Kate Wilhelm in Orbit - Volume One (4 page)

“She won’t stand for an actual robbery.” Louder, emphasizing it, he added, “I won’t stand for that.”

“We can dub it,” Herb said. “That’s all we need, Johnny, plant the idea, and then dub the rest.”

John stared at his back. He wanted to believe that. He needed to believe it. His voice showed no trace of emotion when he said, “It didn’t start like this, Herb. What happened?”

Herb turned then. His face was dark against the glare of light behind him. “Okay, Johnny, it didn’t start like this. Things accelerate, that’s all. You thought of a gimmick, and the way we planned it, it sounded great, but it didn’t last. We gave them the feeling of gambling, of learning to ski, of automobile racing, everything we could dream of, and it wasn’t enough. How many times can you take the first ski jump of your life? After a while you want new thrills, you know? For you it’s been great, hasn’t it? You bought yourself a shiny new lab and closed the door. You bought yourself time and equipment, and when things didn’t go right you could toss it out and start over, and nobody gave a damn. Think of what it’s been like for me, kid! I gotta keep coming up with something new, something that’ll give Anne a jolt and through her all those nice little people who aren’t even alive unless they’re plugged in. You think it’s been easy? Anne was a green kid. For her everything was new and exciting, but it isn’t like that now, boy. You better believe it is
not
like that now. You know what she told me last month? She’s sick and tired of men. Our little hot-box Annie! Tired of men!”

John crossed to him and pulled him around. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why, Johnny? What would you have done that I didn’t do?
I
looked harder for the right guy. What would you do for a new thrill for her? I worked for them, kid. Right from the start you said for me to leave you alone. Okay. I left you alone. You ever read any of the memos I sent? You initialed them, kiddo. Everything that’s been done, we both signed. Don’t give me any of that why didn’t I tell you stuff. It won’t work!” His face was ugly red and a vein bulged in his neck. John wondered if he had high blood pressure, if he would die of a stroke during one of his flash rages.

John left him at the window. He had read the memos. Herb was right; all he had wanted was to be left alone. It had been his idea; after twelve years of work in a laboratory on prototypes he had shown his—gimmick—to Herb Javits. Herb was one of the biggest producers on television then; now he was the biggest producer in the world.

The gimmick was fairly simple. A person fitted with electrodes in his brain could transmit his emotions, which in turn could be broadcast and picked up by the helmets to be felt by the audience. No words or thoughts went out, only basic emotions—fear, love, anger, hatred… That, tied in with a camera showing what the person saw, with a voice dubbed in, and you were the person having the experience, with one important difference, you could turn it off if it got to be too much. The “actor” couldn’t. A simple gimmick. You didn’t really need the camera and the soundtrack; many users never turned them on at all, but let their own imagination fill in the emotional broadcast.

The helmets were not sold, only rented after a short, easy fitting session. Rent of one dollar a month was collected on the first of the month, and there were over thirty-seven million subscribers. Herb had bought his own network after the second month when the demand for more hours barred him from regular television. From a one-hour weekly show it had gone to one hour nightly, and now it was on the air eight hours a day live, with another eight hours of taped programming.

What had started out as
a day in the life of anne beaumont
was now a life in the life of Anne Beaumont, and the audience was insatiable.

Anne came in then, surrounded by the throng of hangers-on that mobbed her daily—hairdressers, masseurs, fitters, script men… She looked tired. She waved the crowd out when she saw John and Herb were there. “Hello, John,” she said, “Herb.”

“Anne, baby, you’re looking great!” Herb said. He took her in his arms and kissed her solidly. She stood still, her hands at her sides.

She was tall, very slender, with wheat-colored hair and gray eyes. Her cheekbones were wide and high, her mouth firm and almost too large. Against her deep red-gold suntan her teeth looked whiter than John remembered them. Although too firm and strong ever to be thought of as pretty, she was a very beautiful woman. After Herb released her, she turned to John, hesitated only a moment, and then extended a slim, sun-browned hand. It was cool and dry in his.

“How have you been, John? It’s been a long time.”

He was very glad she didn’t kiss him or call him darling. She smiled only slightly and gently removed her hand from his. He moved to the bar as she turned to Herb.

