Sense of Wonder: A Century of Science Fiction (545 page)

“I was only tryin’ to do the wise and righteous,” he said, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his meagre chest. “Samuelson’s been tellin’ us we shouldn’t sit back and allow things to just happen. We should let our voices be heard. Solitaire’s our home. We should be the ones who decide how it’s run.”

“And so, naturally,” I said, “when it came time to let your majestic voice resound, the most compelling topic you could find upon which to make a statement was the fate of a halfwit.”

“It’s not that simple and you know it. His case speaks to a larger issue. Samuelson says…”

“Fuck you,” I said. “And fuck Samuelson.” I was sick of him, sick of his Midlands accent, sick especially of his references to Samuelson. What possible service, I wondered, could a dwight such as he have provided for the Magnificence? Something to do with logistics, probably. Anticipating police strategies or solving computer defences. Yet from what I knew of the Magnificence, it was hard to imagine them putting up with this nit for very long. They would find a hard use for him and then let him fall off the edge of the world.

“Why in hell’s name did you paint that thing on his door?” I asked. “And don’t tell me Samuelson ordered you to do it.”

The light of hope came into his face, and I would have sworn he was about to create some fantasy concerning Samuelson and himself in order to shift the guilt to broader shoulders. But all he said was, “I wanted to scare him.”

“You could have achieved that with a bloody stick figure,” I said.

“Yeah, but no one else would have understood it. Samuelson says we ought to try to influence as many people as possible whenever we state our cause, no matter how limited our aims. That way we enlist others in our dialogue.”

I was starting to have some idea of what Samuelson’s agenda might be, but I did not believe Thirwell could further enlighten me on the subject. “All you’ve succeeded in doing,” I told him, “is to frighten other people. Or is it your opinion that there are those here who would welcome a chapter of the Magnificence?” He ducked his eyes and made no reply. “If you’re homesick for them, I can easily arrange for you to take a trip back to Manchester,” I said.

This elicited from Thirwell a babble of pleas and promises. I saw that I would get no more out of him, and I cautioned him that if he were ever to trouble Bill again I would not hesitate to make good on my threat, I then sent him on his way and headed off to pay a call on Menckyn Samuelson.

* * * *

Samuelson’s apartment, like those belonging to most corporate regals, was situated in a large module adjoining the even larger module that housed the station’s propulsion controls, and was furnished with antiques and pictures that would have fetched a dear price back on Earth, but here were absolutely priceless, less evidence of wealth than emblems of faith…the faith we were all taught to embrace, that one day life would be as once it had been, a vista of endless potential and possibility. The problem with Samuelson’s digs, however, was that his taste was abysmally bad: he had assembled a motley collection of items, Guilford chests and blond Finnish chairs, a Jefferson corner cabinet and freeform video sculptures, Victorian sideboard and fibre-optic chandelier, that altogether created the impression one had stumbled into a pawn shop catering to millionaires. It may be that my amusement at this appalling display showed in my face, for though he presented a smile and an outstretched hand, I sensed a certain stiffness in his manner. Nevertheless the politician in him brought him through that awkward moment. Soon he was nattering away, pouring me a glass of whisky, ushering me to an easy chair, plopping himself down into another, giving out with an expansive sigh, and saying, “I’m so awfully glad you’ve come, John. I’ve been meaning to have you in for a cup of reminiscence, you know. Two old Londoners like ourselves, we can probably find a few choice topics to bang around.”

He lifted his chin, beaming blandly, eyes half-lidded, as if expecting something pleasant to be dashed into his face. It was such a thespian pose, such a clichéd take on upper-class manners, so redolent of someone trying to put on airs, I had to restrain a laugh. Everything about him struck me as being just the slightest bit off. He was a lean, middle-aged man, dressed in a loose cotton shirt and moleskin trousers, alert in manner, almost handsome, but the nose was a tad sharp, the eyes set a fraction too close together, the cheekbones not sufficiently prominent, the chin a touch insubstantial, too much forehead and not enough hair. He had the essential features of good breeding, yet none of the charming detail, like the runt of a pedigree litter.

“Yes,” I said, “we must do that sometime. However, today I’ve come on station business.”

