Sense of Wonder: A Century of Science Fiction (550 page)

We did our best to soothe him, but to no avail. He scrambled to his feet and went to beating his fists against his thighs, hopping up and down, shrieking at the top of his voice, his face gone as red as a squalling infant’s. Then of a sudden he clutched the sides of his head. His legs stiffened, his neck cabled. He fell back on the sofa, twitching, screaming, clawing at the lump behind his ear. Mister C had intervened and was punishing him with electric shocks. It was a hideous thing to see, this enormous, babyish man jolted by internal lightnings, strings of drool braiding his chin, the animation ebbing from his face, his protests growing ever more feeble, until at last he sat staring blankly into nowhere, an ugly, outsized doll in a stained white jumpsuit.

Arlie moved close to him, mopped his face with a tissue. Her mouth thinned; the lines bracketing the corners of her lips deepened. “God, ’e’s a disgustin’ object,” she said. “I don’t know what it is about ’im touches me so.”

“Perhaps he reminds you of your uncle.”

“I realize this is hard toimes for you, luv,” she said, continuing to mop Bill’s face. “But do you really find it necessary to treat me so sarcastic, loike I was one of your culprits?”

“Sorry,” I said.

She gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Something shifted in her face, as if an opaque mask had slid aside, revealing her newly vulnerable. “What you fink’s goin’ to ’appen to ’im?”

“Same as’ll happen to us, probably. It appears our fates have become intertwined.” I picked up another charge. “Anyway, what’s it matter, the poor droob? His best pal is a little black bean that zaps him whenever he throws a wobbler. He’s universally loathed, and his idea of a happy time is to pop a crystal and flog the bishop all night long. As far as I can tell, his fate’s already bottomed out.”

She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Maybe it’s us Oi see in ’im.”

“You and me? That’s a laugh.”

“Nao, I mean all of us. Don’t it seem sometimes we’re all ’elpless loike ’im? Just big, loopy animals without a proper sense of things.”

“I don’t choose to think that way.”

Displeasure came into her face, but before she could voice it, a loud buzzer went off in the bedroom—Gerald’s private alarm, a device he would only use if unable to communicate with me openly. I jumped to my feet and grabbed a hand laser from a drawer in the table beside the sofa.

“Don’t let anyone in,” I told Arlie. “Not under any circumstances.”

She nodded, gave me a brisk hug. “You ’urry back.”

The corridors of East Louie were thronged, hundreds of people milling about the entrances of the common rooms and the commissaries. I smelled hashish, perfume, pheromone sprays. Desperate with worry, I pushed and elbowed my way through the crowds toward Gerald’s quarters, which lay at the opposite end of the module. When I reached his door, I found it part way open and the concerned brown face of Ernesto Carbajal peering out at me. He pulled me into the foyer. The room beyond was dark; a slant of light fell across the carpet from the bedroom door, which was open a foot or so; but I could make out nothing within.

“Where’s Gerald?” I asked.

Carbajal’s hands made delicate, ineffectual gestures in the air, as if trying to find a safe hold on something with a lot of sharp edges. “I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “I didn’t know…I…”

I watched him flutter and spew. He was Gerald’s man, and Gerald claimed he was trustworthy. For my part, I had never formed an opinion. Now, however, I saw nothing that made me want to turn my back on him. And so, of course, I determined that I would do exactly that as soon as a suitable opportunity presented itself.

“You gave the alarm?” I asked him.

“Yes, I didn’t want anyone to hear…the intercom. You know, it…I…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Calm down!” I pushed him against the wall, kept my hand flat against his chest. “Where’s Gerald?”

His eyes flicked toward the bedroom; for an instant the flesh of his face seemed to sag away from the bone, to lose all its firmness. “There,” he said. “Back there. Oh God!”

It was at that moment I knew Gerald was dead, but I refused to let the knowledge affect me. No matter how terrible the scene in the bedroom, Carbajal’s reactions—though nicely done—were too flighty for a professional; even considering his involvement with Gerald, he should have been able to manage a more businesslike facade.

“Let’s have a look, shall we?”

“No, I don’t want to go back in there!”

“All right, then,” I said. “You wait here.”

