by John Shirley
Ranger raised a hand for silence. He lowered the .45, tucked it into his jacket, chuckling and shaking his head, “Man, you talk fast. Well, fuck it. Let’s go back to that nasty funny-car and get moving. To hell with the boss. I was going to ditch him anyway. I don’t like to get waked up early in the morning.”
Ben shrugged and followed Ranger back to the fly-car. The woman had dragged Fuller’s body clear and covered it with sand. So she said.
In the fly-car’s forward cabin Ben replaced the part he’d taken from the steering mechanism, switched the nulgrav awake, and took her up. They ascended to an elevation they could be sure would be well above any nearby peaks, and Ben headed west.
“Where to?” Ranger asked, yawning.
“Las Vegas. It’s an open republic--especially if you know people there. I do. Somebody who can analyze the exciter for me. Las Vegas should be far enough away from Denver for the time being. Even if what’s-his-name tells Denver Security to look for me, I don’t think he’ll do it for a while. And the cops between the cities rarely cooperate. They’d shoot one another soon as shoot a sniper.”
“Las Vegas?” Gloria asked. “It’s still around?”
“Avarice is a durable trait,” Ben replied.
Ranger went into the back to go to sleep. Gloria lowered herself into the co-pilot’s seat with a sigh.
Ben waited what seemed a proper time before asking, casually, “You must feel strange, waking up in this place. You’ve been here a little more than a month and you’ve seen things that would—”
“No big deal,” she interrupted, flatly. “’S all an illusion. I just kinda watch it go by. Isn’t real.”
“No? Don’t blame you for taking that attitude. Did you ever get a good look at our former employer?”
“No,” she said, without hesitation or guile. “None of us did. We only talked to him like you did, in that star-room. Without being able to see his face. I’ll bet he’s an ugly mother. His servants took care of us the rest of the time and taught us what he wanted us to know. Not much.”
The dispassion, the monotony in her voice seemed to come from her dreamy disbelief rather than any callousness. Nothing of it was real to her. Ben felt a stab of pity. Then he remembered her history. But something didn’t fit—she didn’t function as one of the Transmaniacon members.
“How long were you with Transmaniacon before they froze you?” he asked softly.
“The club? Just a few weeks. I wasn’t really in the club. I just came out to the coast to stay with my brother...with Ranger. He was hard in with those people. I wasn’t in on it, not in with the Order or the Manson thing, except to drive one of the cars when they went to get him...”
Ben remembered. He’d once researched the case. Her attorney had claimed that she hadn’t been involved with the cult’s sacrificial slayings, and the gunplay during the attempted rescue of Manson had come as a complete surprise to her; Fuller had told her only that she was to drive a car for them. She thought it was an ordinary stick-up. She’d pulled stick-ups before, but never killed. He hadn’t believed her story when he’d read the ancient newspapers on microfilm, but he believed her now. She had no reason to lie anymore.
But her brother Ranger had participated in the Transmaniacon rites of the Order. He was a killer--and he was sleeping, probably lightly, in the belly of their monstrous metal fly, just a few yards away.
He glanced at Gloria. She was dark, tall, and so slender she was nearly gaunt. There were violet rings under her eyes.
“Where’sa drinks?” she asked.
“Little panel down to your right. It’s set on straight gin and if that’ll do just press the touch disk.”
“Gin’s fine.” She removed the wax paper bulb and sucked.
It was getting close to dawn, he guessed, judging from the wan edging of the sawtooth mountains ahead. Bosses and sudden steep declivities competed across the landscape. Against the fading field of stars at the horizon Ben could almost see the silhouette of the faceless man behind the mahogany desk.
Ben wondered if he could trace the serial number of the fly-car to find out whose it was…
“You said something about how you got a use for that thing you stole,” Gloria ventured, uncrossing her thin legs and stretching. “Man, I’m feeling wasted all of a sudden.”
Ben was suddenly overwhelmed with an impulse to unburden himself. Maybe he was simply tired. It had been a long night, and though the adrenalin was still firing up his veins, his eyes ached and his forehead throbbed. “I want to leave.”
