Bad Dreams (35 page)

She was coming out of the kitchen with the coffee. After three years, she remembered – black, no sugar.

‘Upstairs, in the study.’

‘The study?’

‘It’s where our… where the bedroom used to be.’

She smiled and looked at him sideways. He glimpsed her as a nineteen-year-old. Then it was gone, and he realized what was strange about her.

She was frightened.

‘Come on up,’ she said, going ahead of him. ‘I’ve got to tell you a story…’

* * *

‘Skippy did something interesting last night,’ said Carson.

Dr Xavier Anderton walked along the row of cages that lined the wall of the Animal Room, and peered into the mess that had once been a rabbit.

‘He redecorated his cage.’

The wire was bent outwards where the animal had hurled itself at the walls of its environment, and several ragged holes had been chewed or punched through. Skippy – all the rabbits were named after television and film animals – should not have been strong enough to do that. Anderton checked the clipboard hung above the cage.

‘Batch 125.
Four ccs
?’

‘Last of the sample,’ explained Carson. ‘I thought we should use up whatever was left.’

It was sloppy, but Anderton did not reprimand his assistant. The death was a puzzle, not a tragedy.

Skippy had evidently done his best to do the utmost damage to his cage, and then turned his destructive fury in on himself. He had opened his body from neck to tail, and spilled organs and entrails. Strings of gut hung from jagged wires. The straw was red and sticky. One of Skippy’s pink, dead eyes caught Anderton’s attention. Rabbits do not have much range of expression, and what they do have comes from whiskers not eyes. But something in the eye spooked the scientist to the soul.

‘Should I call UCC?’

‘No, not yet. I’ll have to know what this means. Cook up another batch of 125. I’ll check the other animals.’

This was not quite what Anderton was after, but it was more intriguing than the total lack of response Leo had yielded so far. Lassie, Flipper, Clarence (who
was
slightly cross-eyed), Cheetah and Francis were nibbling lettuce, sleeping or stretching as expected. But Rikki (for Rikki-Tikki-Tavi) was dead and stiff. No violence, no obvious symptoms, just dead.

And Thumper had melted down.

At first, Anderton thought the rabbit was asleep under the straw, but when he reached into the cage to prod it awake, he touched squishy fur. There was a large lump of semi-liquid grease inside, and it oozed out of the mouth, eyes and anus when the rabbit was touched.

This was even more interesting than Skippy.

‘Excuse me, Dr Anderton?’

‘Yes?’

Anderton returned to the main laboratory. Carson was there, with Finch.

‘Did you know the students have a picket line outside?’

‘Not again. What’s it about? Has Professor Buckingham been doing any more research on racial characteristics?’

Finch looked disturbed. Nervously, she stroked down her seal-short cropped hair.

‘No, doctor. It’s about us. About the animals.’

Carson chipped in. ‘It had to happen. It’s a hot issue.’

Anderton chewed his biro, and thought.

‘We’re secure-locked. This is supposed to be a sealed environment. So, who gives a ferret’s fuck about students? Miss Finch, scrub me a workplace and dig up the instruments. We’ve got some autopsies to do.’

* * *

Cazie had to be on the front line. She could not very well be anywhere else after all the work she had put in.

Thommy, dressed as the White Rabbit from
Alice in Wonderland
, pulled out his fob watch and posed for the three local press cameramen. He raised one paw in a clenched fist salute, and chanted, ‘UCC Tortures Me! UCC Tortures Me!’

Otherwise, it was a feeble protest. Cazie could not bear the sympathy she was getting from those not in the know. She wanted to tell them it was not her fault, that they were taking it easy, that Rote was on the case. But she knew better than to mention Rote.

When this was over, she hoped to disengage from the Movement. She was getting interested in the homeless. Lots of good people were getting into Poverty Action. Derm, who knew more about poverty than most of her friends, would be particularly keen. And the others would follow. She could form a chapter of Class War. That would certainly get under Daddy’s skin.

She was only in this because she liked animals. She had been one of those rich little girls with ponies, and for years she had planned to be a vet when she grew up. And here she was taking Business Studies, and listening to her father talk about getting into the Firm. Daddy was a fatcat all right, but he did not realize what his little girl could do with the power of a medium-sized finance company behind her. He would have the shock of his life, a bigger shock than he had had when he met Derm.