“I’m through, Herb,” she said. Her voice was too quiet. She accepted a whiskey sour from John, but kept her gaze on Herb.

“What’s the matter, honey? I was just watching you, baby. You were great today, like always. You’ve still got it, kid. It’s coming through like always.”

“What about this robbery? You must be out of your mind…”

“Yeah, that. Listen, Anne baby, I swear to you I don’t know a thing about it. Laughton must have been telling you the straight goods on that. You know we agreed that the rest of this week you just have a good time, remember? That comes over too, baby. When you have a good time and relax, thirty-seven million people are enjoying life and relaxing. That’s good. They can’t be stimulated all the time. They like the variety…” Wordlessly John held out a glass, scotch and water. Herb took it without looking.

Anne was watching him coldly. Suddenly she laughed. It was a cynical, bitter sound. “You’re not a damn fool, Herb. Don’t try to act like one.” She sipped her drink again, continuing to stare at him over the rim of the glass. “I am warning you, if anyone shows up here to rob me, I’m going to treat him like a real burglar. I bought a gun after today’s broadcast, and I learned how to shoot when I was only nine or ten. I still know how. I’ll kill him, Herb, whoever it is.”

“Baby,” Herb started, but she cut him short.

“And this is my last week. As of Saturday, I’m through.”

“You can’t do that, Anne,” Herb said. John watched him closely, searching for a sign of weakness, anything; he saw nothing. Herb exuded confidence. “Look around, Anne, at this room, your clothes, everything…. You are the richest woman in the world, having the time of your life, able to go anywhere, do anything…”

“While the whole world watches—”

“So what? It doesn’t stop you, does it?” Herb started to pace, his steps jerky and quick. “You knew that when you signed the contract. You’re a rare girl, Anne, beautiful, emotional, intelligent. Think of all those women who’ve got nothing but you. If you quit them, what do they do? Die? They might, you know. For the first time in their lives they are able to feel like they’re living. You’re giving them what no one ever did before, what was only hinted at in books and films in the old days. Suddenly they know what it feels like to face excitement, to experience love, to feel contented and peaceful. Think of them, Anne, empty, with nothing in their lives but you, what you’re able to give them. Thirty-seven million drabs, Anne, who never felt anything but boredom and frustration until you gave them life. What do they have? Work, kids, bills. You’ve given them the world, baby! Without you they wouldn’t even want to live anymore.”

She wasn’t listening. Almost dreamily she said, “I talked to my lawyers, Herb, and the contract is meaningless. You’ve already broken it countless times by insisting on adding to the original agreement. I agreed to learn a lot of new things. I did. My God! I’ve climbed mountains, hunted lions, learned to ski and water ski, but now you want me to die a little bit each week… That airplane crash, not bad, just enough to terrify me. Then the sharks. I really do think it was having sharks brought in when I was skiing that did it, Herb. You see, you will kill me. It will happen, and you won’t be able to top it, Herb. Not ever.”

There was a hard, waiting silence following her words.
No!
John shouted, soundlessly, the words not leaving his mouth. He was looking at Herb. He had stopped pacing when she started to talk. Something flicked across his face—surprise, fear, something not readily identifiable. Then his face went completely blank and he raised his glass and finished the scotch and water, replacing the glass on the bar. When he turned again, he was smiling with disbelief.

“What’s really bugging you, Anne? There have been plants before. You knew about them. Those lions didn’t just happen by, you know. And the avalanche needed a nudge from someone. You know that. What else is bugging you?”

“I’m in love, Herb.

Herb waved that aside impatiently. “Have you ever watched your own show, Anne?” She shook her head. “I thought not. So you wouldn’t know about the expansion that took place last month, after we planted that new transmitter in your head. Johnny boy’s been busy, Anne. You know these scientist types, never satisfied, always improving, changing. Where’s the camera, Anne? Do you ever know where it is anymore? Have you even seen a camera in the past couple of weeks, or a recorder of any sort? You have not, and you won’t again. You’re on now, honey.” His voice was quite low, amused almost. “In fact the only time you aren’t on is when you’re sleeping. I know you’re in love. I know who he is. I know how he makes you feel. I even know how much money he makes per week. I should know, Anne baby. I pay him.” He had come closer to her with each word, finishing with his face only inches from hers. He didn’t have a chance to duck the flashing slap that jerked his head around, and before either of them realized it, he had hit her back, knocking her back into the chair.

