They Also Serve (18 page)

"Please stop," Annie begged, knowing the words had no meaning to these men, hoping somewhere there might be something soft and gentle still living in them.

"And why should I stop?" the man with the knife at her throat laughed. Flicking his knife, he drove her hand away from her breasts, letting them fall bare again. His other hand knocked her arm away; he grabbed the upper flesh of her thigh.

"Because the woman asked you to," came soft and deadly from the street. On silent electric motors, the mule had glided up behind the men. Dumont now rested one hand on the steering wheel and waited, with an air of infinite patience, for an answer.

"That's a stupid reason," the knife said, stepping away from Annie but keeping the blade at her throat. He extended his other hand toward the marine in a gesture Da said was obscene.

One of the other men, who'd been watching Damon, took advantage of the distraction to bring his club up fast and hard into the mechanic's gut. Damon went down, hands to his belly, struggling for air. The men laughed—and turned to the marine.

"Go away, starkid. You got no business here."

"You're probably right. But I brought that young woman here, and her pa, and I told them I'd take them back. As I see it, they ought to be in the same shape."

"Well, we don't see it that way," one of them said, slowly inching toward Dumont.

"Even a dumbfuck marine can tell that," Dumont nodded.

"Leave us alone and you won't get hurt."

"No can do."

"Then we'll just have to include you in our fun. And there's five of us and just one of you."

"Gunny at boot camp said one trained marine ought to be able to handle six street shits with no training. Proved it, too. Gunny was a nice old bastard. Only put two of us in the hospital."

"I'm sick of this talk. Get him."

A small pistol appeared in the hand Dumont did not have on the steering wheel. As he swept it over the rushing men, it made sharp popping sounds. After each pop, a large exit hole would appear in the back of one of the city slick's heads. As in a slow-motion dream, they went down.

The blood and brains from one of them splattered Annie. She gagged on a scream.

"Sorry about that," Dumont said, running to Annie's side. "Gunny also said an automatic beats a club every day."

"They're dead," Annie whispered, trying to control the fear that shook her, trying to convince herself she was safe.

"Very dead. Let's get you and your old man out of here." He helped her up, half-carried her to the mule, and set her gently down in the back. "Mr. Mulroney, can you make it?"

"I think so." Hauling himself up by the window frame, Da stood unsteadily, then offered Damon a hand up. With effort, Da made it to the mule.

Dumont quickly stepped around the mule and slid into the driver's seat. "Now we get the hell out of Dodge, fast," Dumont whispered as he reached to put the mule in gear.

A woman screamed. Down the street, a young woman, child held to her breast, dress half ripped off her, stumbled and fell, landing hard to protect the infant in her arms. A roar of male laughter followed her. Behind her, a building started to burn.

"No, damn it," Dumont whimpered. His hand came away from the mule's controls. He swiped at the perspiration on his brow. "Where are you, priest, when I need you? I don't want to do this anymore." Another scream reached them; a harsh laugh followed.

"God damn them all!" Dumont shouted as he reached for the rifle holstered on the mule's door.

Standing beside the vehicle, he took his automatic from its holster and handed it to Da. "It's easy to use. Sight down the barrel. You squeeze back gentle on the trigger and a red dot appears where the needle's going. Pull back the rest of the way, and you saw what happens." Da nodded dumbly. "You'll tell the little priest. I didn't have any good choices. You'll tell him."

"I will," Annie whispered.

The marine pulled glasses from his pocket, put them on. Even in the glare of day, Annie could see the play of lights on them, the picture of what the gun saw riding over what Dumont saw. "See you in a few minutes."

Ray studied the images coming back from the sky eye. The air-conditioned comfort of the hospital struggled against the grainy dirt of the pictures. Kat rambled on, trying to explain what shouldn't have to be said. "It looks like mobs started moving out on foot from Richland early this morning. Apparently the refugees are beating up the town and village folks and taking their homes. In the past hour we've started seeing groups of two or three trains rolling into a station and emptying out a mob of people, who take over the
town. The trains turn around and head back for more. It almost seems organized."