“Leave where?”
“The continent. I want to get outside the Barrier. I hate it. Worse than anything. I’ve studied it for years, trying to work up a feasible plan to get past it. No luck ’til now. Now, I think we can use the exciter to...” He shrugged. “Maybe it’ll set forces into motion that will tear it down. I want…”
He hesitated. He’d feel silly, admitting it.
“You want what? What’s out there that’s so important? This is a big country, plenty to look at inside the Barrier.”
He took a deep breath. “I want the sea itself. I want to sail. I want to build a ship and sail her over the sea. I’ve built them before, sailed up and down the Great Lakes. But it’s not the same. I’ve sailed along the coasts, close in before you get to the Barrier. But I want to get out in the sea, far from land. It’s been my dream, ever since I can remember. I simply resent the fact of the Barrier, and I love the sea.”
He realized she was staring at him blankly. She said, “Are you putting me on or what? You want to be a fucking sailor?”
“I…well...” he stammered. I’ve never stammered before, he thought. “I guess I’ve read every known book about the sea.”
“Hey, you ever read Youth by Joseph Conrad?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
“Yes!” He turned to her, eyes shining; she drew back slightly, alarmed at his sudden eagerness.
He felt sheepish.
She shrugged, drew on her gin, tossed the bulb aside, and went to the rear of the cabin to sleep.
Ben leaned back in his seat, wishing the nulgrav car had to deal with wind resistance so he could at least get the feel of the elements around them. But there was no sense of strain on the vehicle, hardly a sound of wind; it was as if the air pressure unzipped before them and sealed up after them. He stared into the sea of darkness below, and, squinting, could almost imagine the land-swells to be tossing waves…
“I thought you said Las Vegas was around here,” Ranger complained.
“It’s there, underground. But first we make a stop at the outskirts. A little ranch owned by a friend of mine. See it? Down there.”
They were circling a hundred feet over a canyon abruptly slashed in the flat, gray-brown desert. In the early morning light they could pick out a horseshoe arrangement of single-storey buildings with tin roofs. The glare off the roofs hid most of the detail, but there was a corral containing horses, which were running from the fly-car’s grotesque shadow. Beyond, a half-acre of solar power panels, and about the entire affair stretched three barbed wire fences. Within the outer two fences loped several haggard coyotes.
The monstrous shadow of the fly-car crawled over the fences as a voice from the radio crackled; “Identify yourself or immediately depart. If you attempt to land without permission you will be shot down. Notice the outbuildings—”
“You don’t have to tell me about the hidden cannons, Lenny. I know about them, I used to load them for you, remember?” Ben said into the microphone.
“That Rackey up there?”
“It’s Ben.”
“Just Rackey to me. At best.” Ben felt a chill. “But come on down if that’s what you got in mind. Land in the courtyard and come out of that thing slowly, hands where I can see them.”As Ben took the fly-car down Lenny asked, “Where’d you get that thing? I almost blew it out of the sky! I thought it was a real fly or a mutation or something, I didn’t—”
“You were always paranoid, Lenny. I
t’s a nulgrav car. I got it...on loan, from a former employer. The fly-shape is fashion.”
“Cute. And appropriate. You ride it like a true bacterium, Rackey.”
Ben turned off the radio. He didn’t like Lenny’s tone.
The fly-car settled, the nulgrav cut, the car rocked for a moment on springy legs. “Leave your guns here, Ranger.” Ben said, standing up and rubbing his eyes.
He needed either sleep or lots of coffee.
“No way am I going to leave my piece behind, Rackey. What’s that guy so paranoid about, with his cannons and fences and warnings?”
“You have to be paranoid in between the cities. It isn’t safe out here. No laws. Brigands and frags and everything else unpleasant, more numerous than jackrabbits.”
“I’m not ditching my piece.” Ranger declared, nervously adjusting his dark glasses.
Ben was tired and irritable, in no mood to argue.
