figuring he didn’t have much choice. Here we go, Louis, he chuckled to himself. When The Tower does fall, He will run away. He slid his bottom half over the edge, feeling for purchase with his feet. His first foothold dislodged a small rock, which bounced to the bottom and cracked in half. His next was okay, firmer and more stable, and within less than a minute found himself standing on top of the alpha-omega logo. “This way,” Frank O’Lynn said from the tunnel.

  Louis’ eyes took a second to adjust. The problem wasn’t so much the lack of light, but the dust. From what he could gather, the logo had crashed through the roof of the auditorium and then through the floor weakened by the underground tunnel. “I presume this is the tunnel the Freedom Fighters used to undermine The Tower,” he said.

  “One of them.” Now scratching a fleabite on his snout, Frank O’Lynn headed further into the tunnel. At his feet, the head of a pick lay next to its broken shaft. “There’s one beneath every boulevard.”

  Louis headed off after him, almost at a trot. He was now close enough to read the Snipe: I BELIEVE IN MIRACLES. As they followed the tunnel away from the piazza, the moans from the auditorium grew fainter and the dust less irritating. He saw more evidence of the Freedom Fighter’s tunneling scattered here and there – picks and shovels, the occasional wheelbarrow tipped on its side, even crude benches hacked at regular intervals out of the wall. The tunnel could easily accommodate three jackals side-by-side, with plenty of room above, and seemed to head in a perfectly straight line, like the boulevard above it. He was not surprised to see the walls radiating that same shadow-less, Glow-In-The-Dark grayness he remembered from his original holding cell.

  “Are you sure this is the best way? What if the peelers find it?” he said. “We’ll be trapped. We can’t Pop yet; the ether-channel is still open. And none of us knows how to Zip.”

  Frank O’Lynn didn’t break stride. If anything, he went faster. “What do you suggest? It’s madness outside. The streets are crammed. You can’t move. Anyway, that’s the first place the peelers will be looking for us.” He shook his head, now scratching his flea-bitten ear. “To be sure, it’s better this way. By the time the peelers discover the tunnel, we’ll be long gone.”

  Louis hurried behind, finding it difficult to keep up and hoping to hell The Partridge was right. They continued at a frantic pace for hours. The tunnel didn’t deviate from its line. There were no tributary tunnels branching to either side, no air vents to the surface, just an interminably long pipeline that Louis figured must have taken thousands and thousands of years to chisel out with pick and shovel. And for what? The whole affair is a goddamn mess. “Where are we going anyway?” he asked.

  “Plan B. We have to regroup and go into hiding. Bide our time. Wait until the heat is off. It could be thousands of years.” Louis didn’t like the graveness of his expression, and with every step he liked it less and less. Although they could use eternity to wait it out, time was not on their side. It was like having a million dollars in the bank but not being able to use it. Rich but poor. The Partridge suddenly halted in his tracks and peered over his tail, his ears pricked. “Did you hear something?”

  Louis faced down the tunnel. A warm draft breezed past, bringing with it an unbearable stench of horseshit. I’m in a goddamn sewer, he thought, almost gagging.

  “To be sure, it’s probably nothing,” Frank O’Lynn said, and hurried off. An hour or so later, he stopped again and pricked his ears. This time, Louis could have sworn he had heard something too. A voice, or voices, echoing down the tunnel. “To be sure, they’ve found it quicker than I thought.” Frank O’Lynn was now whispering. “Come. They’re still a way behind. We can still make it before they catch up.”

  Louis goddamn hoped so, but after three more hours of hurried trotting the voices got noticeably louder. No more than harsh whispers, but Louis didn’t need to be an Olympic sprinter to know they were losing ground. Frank O’Lynn was getting increasingly nervous and the end was nowhere in sight. “How much further?” Louis asked.

  “Not far. Trust me.” He was now running.

  Four hours later, however, they were still fleeing down the goddamn sewer. Louis could now distinguish at least half a dozen voices behind, although they hadn’t gained as much as he had initially feared. The echo was distorting his judgment, making them sound closer than they actually were. At that moment, before he could ask how much further, they stopped at a sheer wall. Footholds had been gouged into it, cupped with the wear and tear of thousands of years of use. He followed them up to the tiny mouth, three-quarters or so of a mile above.

  “What’s wrong?” Frank O’Lynn asked, one foot already purchased in a foothold.

  “I don’t think I can make it. I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve done back to back marathons.”

  “To be sure, you probably have. We’re now beneath Conduit Number 1.”

  Louis kept staring upward at the tiny mouth. “But… but that’s impossible.”

  Frank O’Lynn was already several yards up the wall and looking down on him. “This is the After Life. Nothing’s impossible. To be sure, you’re only limited by your attachments to your past existen
ce.”

  Louis sighed and took a deep breath. Just one last effort, Louis my boy. You can do it.

  He slid his claw into a foothold above his head and somehow found the energy to pull himself up. Then another. Then another. They were smooth but not overtly slippery, enough to get a good grip and allay his fears of falling. He didn’t look down, too afraid he might see a gang of peelers grinning back up at him, and he didn’t look up. Instead, he kept focus on one foothold at a time, and he was soon climbing the wall as easily as he would a rope ladder.

  At the top, Frank O’Lynn helped him out. They were now inside a large cavern, Louis discovered, an abandoned Chamber of the Senses the Freedom Fighters had requisitioned in the guise of LeMont Tunnels and Bridges. “It’s amazing what you can hide from the authorities behind the mask of a fake company,” Frank O’Lynn said. “It’s even listed on the LeMont Stock Exchange. And guess who’s the majority shareholder?” He then trotted to the steps protruding from the sidewall. “Not far now. To be sure, we’re almost done.”

  They ascended the steps to the viewing ledge and out into domed expanse of Conduit Number 1. It was eerily quiet. Louis had expected it to be mayhem, suit and ties running everywhere like headless chickens, but there was not a soul to be seen. Frank O’Lynn closed the door to the abandoned chamber and told Louis to follow. Suddenly, from the chamber directly opposite, a dozen rats burst into the tunnel, yelling and pointing. “There they are!” one of them yelled, the first one out of the door and leading the charge.