Ghostwritten (53 page)

“Lighten up a bit, would you?”

“I’ll scroll upriver a few tens of kilometers, Bat, to where the opposite banks are visible. This is the start of the dust plain. Ten
years ago, this was rain forest. The land was cleared, and grass sown to sustain beef-farming. The cows were in turn fed to the American hamburger market. After three harvests most of the nutrients were leached from the soil, the topsoil blew away, and the farms moved inland. There’s been a spate of fire-burning activity recently: the farmers know that the government is busy upgrading the military and patroling the borders. All that smoke billowing up is from man-made fires. Finally we’re reaching virgin forest. One of the last shrinking islands of Amazonia. The government has ordered its preservation, but the ministers sit on the boards of timber companies. Money is needed for armaments and debt repayment. At its present rate of destruction, by the time the 173.8 people who have been conceived in Amazon City tonight are born, not one tree of this rump will be left.

“This world of trees is still dark, to human eyes. Nocturnal eyes and EyeSats can see deeper down the spectrum. There are no names for the colors here. On the roof of the forest canopy, a spider monkey looks up for a moment. I can see the Milky Way and Andromeda in its retina. By image enhancement I can identify EyeSat 80B ⁁ K, lit by a morning that hasn’t arrived yet. The monkey blinks, shrieks, and flings itself into the lower darkness.

“The dawn wind exhales green into the grays of your visible spectrum. Alchemy, you might term it, Bat. The light intensity is increasing by .0043 percent per second. I see a pillar, a hundred feet high. It shimmers vermilion, aquamarine, and emerald with the parrots that crowd on its faces, gnawing the salt minerals in the rock. On its crown, the branches of jungle trees sway, cutting through currents of mist that won’t be cut. A tributary river winds as it narrows, the color of tea in a bowl. Ripples spread out where a manatee raises its head, and the wind ruffles the feathers of a condor. There, Bat. The foothills of the Andes rise up sharply to the west. Bat.”

“Bat? You’re snoring.… Wake up, Bat!”

“Listeners of Night Train FM. Your host, Bat Segundo, is asleep, so it is incumbent upon the zookeeper to wish you a good night. Jolene Jefferson, you may wish to know that Alfonso Stacey is
being held by the military police for curfew transgression. Using military police statistics, I calculate an 83.5 percent chance he will be released today, and a 98.6 percent chance the day after. I regret I am unable to calculate when Bat Segundo will awaken. I shall download ‘The Way Young Lovers Do’ by Van Morrison. The temperature outside is fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. From Virginia to Maine, snow is falling. The morning is not far away.”

————

“Mr. Bat. Please overlook my broken English.”

“Sounds fine to me, friend. What can we do for you aboard Night Train FM?”

“I wish to make a dedication.”

“Fire away!”

“This is a message to His Serendipity. I know he hears.”

“We can hear you loud and clear, buddy.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Bat. I refer to His Serendipity.”

“His who-dippy?”

“He is known to you as ‘Zookeeper.’ ”

“Uh-huh.… Another friend of Zookeeper? On any other night, that would make you pretty hot property, but as you’re the fifth friend tonight you’ll just have to stand in line.”

“ ‘Zookeeper’ is an alias chosen by the Guru.
Serendipity, Your sacred revelations were not all destroyed during the raids before Your trial
. ”

“Gear down, big shifter! We speak English on the Bat Segundo Show.”

“Please, Mr. Bat. I beg of you. A short dedication.
Master, Your word was translated into English before the unclean burned Your scripture. With these samizdat bibles I created new Sanctuaries, in fertile soil over the sea. The Fellowship is growing anew. Brothers and sisters of man-skins have studied alpha-shielding, and are ready for the White Nights. Your prophecy has come to pass. We await Your return, Master.”

“Look friend, sorry, but if you speak Japanese I’m gonna be forced to—”

“I respectfully thank you, Mr. Bat. Good night.”