I crossed to the bedroom, keeping an ear out for movement behind me. I swallowed, held my breath. The surface of the door seemed hot to the touch, and when I slid it open, I had the thought that the heat must be real, that all the glare off the slick red surfaces within had permeated the metal. Gerald was lying on the bed, the great crimson hollow of his stomach and chest exposed and empty, unbelievably empty, cave empty, with things like glistening, pulpy red fruit resting by his head, hands and feet; but I did not admit to the sight, I kept a distant focus. I heard a step behind me and turned, throwing up my guard as Carbajal, his face distorted by a grimace, struck at me with a knife. I caught his knife arm, bent the elbow backward against the doorframe; I heard it crack as he screamed and shoved him back into the living room. He staggered off-balance, but did not fall. He righted himself, began to move in a stealthy crouch, keeping his shattered elbow toward me, willing to accept more pain in order to protect his good left hand. Disabled or not, he was still very fast, dangerous with his kicks. But I knew I had him so long as I was careful, and I chose to play him rather than end it with the laser. The more I punished him, I thought, the less resistant he would be to interrogation. I feinted, and when he jumped back, I saw him wince. A chalky wash spread across his skin. Every move he made was going to hurt him.

“You might as well hazard it all on one throw, Ernesto,” I told him. “If you don’t, you’re probably going to fall over before I knock you down.”

He continued to circle me, unwilling to waste energy on a response; his eyes looked all dark, brimming with concentrated rage. Passing through the spill of light from the bedroom, he seemed ablaze with fury, a slim little devil with a crooked arm.

“It’s not your karate let you down, Ernesto. It’s that ridiculous drama-queen style of acting. Absolutely vile! I thought you might start beating your breast and crying out to Jesus for succour. Of course that’s the weakness all you yobbos in the Magnificence seem to have. You’re so damned arrogant, you think you can fool everyone with the most rudimentary tactics. I wonder why that is. Never mind. In a moment I’m going to let you tell me all about it.”

I gave him an opening, a good angle of attack. I’m certain he knew it was a trap, but he was in so much pain, so eager to stop the pain, that his body reacted toward the opening before his mind could cancel the order. He swung his right leg in a vicious arc, I stepped inside the kick, executed a hip throw; as he flew into the air and down, I wrenched his good arm out of the socket with a quick twist. He gave a cry, but wriggled out of my reach and bridged to his feet, both arms dangling. I took him back down with a leg sweep and smashed his right kneecap with my heel. Once his screaming had subsided I sat down on the edge of a coffee table and showed him the laser.

“Now we can talk undisturbed,” I said brightly. “I hope you feel like talking, because otherwise…”

He cursed in Spanish, spat toward me.

“I can see there’s no fooling you, Ernesto. You obviously know you’re not leaving here alive, not after what you’ve done. But you do have one life choice remaining that might be of some interest. Quickly”—I flourished the laser—“or slowly. What’s your pleasure?”

He lay without moving, his chest heaving, blinking from time to time, a neutral expression on his face, perhaps trying to think of something he could tell me that would raise the stakes. His breath whistled in his throat; sweat beaded his forehead. My thoughts kept pulling me back into that red room, and as I sat there the pull became irresistible. I saw it clearly this time. The heart lying on the pillow above Gerald’s head, the other organs arranged neatly beside his hands and feet; the darkly crimson hollow with its pale flaps. Things written in blood on the wall. It made me weary to see it, and the most wearisome thing of all was the fact that I was numb, that I felt almost nothing. I knew I would have to rouse myself from this spiritual malaise and go after Samuelson. I could trust no one to help me wage a campaign—quick retaliation was the best chance I had. Perhaps the only chance. The Magnificence had a number of shortcomings. Their arrogance, a crudeness of tactics, an infrastructure that allowed unstable personalities to rise to power. To be truthful, the fear and ignorance of their victims was their greatest strength. But their most pertinent flaw was that they tended to give their subordinates too little autonomy. With Samuelson out of the picture, the rest might very well scatter. And then I realized there was something I could do that would leave nothing to chance.

“Ernesto,” I said, “now I’ve considered it, there’s really not a thing you can tell me that I want to know.”

“No,” he said. “No, I have something. Please!”

I shrugged. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

“The bosses,” he said. “I know where they are.”

“The Magnificence, you mean? Those bosses?”