Monica had shown up early, and given a few instructions to her Rentacrowd people. There had been no trouble. Thommy was getting all the attention with his bunny suit. Cazie had had to give a few sentences to the newspapers. She had made do with handing out a prepared statement, detailing all the evidence against UCC and its history of animal experiments. She had lied, and said they had no specific proof that the UCC-financed projects being carried out in the Chem Building involved animals, but that it was the company, not this particular arm of it, they were protesting against.

Rote was lying low back at her place, back at what he called the ‘safe house’. His real work would come tonight, and tomorrow she would change her life.

‘Corinne, can I have a word?’

‘Uh, oh, hi Mon.’

Monica Flint was the only person, besides Daddy, who still called her Corinne. She did it on purpose.

In the daylight, away from the STWAA Action Room, Monica looked much older, much more confident, much more powerful. Cazie felt uncertain of herself beside the woman.

‘Sure, Mon. Things are going nicely here. We can get a tea from the Chem common room.’

‘And cross your own picket line?’

Suddenly, Cazie hated Monica. She put her fisted hands into the pockets of the man’s pinstripe jacket she wore over her Animal Rights Now T-shirt, and shivered. It was May, but a cold spring was lingering. It looked like rain.

‘I forgot. Sorry.’

‘Come with me. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.’

Monica led her away from Chem, along the paved pathways that criss-crossed the campus village. The trees were shedding blossom like dandruff. The University was out of town, a community unto itself.

Under a tree, a man sat on a bench, wearing a brown leather jacket and black jeans, watching a little boy – wrapped up warm and with a colourful woolly hat on – playing with model spacemen on the grass. The kid was dive-bombing green aliens with a plastic star cruiser. The man was huddled up, hands in his pockets and collar turned up around his face.

Cazie gripped Monica’s wrist, hard. She looked into the woman’s face.

‘You
told
!’

It was like the ultimate betrayal. Cazie could not deal with it. She began shaking. She could taste the anger in her mouth, feel it trembling in her voice.

‘You
told
!’

‘It’s okay, Corinne.’ Monica broke her grip, and then squeezed Cazie’s hand. ‘You’ll see. Rote won’t know. Brian knows what we’re doing.’

‘Brian?’

‘Brian Connors. He’s in the Humanities Department. You’ll like him. Well, maybe that’s putting it too strong. Come on, anyway. It’ll be all right, honestly.’

Monica pulled her forward, and sat her down on the bench. The man – Brian – smiled and shook her hand. He was good-looking in a crumpled smoothie sort of way.

‘Corinne Bruckner… Brian Connors.’

‘Hi,’ said Brian, looking at her in a way she had just begun to appreciate this last year or so. There was no doubt: he found her attractive. ‘Corinne?’

‘Cazie,’ she said. ‘What’s this about?’

‘You know what it’s about, Corinne,’ said Monica. ‘Rote.’

Cazie could not help looking around, to see if there was anyone within earshot. How many people had Monica told?

‘Oh God, Rote.’

‘You don’t need to tell me about Rote,’ Brian said.

‘You know him?’

‘No. I know plenty of people like him, though.’

Monica cut in, ‘Brian used to be…’

‘Never mind that,’ he said, with an undertone of irritation. ‘Do you understand what you’re getting into? Direct action, right?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Tonight, your group is going to hit the Chem Building.’

Cazie glared at Monica, who did not flinch. She had obviously told this outsider every damn thing.

‘Tell me, Cazie.’

Cazie swallowed her spit, and chewed a fingernail. She thought she had beaten the habit.

‘Yes. Tonight. We’re going to liberate the animals.’

‘Uh huh. Liberate? Fair enough. I don’t suppose trying to talk you out of it would do any good?’

‘Well…’

‘I thought not. It’s not you who has to be convinced any more, is it? It’s Rote.’

‘Yes. I suppose so, but…’

‘How out of your control is this situation?’

She did not want to say it.

‘Completely?’

She nodded. ‘Rote has brought people in with him. He calls them “soldiers”. No one likes them, but no one has a choice. He’s been in the house for a week now. Someone gave him STWAA as a contact address. He gets what he wants.’

‘He’s what we used to call “underground”, on the run?’