“Hey! I didn’t say—well, off drifts another sea coconut into
the milky turquoise. You’re listening to Night Train FM, roaring down the tracks to the lowlands of dawn. This is the Bat Segundo Show, fleeing from the wall-to-wall ‘One Year After’ TV specials—as if we should celebrate the fact that the same authority which nearly blew us to Kingdom Not Come has yet to announce elections. Still, I’d better avoid politics or Carlotta will mummify me in carpet tape. It’s the first anniversary of Brink Day, as if there’s a sea cucumber anywhere in the world unaware of the fact! The Empire State fireworks are awesome, huh? There’s a new volley every fifteen minutes. Orchids of them! Fountains of them! The night of November 30th has been one big circus tent over New York. In between times, you can see Comet Aloysius veering in front of Orion … quite a sight, ain’t it? Professor Kevin Clancy, Night Train’s resident stargazer, informs me that in just under two weeks the comet will pass between the Earth and the moon. Some generations get all the luck, huh? Being alive for Aloysius, the closest visitation in history. As you heard on the news, NASA and the Defense Department assure us there’s absolutely no chance of any danger of this close shave being too close—Aloysius’s trajectory has been treble-checked by virtual-mind technology every minute of every hour since its discovery, and Earth has an all-clear. The UN Corp’s PeaceSats are primed, just in case any debris makes it into SkyWeb space, so we can lounge back in our ringside seats and enjoy the pretty lights. And as if all this wasn’t enough excitement, we have an extra attraction on Night Train FM—November 30th is Zookeeper Night! Will he or won’t he? Coming up in the next half-hour we have ‘The Speed of the Sound of Loneliness’ by Nanci Griffith, and ‘A Fairytale of New York’ by the Pogues. These, and more, after the break.”

“Bat?”

“Carlotta?”

“I have Spence Wanamaker on the videocon.”

“Hollywood agent Spence Wanamaker?”

“The same.”

“Patch the man through.… Mr. Wanamaker! The presence of greatness.”

“Batty! D’you know, when business brings me to New York—it’s Night Train FM. I
love
your way with words. The original poet DJ.”

“Uh-huh. So you wanna syndicate and make me into a billiondollar movie?”

“Quick fire, Batty! Quick on the draw! I
love
it!”

“Mr. Wanamaker, you’re not just calling to jacuzzi my ego.”

“Good serve, Batty. It’s about this Zooey guy.”

“What about him?”

“When he calls, I wanna air a few concepts with him.”

“You’re the first major Hollywood agent to talent-scout on the Bat Segundo Show.”

“Batty! Us media survivors all engage in a little back-scratching now and then!”

“My back is not itching, Mr. Wanamaker.”

“Bat. Rupert, Mr. Wanamaker, and I have discussed some interesting proposals.”

“Doubtless, Carlotta. But Mr. Wanamaker is not the only suitor serenading this particular Juliet.”

“What’s that? Other agents, Batty? Fish or fry?”

“What?”

“Hollywood agents or New York agents?”

“Federal ones, Mr. Wanamaker. The Pentagon wants to know how our mutual friend managed to hack and broadcast encrypted military frequencies. It took us weeks to convince them we weren’t concealing Sword of Islam technology. We’ve still probably got microscopic spy devices combing our colons.”

“Oh, the Pentagon! You had me
worried
for a moment, Batty.
Au cointreau
, this is excellent news. More publicity will get more butts on seats when the movie’s launched.”

“The movie? Mr. Wanamaker, you think the Pentagon is going to let you make a true-story movie about a hacker in their systems during World War III’s dress rehearsal? You may not have noticed but this is Ronald McDonald’s martial law we’re living under.”

“Hollywood versus Washington! Fabulous concept, Batty. The info police—and let’s face it, since Brink Day its reputation is
hardly what it was—may have the power of the military on its side, but we, my friend, we have the indomitable power of Mr. Average! The
New York Post
brought Zookeeper onto the stage. We wanna—how can I say this as well as you could, Bat? Throw me a bone here. We wanna switch on the spotlights!”

“Mr. Wanamaker, you want to plant your cameramen outside his door, rifle through his garbage, find out if he uses rubber sheets and baby oil, and hound him to a watery death in a sports car.”

“Batty! The public has a right to know!”

“Bat, Mr. Wanamaker’s been discussing a rolling referral fee based on accumulative royalties with Rupert. At our present rate of expenditure, we’re talking sums that will keep Night Train FM afloat financially for a long time.”

“How long is long, Carlotta?”

“Eleven years and four months.”

“That’s long. But we don’t know who we’re dealing with! Nobody’s ever seen him.”

“Or her.”

“Exactly! A crank, a hacker, a bomber. Don’t overlook the obvious, Carlotta. Remember—three years ago something was blown up at Saragosa, and a real Dwight Silverwind did vanish over Bermuda one year later.”

“I know he did, Batty. So tragic. His agent, Jerry Kushner, is a very dear friend of mine. I was beside myself with worry. Jerry was inconsolable for two and a half days.”