“I see.” He leaned back, crossed his legs, cradled his whisky in his lap. “Then p’rhaps after we’ve concluded your business, there’ll be time for a chat, eh?”

“Perhaps.” I had a swallow of whisky, savoured the smoky flavour. I’d like to talk with you about William Stamey.”

“Ah, yes. Old Barnacle Bill.” Samuelson’s brow was creased by a single furrow, the sort of line a cartoonist would use to indicate a gently rolling sea. “A bothersome matter.”

“It might be considerably less bothersome if you left it alone.”

Not a crack in the veneer. He smiled, shook his head. “I should dearly love to, old fellow. But I’m afraid you’ve rather a short-sighted view of the situation. The question we must settle is not the question of Bill
per se,
but of general policy. We must develop clear guide…”

“Come on! Give it up!” I said. “I’m not one of your damned pint and kidney pies boy who get all narky and start to drool at the thought of their rights being abused. Their rights! Jesus Christ! The poor scuts have been buggered more times than a Sydney whore, and they still think it feels good. You wouldn’t waste a second on this if it were merely a question of policy. I want to know what you’re really after.”

“Oh my God,” Samuelson said, bemused. “You’re not going to be an easy lay, are you?”

“Not for you, darling. I’m saving myself for the one I love.”

“And just who is that, I wonder.” He swirled the whisky in his glass, watched it settle. “What do you think I’m after?”

“Power. What else is it makes your toby stiffen?”

He made a dry noise. “A simplistic answer. Not inaccurate, I’ll admit. But simplistic all the same.”

“I’m here for an education,” I told him, “not to give a lecture.”

“And I may enlighten you,” Sarnuelson said. “I very well may. But let me ask you something first. What’s your interest in all this?”

“I’m looking after Bill’s interests.”

He arched his eyebrow. “Surely there’s more to it than that.”

“That’s the sum of it. Aside from the odd deep-seated psychological motive, of course.”

“Of course.” His smile could have sliced an onion; when it vanished, his cheeks hollowed. “I should imagine there’s an element of
noblesse oblige
involved.”

“Call it what you like. The fact remains, I’m on the case.”

“For now,” he said. “These things have a way of changing.”

“Is that a threat? Don’t waste your time. I’m the oldest slut on the station, Samuelson. I know where all the big balls have been dragging, and I’ve made certain I’m protected. Should anything happen to me or mine, it’s your superiors who’re going to start squealing. They’ll be most perturbed with you.”

“You’ve nothing on me.” This said with, I thought, forced confidence.

“True enough,” I said. “But I’m working on it, don’t you worry.”

Samuelson drained his glass, got to his feet, went to the sideboard and poured himself a fresh whisky. He held up the bottle, gave me an enquiring look.

“Why not?” I let him fill my glass, which I then lifted in a toast. “To England. May the seas wash over her and make her clean.”

He gave an amused snort. “England,” he said, and drank. He sat back down, adjusted his bottom. “You’re an amazing fellow, John. I’ve been told as much, but now, having had some firsthand experience, I believe my informants may have underestimated you.” He pinched the crease of one trouserleg. “Let me put something to you. Not as a threat, but as an item for discussion. You do understand, don’t you, that the sort of protection you’ve developed is not proof against every circumstance?”

“Absolutely. In the end it all comes down to a question of who’s got the biggest guns and the will to use them. Naturally I’m prepared along those lines.”

“I don’t doubt it. But you’re not seeking a war, are you?”

I knocked back half my whisky, rested the glass on my lap. “Look here, I’m quite willing to live as one with you, no matter. Until lately, you’ve done nothing to interfere with my agenda. But this dust-up over Bill, and now this bit with your man Thirwell and his paint gun, I won’t have it. Too many people here, Brits and Yanks alike, have a tendency to soil their nappy when they catch a scent of the Magnificence. I’ve no quarrel with you making a power play. And that’s what you’re doing, old boy. You’re stirring up the groundlings, throwing a few scraps to the hounds so they’ll be eager for the sound of your voice. You’re after taking over the administrative end of things, and you’ve decided to give climbing the ladder of success a pass in favour of scaling the castle walls. A bloodless coup, perhaps. Or maybe a spot of blood thrown in to slake the fiercest appetites. Well, that’s fine. I don’t give a fuck who’s sitting in the big chair, and I don’t much care how they get there, so long as we maintain the status quo. But one thing I won’t have is you frightening people.”