‘He still calls it that.’

‘You know that harbouring a wanted man is a criminal offence?’

‘I suppose so, but…’

‘You’re afraid to turn him in. Don’t worry. I would be too. No one is going to blame you for that. We’re not dealing with a non-violent debating-society-type animal lover, here.’

‘What am I going to do?’

‘What are
we
going to do to you, you mean? As far as I can see, nothing. We’ll get it over with, and get you out of it. That’s all we can do. He’ll go away once he’s had his raid?’

‘I think so.’

‘He’d be stupid not to. Strike, then run. That’s the system. I don’t really care about rabbits either way, but I’d like to be able to think I can see us through this without anyone getting hurt, so I’m going to make it easy for you.’

Brian dug into his pocket-and came up with a keyring.

‘I got these from Sparks. He’s on campus security, but he’s a mate of mine and I trust him. This will get you into the Chem Building, and these open the sealed environment – whatever that is – UCC are paying for. Be bloody careful, and don’t do any damage. Just go in, get the animals and come out again. Sparks will cover for you.’

‘He
knows
?’

‘We haven’t been adults forever. He probably does more drugs and listens to worse music than you do. As long as his job is protected, he’ll do what he can.’

Brian looked again at the little boy, and shouted, ‘Jason, leave that alone. You’ll get filthy.’

Monica said, ‘You’ve got homes for Flopsy, Mopsy and Whatever?’

‘Yes,’ Cazie said quietly, shaken by her sudden, apparent reversion to little girlhood. Monica and Brian were like her parents, fed up but helping her out of trouble for form’s sake. Just like the time Daddy had talked the headmistress out of expelling her.

Brian put a hand to her face, and brought it around to look at. He had grey eyes, older than the rest of his face.

‘You don’t know what you’re doing, girl, do you? Listen, back in the ’70s, probably in the year you were born, I was a student too. I signed petitions and went on marches and stayed up all night painting placards. I was quite well known for it. Red Brian, Commie Connors, that sort of thing. I never had to go underground, but I got pretty close. It was all stupid stuff, I know that now. I knew that then, but I liked the idea of being a hero. I looked a lot like Che Guevara before I had my hair cut. One night, I got up in a Vietcong uniform and led an assault on the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square. There was a whole bunch of us. We had toy guns, and were a bit – well, a lot – drunk or stoned or whatever. It was like playing soldiers. Only the real soldiers at the Embassy didn’t know it was a game. I had a girlfriend with me. They shot her.’

‘Dead?’

‘No. You’d have heard of it. That kid’s her son. She’s in Lanzarote. But her left knee doesn’t work properly, and it never will. We were stupid. You’ve got to be sensible, you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wish I could believe you, Cazie.’ His gaze pierced her forehead, probing through her guilty secrets. Then, he looked away. ‘Jason, stop that or you’ll get
such a smack
!’

The boy ran off, spaceships flying in both hands.

‘Excuse me, I’ve got to chase my kid and put him in the hospital. Be smart, be careful.’

He was gone, and she was alone with Monica. She did not particularly like the President, but she had never envied her before.

‘Who was that masked man?’

Monica shrugged. ‘Just some bum I used to know.’

‘Used to know, Mon. You’re stupider than I am.’

‘Maybe. I doubt it, though. I’ll tell you when you’re older. If you
get
older.’

It was still cold, very cold.

* * *

Normally, Clarence’s feelings were limited. Vague senses: claustrophobia, hunger and sexual frustration. Right now there was something in her life more unsettling than these discomforts. In the last few hours, she had started thinking more complicated thoughts than she was used to. And she was hurting.

Right now, Clarence did not feel much like a rabbit at all. It was as if her insides were changing, outgrowing the rest of her body. She bled from her eyes. She chewed her paws to bloody stumps. She shat a stream of painfully hot pellets. She bit the wire.

Nobody came.

She knew what dogs were. A long time ago, as far back as she could remember, she had been penned in a cage within a cage. There were other animals there. She was allowed to spend time with the other rabbits occasionally. She had been able to have sex and eat grass. There were other kinds of animals besides rabbits in the cages. The quietly vicious, needle-sharp, hissing ones were cats. And the noisy, enormously jawed ones were dogs.