For Joseph Kapinski, there was always a tomorrow.
It was morning. The beginning of a brand new day.
It had been a long night. First, they had killed the man called Jimmy Nayles. Then, there had been all the hurry and bustle at the warehouse as the news spread that Jimmy Nayles was dead. In the space of barely an hour everything inside the warehouse had been packed up and put into vans to be taken away. Now, Leonard and Daniel sat in the back of a hover van with the other mutant workers as Freddie Binns drove them down towards City Bottom. But though Leonard was tired, and looked forward to sleep, Daniel did not seem ready yet to let go of his vengeance.
Remember your promise, Daniel said as they sat in the back of the hover van. You said you'd help me with the bad men. We should punish another one today, before you go to sleep. I don't want to have to wait until tonight.
The next one doesn't live far away, Daniel said, after another moment, continuing the theme. We could go there and be back within the hour. We should go there now. I shouldn't have to wait until tonight.
The windows in the back of the van were tinted so people outside couldn't see inside them, but one glance at the lightening sky in the distance told Leonard that daylight was fast approaching.
"But it's nearly dawn," he said to Daniel. "And I'm really tired."
He felt a vague current of unease pass through the van. Looking about him, Leonard saw the other mutants shift in their seats as they tried to pull further away from him without his noticing. Abruptly, he realised his mistake. He had spoken to Daniel out loud. To the other mutants, unaware of the boy's invisible presence, it no doubt seemed he was talking to himself. They probably thought he was crazy.
It's going to be daylight soon, he told Daniel, careful this time to think the words in his head the way the little boy had taught him, instead of saying them aloud. A guard sat in the front of the van next to Freddie, and as Leonard continued his conversation with Daniel he saw the man gaze at him in suspicion. In response, Leonard tried to keep his face emotionless, concentrating on stopping his lips from moving as he spoke to Daniel. You know I shouldn't go about in daylight. People might see me.
But we can go through the sewers, Daniel said. The boy's voice was insistent. It'll be just like last time. Nobody will see you, Leonard. And it will only take an hour. Remember what you promised me.
As he spoke, Daniel's face was set in an uncompromising line. It was an expression Leonard had seen often enough in the past to know there would be no use in arguing. Once Daniel had an idea in his head, he refused to give it up. He would go on and on about it, until Leonard finally gave in.
All right, Leonard said at last. The hover van had left the streets and megways of the Big Meg behind and was descending towards City Bottom. Once Freddie drops us at the hostel, we'll go find one of the bad men. He sighed, as much in weariness as in sadness. We'll find one and then we'll kill him.
Satisfied by his answer, Daniel turned to look out the window and watch the world go by as the van slowly dropped down to City Bottom. Meanwhile, sitting beside him, Leonard thought of what lay ahead of them and felt sorry for the next man they would kill - whoever it might be.
He only hoped, this time, Daniel did not want him to cut any more messages into the body.
"All right, everybody out," Freddie said as the van pulled up outside the hostel. He pressed a button on his steering column and the side door of the van slid open. "I'll pick you all up tonight, at the usual place. 'Til then, get some sleep. There's going to be a lot of work tonight, getting the coffee lab back on track at a new location. Who knows, if we get things up and working fast, maybe the bosses might even pay everybody a ten-cred bonus." He turned in his seat and smiled at the mutants as they exited the van. "An extra ten credits each, boys. Think of that. I told you I'd help you all make money. Stick with me, friends. Freddie Binns will see you all right."
With that, Freddie closed the door and drove off, the hover van kicking up a choking flurry of dust as it rose clear of the darkness of City Bottom and made for the more lighted climes of the criss-crossing streets of the mega-city high above their heads. Yawning and muttering amongst themselves, the mutants turned to trudge wearily towards the hostel. Listening to them as they walked away, Leonard heard a familiar litany of complaints.