The silence grew, became something ugly and heavy, as if words were being born and dying without utterance because they were too brutal for the human spirit to bear. There was a spot of blood on Herb’s mouth where her diamond ring had cut him. He touched it and looked at his finger. “It’s all being taped now, honey, even this,” he said. He turned his back on her and went to the bar.

There was a large red print on her cheek. Her gray eyes had turned black with rage.

“Honey, relax,” Herb said after a moment. “It won’t make any difference to you, in what you do, or anything like that. You know we can’t use most of the stuff, but it gives the editors a bigger variety to pick from. It was getting to the point where most of the interesting stuff was going on after you were off. Like buying the gun. That’s great stuff there, baby. You weren’t blanketing a single thing, and it’ll all come through like pure gold.” He finished mixing his drink, tasted it, and then swallowed half of it. “How many women have to go out and buy a gun to protect themselves? Think of them all, feeling that gun, feeling the things you felt when you picked it up, looked at it…”

“How long have you been tuning in all the time?” she asked. John felt a stirring along his spine, a tingle of excitement. He knew what was going out over the miniature transmitter, the rising crests of emotion she was feeling. Only a trace of them showed on her smooth face, but the raging interior torment was being recorded faithfully. Her quiet voice and quiet body were lies; the tapes never lied.

Herb felt it too. He put his glass down and went to her, kneeling by the chair, taking her hand in both of his. “Anne, please, don’t be that angry with me. I was desperate for new material. When Johnny got this last wrinkle out, and we knew we could record around the clock, we had to try it, and it wouldn’t have been any good if you had known. That’s no way to test anything. You knew we were planting the transmitter…”

“How long?”

“Not quite a month.”

“And Stuart? He’s one of your men? He is transmitting also? You hired him to… to make love to me? Is that right?”

Herb nodded. She pulled her hand free and averted her face, not willing to see him any longer. He got up then and went to the window. “But what difference does it make?” he shouted. “If I introduced the two of you at a party, you wouldn’t think anything of it. What difference if I did it this way? I knew you’d like each other. He’s bright, like you, likes the same sort of things you do. Comes from a poor family, like yours… Everything said you’d get along…”

“Oh, yes,” she said almost absently. “We get along.” She was feeling in her hair, her fingers searching for the scars.

“It’s all healed by now,” John said. She looked at him as if she had forgotten he was there.

“I’ll find a surgeon,” she said, standing up, her fingers white on her glass. “A brain surgeon—”

“It’s a new process,” John said slowly. “It would be dangerous to go in after them.”

She looked at him for a long time. “Dangerous?”

He nodded.

“You could take it back out.”

He remembered the beginning, how he had quieted her fear of the electrodes and the wires. Her fear was that of a child for the unknown and the unknowable. Time and again he had proven to her that she could trust him, that he wouldn’t lie to her. He hadn’t lied to her, then. There was the same trust in her eyes, the same unshakable faith. She would believe him. She would accept without question whatever he said. Herb had called him an icicle, but that was wrong. An icicle would have melted in her fires. More like a stalactite, shaped by centuries of civilization, layer by layer he had been formed until he had forgotten how to bend, forgotten how to find release for the stirrings he felt somewhere in the hollow, rigid core of himself. She had tried and, frustrated, she had turned from him, hurt, but unable not to trust one she had loved. Now she waited. He could free her, and lose her again, this time irrevocably. Or he could hold her as long as she lived.

Her lovely gray eyes were shadowed with fear and the trust that he had given to her. Slowly he shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said. “No one can.”

“I see,” she murmured, the black filling her eyes. “I’d die, wouldn’t I? Then you’d have a lovely sequence, wouldn’t you, Herb?” She swung around, away from John. “You’d have to fake the story line, of course, but you are so good at that. An accident, emergency brain surgery needed, everything I feel going out to the poor little drabs who never will have brain surgery done. It’s very good,” she said admiringly. Her eyes were very black. “In fact, anything I do from now on, you’ll use, won’t you? If I kill you, that will simply be material for your editors to pick over. Trial, prison, very dramatic… On the other hand, if I kill myself…”