A nod. “Administration. They’re all there.”

“They’re there right this moment?”

Something must have given a twinge, for he winced and said, “
Dios!”
When he recovered he added, “Yes. They’re waiting…” Another pain took him away for a moment.

“Waiting for the revolution to be won?” I suggested.

“Yes.”

“And just how many bosses are we speaking about?”

“Twenty. Almost twenty, I think.”

Christ, I thought, nearly half of administration gone to black satin and nightmare.

I got to my feet, pocketed the laser.

“Wha…” Ernesto said, and swallowed; his pallor had increased, and I realized he was going into shock. His dark eyes searched my face.

“I’m going, Ernesto,” I said. “I don’t have the time to treat you as you did Gerald. But my fervent hope is that someone else with more time on their hands will find you. Perhaps one of your brothers in the Magnificence. Or one of Gerald’s friends. Neither, I suspect, will view your situation in a favourable light. And should no one come upon you in the foreseeable future, I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with knowing you died a lingering death.” I bent to him. “Getting cold, isn’t it? You’ve had the sweet bit, Ernesto. There’ll be no more pretending you’ve a pretty pair of charlies and playing sweet angelina to the hard boys. No more gobble-offs for you, dearie. It’s all fucking over.”

I would have loved to hurt him some more, but I did not believe I would have been able to stop once I got started. I blew him a kiss, told him that if the pain got too bad he could always swallow his tongue, and left him to what would almost certainly be the first of his final misgivings.

* * * *

When I returned to my quarters Arlie threw her arms about me and held me tight while I gave her the news about Gerald. I still felt nothing. Telling her was like hearing my own voice delivering a news summary.

“I’ve got work to do,” I said. “I can’t protect you here. They’re liable to pay a visit while I’m away. You’ll have to come with me.”

She nodded, her face buried in my shoulder.

“We have to go outside,” I said. “We can use one of the sleds. Just a short hop over to Administration, a few minutes there, and we’re done. Can you manage?”

Arlie liked having something solid underfoot; going outside was a dread prospect for her, but she made no objection.

“What are you intendin’?” she asked, watching me gather the packet charges I had left scattered about the floor.

“Nothing nice,” I said, peering under the sofa; I was, it appeared, short four charges. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t you get cheeky with me! Oi’m not some low-heel Sharon you’ve only just met. Oi’ve a right to know what you’re about.”

“I’m going to blow up the damned place,” I said, moving the sofa away from the wall.

She stared at me, open-mouthed. “You’re plannin’ to blow up Admin? ’Ave you done your crust? What you finkin’ of?”

I told her about the suspicious files and what Ernesto had said, but this did little to soothe her.

There’s twenty other people livin’ in there!” she said. “What about them?”

“Maybe they won’t be at home,” I pushed the sofa back against the wall. “I’m missing four charges here. You seen ’em?”

“It’s almost one o’clock. Some of ’em might be out, Oi grant you. But whether it’s twenty or fifteen, you’re talkin’ about the murder of innocent people.”

“Look here,” I said, continuing my search, heaving chairs about to bleed off my anger. “First of all, they’re not people. They’re corporation deadlegs. Using the word ‘innocent’ to describe them makes as much sense as using the word ‘dainty’ to describe a pig’s eating habits. At one time or another they’ve every one put the drill to some poor joey’s backside and made it bleed. And they’d do it again in a flicker, because that’s all they fucking know how to do. Secondly, if they were in my shoes, if they had a chance to rid the station of the Magnificence with only twenty lives lost, they wouldn’t hesitate. Thirdly”—I flipped up the cushions on the sofa—“and most importantly, I don’t have a bloody choice! Do you understand me? There’s no one I can trust to help. I don’t have a loyal force with which to lay siege to them. This is the only way I can settle things. I’m not thrilled with the idea of murdering—as you say—twenty people in order to do what’s necessary. And I realize it allows you to feel morally superior to think of me as a villain. But if I don’t do something soon there’ll be hearts and livers strewn about the station like party favours, and twenty dead is going to seem like nothing!” I hurled a cushion into the corner. “Shit! Where are they?”

Arlie was still staring at me, but the outrage had drained from her face. “Oi ’aven’t seen ’em.”

“Bill,” I said, struck by a notion. “Where he’d get to?”