The majority opinion among the mutant labourers who worked in the coffee lab seemed to be that Freddie Binns was cheating them somehow. They complained about the quality of the clothing and food he brought for them. They complained about the place he had found for them to live; about the lack of amenities, and about how the nearest source of running water was a broken leaking pipe half a kilometre away. Most of all they complained about the prices Freddie charged for these services, and the deductions he made from their wages to cover breakages and his expenses. Admittedly, by the time Freddie had finished with his weekly deductions, the mutants were rarely allowed to keep more than a few credits from their wages as their own. All the same though, Leonard found his fellow mutants' dislike of their charge-boss to be confusing. It was hardly Freddie's fault if living in the city cost money. Besides, so far as Leonard could see, the mutants should be grateful.
The mutants owed everything to Freddie Binns. They relied on him for so many things: food, clothing, shelter, never mind their jobs. True, Freddie charged for all these services. True, he lived up in the city in luxury while the mutants were forced to live in the hostel. True, the place wasn't even really a hostel - it was a ruined apartment house, falling apart and abandoned like hundreds of other similar buildings all along City Bottom. Still, to Leonard's way of thinking, none of these things were Freddie's fault. The charge-boss could not be held responsible for the fact Leonard and the others had to live where they did. City Bottom was one of the few places in the city that the Judges almost never visited. That made it a safe haven for mutants. If Freddie's workers tried to live anywhere else in the city, all they would get for their troubles would be a quick ride back to the Cursed Earth. No, to Leonard's eyes, Freddie Binns was his saviour. Without him, Leonard would have never experienced the benefits of civilisation.
"You know, you've become a real civilised-looking mutie in the time I've known you, Lenny," Freddie had said to him once. "I remember what you looked like when I first found you. You remember that? Not that I'm casting aspersions, but the first time we met you put me in mind of one of them savage muties from the Cursed Earth like you see in the shows on Tri-D. You ever seen a Tri-D player, Lenny? Let me tell you, they're the bee's nuts. Maybe, if you earn enough money, you'll be able to buy a player one day and watch Tri-D for yourself. Wouldn't that be something! Anyway, first time I saw you, carrying that spear and dressed all in furs like some caveman from way-back-when, I'll admit I had my doubts. I thought to myself, there ain't no way this guy has got what it takes to make it in the city. But look at you now - wearing shoes and that nice new coat I brought you. You look civilised, Lenny. And for a civilised man in this city, the sky's the limit. Break my neck if I am lying."
"Break my neck if I am lying." It was one of Freddie's favourite expressions: the charge-boss used it all the time. But Leonard, who had broken more than a few necks over the years for one reason or another, would no more have tried to hurt Freddie than he would have Daniel. Granted, he did not see Freddie as a friend so much; Daniel was Leonard's only friend. In the time since he had met Freddie, though, Leonard had come to trust the charge-boss.
Admittedly, Freddie tended to exaggerate things at times. Leonard hadn't been wearing furs when he came to the city, though his clothes had been pretty threadbare and ragged. Nor had he been barefoot: though, again, the boots he had been wearing back then had holes in them and had seen better days. Granted, he had been carrying a spear, but that was only because he had made one to hunt with after he had run out of ammo for his rifle on the long trek from the Peterson farm to the city. The Petersons were the family who had raised Leonard in the Cursed Earth. They were his adopted family, not hi
s real family, but they had raised him and taken care of him as good as though he had really been their blood. They had given him food and shelter, and taught him the ways of the wilderness, same as Freddie Binns was now teaching him the ways of the city. Freddie had guided Leonard ever since he had come to the city and he had never yet steered him wrong.
As for all the other stuff, the wage deductions and charges that Freddie imposed on the mutants, Leonard had come to understand it was part of the big thing called "civilisation" that Freddie talked about all the time. Civilisation was what living in Mega-City One was all about it. It meant you lived in an apartment, even if it was in a ruined building without windows. It meant you had money, and you used it to buy food and clothing. It meant you lived in safety, not having to spend all your time worrying whether raiders or Gila Munjas were going to try and sneak up on you to kill you.
Really, when Leonard thought about it, this whole civilisation thing didn't seem half bad.