He considered tackling Ranger. He had to get rid of him sooner or later. But…he looked at Gloria…there would be unpleasant ramifications.
“Look, we don’t have any food and I’m hungry. I’ve known this guy for years and he’s trustworthy. He lives alone. He makes a living bartering the metal he mines, and he’ll feed us if we don’t cross him. I need his good will. He’s an electronics genius and ...aren’t you hungry? His dispenser fixes a fine breakfast.”
The mention of food weakened Ranger’s resolve.
Without another word he handed over the gun which Ben tucked into the glove compartment. They climbed down the ladder after Gloria.
Blinking, hands in the air, they emerged into the sunlight. Gloria gazed at the immaculately-kept cactus garden bordering the adobe ranch house. Metal bars covered the building’s deeply inset windows. Lenny opened the metal-studded wooden front door, pushed his needler out ahead of him. The conical snout caught the light in a tinny starburst. He stepped into view. In his left hand he held a small oval instrument he directed at the group, glancing down at the readings.
“No weapons,” Ben said.
“No energy weapons, anyway,” Lenny said, tucking the gun-detector and needler into his leather belt. He wore leather chaps over his dungarees; no shirt on his portly, sunburned torso. Jet black hair, red-rimmed black eyes, wide froglike face, burnt red and seamed. “Come on in and sit down. Just about to have breakfast.”
Inside, all that was visible of Lenny’s cybernetic cook was a teflon chute standing from the stone-tile floor in the center of the kitchen by the rough wooden table. Three trays rose one after another from the chute. They ate in silence—bacon, eggs, and tortillas, and drank hot coffee.
Lenny carried the dishes to the airfoil cleaner, returned and sat down, grunting. He took bent cigarettes from a side pocket and passed them around. Ben declined. Lenny watched the girl curiously as she fumbled with his lighter. He showed her how to make the electric arc that lit the cigarette. “Strange crew,” he said.
Ben nodded. “It’s a long story.”
“Where’s Lady Ella?” Lenny asked, leaning back in the wooden chair, hands folded over his hairy belly.
“Left me after the party. Haven’t seen her since… Lenny, I’m sorry about what happened, I—”
“Don’t gimme that nonsense,” Lenny interrupted, teeth rending his cigarette. He sat up suddenly and very straight and put his hands on the table. “You’d do it again. Don’t try to play on my sympathies. You deserved to lose her. And your friends.”
“I’ve retired. I really have. No more, unless it’s an emergency.”
“Sure. Sure, you have.” He shook his head and stared up at the wooden rafters. Finally, he said, “What you here for?”
“On our way to Las Vegas. Running from some unfriendly people. I’ve got something with me, might interest you.” Ben handed over the exciter, explained what he’d been told it was supposed to do. “I’m hoping you can tell me how to use it. In payment I can give you money, since my friendship doesn’t seem to mean anything. Or you can copy the thing, if you think you’ll have use for it.”
Lenny examined the shiny ellipsoid critically. “I’ll look it over.” He seemed intrigued. “I can tell you right now, this metal is psychic-conductive. Designed to interact with the nervous system. Probably tissue permeable.” Before Ben could ask questions Lenny rose, gingerly carrying the ellipsoid, and started for the door of his lab.
“Lenny, can I use the house computer to trace a nulgrav car’s serial number?” Ben called after him.
“Probably,” Lenny said over his shoulder. “Go ahead.”
Ben copied the serial number from the control panel inset and ran his request through the interface affixed to the kitchen wall. The screen immediately lit up with a name. Ben cursed. He read it again. “That’s what I thought,” he said. On the screen was the name Chaldin, Arthur Pelham/ Doctor of Philosophy: Physics, Biology, Chemistry/ Master, Electronic Synthesis Theory.
Ben felt ill.
“He blew up his own palace?” Gloria asked, looking over his shoulder.
Ben turned to her with an admiring glance. “That’s the way it looks,” he said. “I suppose he could have taken the exciter out anytime himself. No need for me to steal it. But he wanted the palace destroyed. Could be a lot of reasons. Like insanity, or—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Everything he does is very deliberate. No wasted energy. I didn’t really have time to know him, but you can tell, when you’re inside his operation. He wanted all this to happen just like it did.”