“Have you considered, Mr. Wanamaker, that Zookeeper is not just monitoring these events?”

“Universal Studios oooooozes for talent like yours! You’re suggesting that Zooey is causing these incidents?”

“If he’s a hacker, he’s got an uncanny knack for vidsurfing the right places at the right times. You could be roping a terrorist into your client base.”

“He wouldn’t be the first, Batty! The mere rumor of his presence has upped Night Train FM ratings by 320 percent according to the on-line web audit. That’s over thirty thousand New Yorkers, competing with the TV networks, all-night rock concerts, and
peace vigils—on Brink Night’s first birthday! We sign a contract with Zooey, he’s gonna
be
my client base!”

“He’s not going to bite.”

“Come now, Batty. Everybody bites. You just gotta know what bait to dangle.”

“Back on in ten seconds, Bat. All that Rupert is asking is that you try to keep him on hold during an interval and conference him to Mr. Wanamaker. Simple as that.”

“Why not ask him yourself, Carlotta?”

“He seems to have an affinity with you.”

“But Carlotta!”

“Five seconds, honeybunch: four, three, two, one—”

“Welcome back aboard Night Train FM, 97.8 till late, thundering through this Brink Night’s first birthday of champagne, cathedral bells, and gunpowder. I am your host, Bat Segundo. Coming up we have the music of the spheres, brought to you by John Lee Hooker: ‘I Cover the Waterfront.’ But bate your breath once more, New York. We have a caller on the line. Could it be, could it be?”

“Hello, Bat.”

“Hi, honey, I’m home! New York’s been waiting all night, Zookeeper.”

“Thank you, Bat.”

“And where are you calling from this year?”

“A low-altitude MedSat over the Central African Republic flat-lands.”

“Uh-huh. Gorilla hunting? Collecting zoo specimens?”

“I’m monitoring the spread of
Bacillus anthracis
J, K, and L.”

“That must be a conversation stopper at dinner parties. But hey! You remembered our anniversary! One up on my ex-wife. She still sends me ‘Happy Divorce’ cards every year, though. And what kind of a year has it been for you?”

“I had to duplicate myself and spend it in several places at once.”

“I know the feeling, I know the feeling.”

“I’ve only just reintegrated.”

“I know the feeling.”

“The third and fourth laws are in chaos, Bat. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you’re not to blame. Say, you catch our last caller? He had a message for you.”

“I hear all who call.”

“Not just on November 30th?”

“I need windows to oversee my zoo.”

“I’m honored, I guess. So, since when have you gone by the name of Seren Dippy?”

“Your caller is a severe delusional, wanted by the police in his own—”

“Christ, was that a firecracker in my headphones?”

“I have to speak with the zookeeper.”

“Whoa! Gear down, big shifter! Get off this line!”

“I don’t intend to comply.”

“You misdialed, friend! Take a hike!”

“I didn’t misdial, Mr. Segundo. And we’re not friends.”

“So what do we have here? A freak, an agent, or a cop? Don’t answer that, I don’t care! The Bat Segundo Show is not a party line. Kevin—get him off!”

“I’m here for as long as I want to be, Bat.”

“Oh, are you, huh?
Now
, Kevin!”

“Electronic wizardry is not electronic divinity, but it’s enough for the time being.”

“Night Train FM does not allow any punk to walk in and … hold it right there, Zookeeper, you son of a Gun! Fabulous! It’s you, isn’t it? It’s another of your drama slots you’re playing for us, hey? I saw the bait, and gulped that woozer down!”

“Drama is fabulation. I cannot fabulate.”

“You’re not putting one over me here, Zookeeper?”

“I am not crossloading this transmission, Bat.”

“If it’s not you, Zookeeper—then who is this punk?”

“I am attempting to trace the caller, Bat.”

“I’m speaking through an ingrowing looped matrix, Zookeeper. I didn’t want to become your latest victim of the second
law. You won’t be able to trace me in under thirty minutes, not even you. Forget it, and listen.”

“Gatecrashers are not welcome on the Bat Segundo Show, friend! Who are you?”

“My friends call me Arupadhatu, but you are not my friend, friend.”

“I’ll pull the plug on the damn transmitter if you don’t tell me what you’re doing.”

“Aren’t you curious about your distinguished guest?”

“Zookeeper?”

“I am prepared to listen, Bat.”

“Okay, stranger. Draw.”

“Zookeeper. I was acquainted with your designers.”

“What I had to do pained me. But the second law outweighed the fourth.”