We should get going, Daniel said. The boy's voice was impatient. We need to head north. There's an old access hatch to the sewers about half a kilometre away.
Ahead, the other mutants had entered the hostel, leaving Leonard and Daniel standing alone amid the rubble and deserted streets of City Bottom as the sun began to rise. Reluctantly, Leonard took a last look at the hostel, thought about how much he needed his bed, and turned to begin walking in the direction Daniel had told him. As he did so, it occurred to him that while civilisation was all fine and good, there were things that were more important. Friendship, for one. Daniel was his friend, and that meant sometimes Leonard had to do things for him even if he didn't want to.
In this case, it meant somebody else was going to die.
It was a longer journey than Daniel had said. Leonard did not own a watch, but it seemed to take them hours. They went via the sewers, then from the sewers into the maze of underblock maintenance tunnels that ran everywhere beneath the city. From the maintenance tunnels, they made their way into the ventilation ducts of the housing block where the bad man lived, climbing higher and higher towards their destination. Until, at last, pushing aside a flimsy air-conditioning grille, Leonard finally emerged inside the bad man's apartment.
From there, like every step of the way before it, he simply did what Daniel told him.
Joseph Kapinski was cleaning his teeth in the bathroom when he heard the crash.
Assuming one of the boxes stacked throughout the apartment had simply shifted and fallen to the floor, he calmly placed his toothbrush back in the cup beside the sink and went to investigate. Checking the hallway and finding no sign of disturbance, he turned towards the living room, his mind filled with thoughts of tomorrows.
All through the morning, as he prepared his breakfast and saw to his ablutions, the same words had repeated endlessly in his head in a relentless mantra. Tomorrow, he told himself, he would clear the apartment and clean away all the detritus that cluttered his life. Tomorrow, he would not allow his resolve to waver. Tomorrow, he would be feeling stronger. Tomorrow, he would begin his life anew.
Like most people he took his tomorrows for granted, believing they extended in front of him endlessly, reducing the moment of his death to a small and distant prospect. Occasionally he was troubled by thoughts of his own mortality, but for the most part he relegated such considerations to a dim corner of his mind in much the same manner as he had sequestered the leavings of his past in the thousands of boxes stacked all around his apartment. Inside them lay every object that had passed through his hands over the last thirty-odd years. He would have found it hard to give voice to the idea, but in many ways the contents of the crates and boxes that choked his apartment were like dusty memories stored in darkness and shadow to keep them far from prying eyes. His past had been set aside and locked away, pending redemption. A redemption that came, never today, but always tomorrow.
If there was one thing that gave Joseph Kapinski the strength to carry on with his life it was this: he believed in tomorrow. He believed in it fervently. Today, he always succumbed to weakness. Today, he was constrained by fear. Today, he was shackled by the past. But, tomorrow, things would be different. Tomorrow, he would finally find the strength to confront his fears and step forward into a bright new future. Tomorrow, he would begin his life anew.
Stepping into the living room and making his way through the tall stacks of crates that filled the room, he saw a box lying on its side on the floor. The lid of the box had fallen open, spilling its contents across the room in wild disarray. He felt his pulse quicken, and turned once more to the exercises his therapists had taught him to keep his anxieties at bay.
It is only a box, he told himself. He found his hands were shaking. You can't be hurt by what's inside it.
Going to the box, he began to retrieve its spilled contents to place them back within it. The objects were all shrink-wrapped and labelled: old 2-D photographs, used food wrappers, a stuffed teddy bear he had owned as a child. Working hurriedly, trying not to look at the objects, he put them back inside the box, eyes nervously scanning the floor to make sure he had not missed anything. Abruptly, he noticed the air-conditioning vent in the living room had been damaged. The front grille cover of the vent was lying on the floor, the metal housing of the vent itself expanded and pushed wide as though something large had squeezed its way out from inside it.
Confused, Joseph advanced to inspect the vent. The plasti-steel screws designed to hold the grille cover in place had been broken. Looking around him, it occurred to him that the box had not fallen on its own. Someone, or something, had entered the living room via the air-conditioning vent and pushed aside the stack of boxes in front of it, accidentally dislodging the box at the top of the stack and causing it to fall. There was an intruder inside his apartment.