“Probably most of his enemies had been invited for that particular party-cycle,” Ben mused. “When a man has an opportunity like that, to destroy, say, a hundred of those dangerous to him in one night...to a man like Chaldin, trading hundreds of bystanders for the removal of a hundred enemies is a bargain. Maybe that’s why he built the palance in the first place...” He sipped some coffee. It tasted real; it felt real. Close enough. “Suppose he’s been planning a move, for a long time--a campaign to extend his control to every city within the Barrier. Certain people would put up resistance along the way. If those people were lured to the forever-revel and disposed of, then the path is almost cleared for him. Chances are he monitored our part in its destruction, had it transmitted to his lab, and he keeps it as a record. If the local bosses challenge him, he can show them the footage--we go down, not him. He’s safe, his enemies are out of the way. But he put the exciter in my hands. Maybe it’s a dummy. Why should he risk the real thing? Maybe there’s no such machine, maybe it was a story he told me to get me involved with him.” He shook his head. “Thinking about it makes me bone-tired. Guest rooms are down the hall there--I’m gonna use one.”
Ben went to the guest-room and lay down on the bare mattress, in the adobe coolness. Almost instantly, he was asleep.
He awakened suddenly. Someone was sitting on the bed. He rolled over. Gloria was there, legs crossed, her elbows propped on a knee, her chin cupped in a palm. She twitched the end of her left foot and swayed to some impatient inner rhythm as she asked, “What did Lenny mean about you deserving to lose her--and your friends?”
Ben lay back, one arm over his eyes, studying the swirling lights under his eyelids. “I’ve been using my ability…indiscriminately. When there was no need to disrupt things. Without even thinking. I don’t know why. Maybe boredom. Maybe the reason I started the whole thing in the first place took me over--just anger. I was always kind of angry at people...” He broke off, amazed that he’d shared that with her. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know. But...I pretended someone was interested in the lover of a close friend of mine. I spread some rumors, knowing that my…friend was in a critical period. I knew it and played on it, and a fight started. He challenged the man I had led him to believe was after his wife. One of them died that night, and only when he fell onto the floor with the hole in his chest. And Ella left me...”
He trailed off, again wondering why he was unburdening himself to this woman. Ordinarily he refused to speak freel
y about himself. He hadn’t confided in Ella about his desire to sail the seas until he’d known her for three years. Maybe it was because Gloria belonged to another era and couldn’t judge him according to the rules of this time. Or maybe because she was so uncaring, so dispassionate, so uncritical. She had, after all, complacently accepted association with Fuller the Slayer.
“There’s something I’d better tell you,” the woman said.
He lowered his arm from his eyes and looked at her.
In the shadows she looked like a half-starved little girl. Her eyes were hollow, her mouth assumed the laxity of despair.
“Fuller isn’t dead.” said Gloria.
Ben sat bolt upright. “I shot him from six inches away!”
“He musta been moving some. You musta just grazed him. Because it was only a scratch on the side of his head. After I dragged him out of the fly-car he opened his eyes and looked at me. I ran back to the fly-car and we took off.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Even in his own ears Ben’s voice was cold as metal. He realized he was gripping one of her arms. There was pain in her moist eyes. He let go.
Rubbing her bicep and regarding him with a cryptic half-smile she said, “I didn’t care if he was alive. He never did nothing to me. During the trial he tried to tell ’em I didn’t kill anybody. I’m in no hurry to see him dead.” She made a gesture of dismissal with her limp and delicate fingers.
Shakily, Ben stood and stretched. “Fuller will come after me.” He said, mostly to himself.
“You really think our employer was Chaldin?”
Ben nodded. “For a person who acts like she doesn’t care about anything, you ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m curious, but I don’t care, really. Nothing’s real. I just woke up here…and a big crowd of people died yesterday night, and I don’t really know why.”