“People are forever being frightened,” he said. “Whether there’s a cause for fear or not. But that’s not my intent.”

“Perhaps not. But you’ve frightened the bejesus out of Bill, and now you’ve frightened a good many others by bringing the Magnificence into the picture.”

“Thirwell’s not my responsibility.”

“The hell he’s not! He’s the walking Book of Samuelson. Every other sentence begins, ‘Samuelson says…’ Give him a pretty smile, and he’ll be your leg-humper for life.”

“Leg-humper?” Samuelson looked bewildered.

“A little dog,” I said impatiently. “You know the kind. Randy all the time. Jumps up on you and goes to having his honeymoon with your calf.”

“I’ve never heard the term. Not British, is it?”

“American, I think. I heard it somewhere. I don’t know.”

“Marvellous expression. I’ll have to remember it.”

“Remember this, too,” I said, trying to pick up the beat of my tirade. “I’m holding you responsible for any whisper I hear of the Magnificence. Before we had this heart-to-heart I was inclined to believe you had no part in what Thirwell did. Now I’m not altogether sure. I think you’re quite capable of using fear to manipulate the public. I think you may have known something of Thirwell’s history and given him a nudge.”

“Even if that were true,” he said, “I don’t understand the depth of your reaction. We’re a long way from the Magnificence here. A daub of paint or two can’t have much effect.”

My jaw dropped a fraction on hearing that. “You’re not from London. You couldn’t be and still say that.”

“Oh, I’m from London all right,” he said coldly. “And I’m no virgin where the Magnificence is concerned. They left my brother stretched on King’s Road one morning with the Equation of Undying Love scrawled in his own blood on the sidewalk beneath him. They mailed his private parts to his wife in a plastic container. But I’ve come a very long way from those days and those places. I’d be terrified of the Magnificence if they were here. But they’re not here, and I’ll be damned if I’ll treat them like the bogeyman just because some sad little twit with too much brain and the social skills of a ferret paints the Magelantic Exorcism on somebody’s door.”

His statement rang true, but nevertheless I made a mental note to check on his brother. “Wonderful,” I said. “It’s good you’ve come to terms with all that. But not everyone here has managed to put as much distance between themselves and their old fears as you seem to have done.”

“That may be, but I’m…’ He broke off, clicked his tongue against his teeth. “All right. I see your point.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Let’s see if we can’t reach an accord. It’s not in my interests at the moment to break off my campaign against Bill, but”—he held up a hand to stop me from interrupting—“but I will acknowledge that I’ve no real axe to grind where he’s concerned. He’s serving a strictly utilitarian purpose. So here’s what I’ll do. I will not allow him to be shipped back to Earth. At a certain juncture, I’ll defuse the campaign. Perhaps I’ll even make a public apology. That should help return him to grace. In addition, I’ll do what I can to prevent further incidents involving the Magnificence. Frankly I very much doubt there’ll be further problems. If there are, it won’t be because I’m encouraging them.”

“All well and good,” I said. “Very magnanimous, I’m sure. But nothing you’ve promised guarantees Bill’s safety during the interim.”

“You’ll have to be his guarantee. I’ll try to maintain the temper of the station at a
simmer. The rest is up to you.”

“Up to me? No, you’re not going to avoid responsibility that way. I’ll do my best to keep him from harm, but if he gets hurt, I’ll hurt you. That much I can guarantee.”

“Then let’s hope that nothing happens to him, shall we? For both our sakes.” His smile was so thin, such a sideways stretching of the lip muscles, I thought it must be making his gums ache. “Funny. I can’t decide whether we’ve established a working relationship or declared war.”

“I don’t think it matters,” I said.

“No, probably not.” He stood, straightened the fall of his trousers, and again gave me that bland, beaming, expectant look. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Do drop around once the dust has settled. We’ll have that chat.”