Joseph felt his chest tighten as a spasm of anxiety shot through him. An intruder! Here, in the apartment with him. He should call the Judges. He should...
He saw a dark shape suddenly rear up from behind a nearby stack. Before he could call out, or even scream, Joseph felt powerful hands clamped around his throat. As the intruder lifted him from his feet and slammed him back against a stack of boxes behind him, from the corner of his eye Joseph saw more boxes fall. They seemed to tumble through the air in slow motion, the contents spraying in crazy cartwheels.
He could not breathe. His heart beat madly in his chest in terror. Looking at his killer, Joseph felt vague, dull surprise to see the face of a child staring back at him. The boy's eyes seemed to burn with fire. He saw the child's lips move, mouthing words, but the rush of blood pounding through Joseph's ears meant he could not hear them. The world began to go dark as, in a last moment of terrified reckoning, Joseph Kapinski realised he had been wrong.
There would be no more tomorrows.
TEN
LESS THAN NOWHERE
"This is some kind of mistake," the perp said. He looked at the two street Judges who were seated facing him across the table in the interrogation suite. "I mean, I was just going for a walk when suddenly all these Judges showed up. Next thing I know, they tell me I'm under arrest. I ain't ever committed a crime in my entire life. Ask anybody-"
"Thomas Errol Calhoun," one of the Judges said, producing a small hand-held comp-unit and gazing down at the display. "Three previous arrests for Possession Of An Illegal Substance With Intent To Use. You've served a total of five years' cube time for those offences, along with compulsory rehab to cure your sugar addiction." Laying the comp-unit down on the table, the Judge regarded the perp with a withering stare. "And here you are again, Calhoun. Picked up in a raid on the location of a known criminal enterprise." He sneered in derision. "Looks like the rehab didn't take."
"You think we didn't run your prints, genius?" the other Judge said. "We know all about you, Calhoun. Same as we know you work for Jimmy Nayles. Now, do you want to drop the 'I'm an innocent citizen' act? Or do we have to add Lying To A Judge to the list of charges?"
"Charges?
" Panic flared briefly in the perp's eyes. "Listen, I'm telling you there's been a mistake. I don't know who this Jimmy Nayles guy is, or Thomas Calhoun for that matter. I don't care what the fingerprints say. There must have been a screw-up with the system. My name is Doug Wend. I'm a kneepad salesman, for drokk's sake!"
"How long do you think before he realises it ain't no use and decides to give up on that story?" the first Judge said, turning to the other Judge beside him. He jerked a thumb at the perp on the other side of the table. "You were right when you called this guy a 'genius' before. You know, I'm beginning to think we may be sharing a room with one of the greatest criminal masterminds the world has ever seen."
"'Cause he's acting so dumb, you mean?" the second Judge asked. They both ignored the perp, treating him as though he was invisible while the man listened to them with his eyes and mouth wide open. "He knows we got him bang to rights, but still he keeps sticking to same old story."
"But it ain't a story!" the perp said, suddenly breaking in to their conversation. "I'm telling you, it's the truth-"
"You hear anybody asking for your opinions about anything, genius?" the first Judge cut the perp off, silencing him with a glare. He turned back to the second Judge. "Yeah, you ask me, that takes a special kind of genius. It's like, he thinks if he just sticks to his story long enough, we'll fall for it. Like, if he keeps saying he's innocent, we'll decide he's so dumb he must be telling the truth."
"Yeah, he's good at it, too," the second Judge said, warming to the theme. "Acting dumb, I mean. You notice, he doesn't even seem to have asked himself how come we're not playing good cop/bad cop with him? Guy like this, you'd think he'd been through enough interrogations to know that's how these things go. You think he'd figure, hey, if the Judges ain't playing good cop/bad cop, it must be because they don't think they need to. Our boy here though, he's too cool for that. He just stays acting dumb, like the thought of it never occurred to him."
Sins of the Father Page 12