"Any reports of this in the media?"

"Richland's paper doesn't seem to be up today. Usual TV programming is off the air. All we're getting are reruns of get-rich-quick dramas, the life of the rich and debauched, or what passes for education there. No news."

"Refuge?"

"Several channels are just flat off the air. Reruns on the rest. TV news was canceled due to a lack of interest. The explanation was a bit more long-winded, but it boiled down to just that. Newspaper is publishing bland stuff. Most of it looks canned from weeks ago."

"Do we have the blimp take?"

"Three blimps are up. A few mobs are still moving around Refuge, but Cassie's vectoring local teams over to break them up. A lot of foot traffic around the suburbs, but no one is aiming the blimps that direction, so I'd have to bring the sky eye over to see what is happening there, and I think you'd rather keep it between us and them." She nodded at the screen. Another two houses were burning. The camera flicked to another village farther up the rail line. A house burst into flames.

"Anything crazy from the Covenanters?"

"You tell me. Televangelists always sound crazy."

"They're burning her! My God, they're burning that woman." One of the two middies who had kept bouncing from chair to chair stopped in mid hop, face draining white. 'That preacher declared her a witch, and he's burning her!"

Kat brought that picture up on the central screen. A woman, hands tied above her head, screamed horribly as flames began to engulf her dress. The camera backed off. A man was being burned as well. "Oh, let it be a graphic image," Kat breathed, fingers flying as she ran a subroutine to see if it was a created graphics, not real. "It's real," she choked.

"Too damn real for me. Cut it off," Ray snapped.

Kat did. "Sir, this is crazy. I can show you the feed from five years back. Last year, for heaven's sake. That same guy was talking about ice-cream socials and God loving everyone and how there was no hell and everybody was going to heaven. What's gotten into him? How could he change so much so fast?"

Ray blinked several times, trying to rid himself of the afterimage of that last shot. "I wish to hell I knew," he whispered. "They're burning witches up north. They're rioting in the center. They're still acting pretty rational in the South." Kat nodded. "There's a big continent to the north of us—say, a thousand kilometers away." Again Kat nodded, brows coming down in puzzlement. She didn't see the pattern.

Ray did.

"I'm tired," Ray sighed. "Maybe I'll take a nap. Can you keep collecting data?" ,

"Yes, sir. But what are we going to do about it?"

"There's still time to decide that."

Kat glanced at the various screens and the mayhem on them. 'Time's running out for an awful lot of people, sir."

Ray headed down the hall. Med Bay One was deafeningly quiet, the kids gone, and Doctor Isaacs intent on his boards.

"Doc, you got a place I can lie down? Get some rest while you monitor me?"

Jerry came to his feet. "What do you have in mind?"

Ray settled on the table. "I'd like you to check my brain activity while I'm sleeping. You might find it informative."

"Only if you let me put you on heart and blood chemistry monitors while you're at it."

"Hook me up to your heart's content. Probably beats me drinking a lot of water and hoping my bladder gets me up before the dream gets bad." Ray lay down while Jerry prodded and poked. Done, Doc stood by Ray.

"Want to tell me what's going to happen?"

"Things have been happening in my sleep. I dismissed them as just dreams. Now I think they're more. Whatever is running this planet may be trying to talk to me. I'm going looking for it. I don't much care for how it's running this show, and I think it's time I told it."

"You carrying a suitcase bomb?" Doc asked, alluding to Ray's reputation.

"Would if I knew how to get one into my dreams. Guess I'll just have to settle for words."

"Take care. I'll keep watch." Jerry closed the curtains, hardly darkening Ray's surroundings. He took several deep breaths and tried to relax into the table's thin cushion. Many a night he would have considered this rank luxury. Closing his eyes, Ray began to methodically relax each part of his body, starting with his legs. He didn't get far.

"What are you doing?" came in a high-pitched, petulant voice from behind Ray. The room was lined by dusty, unkept shelves. Old books in worn leather bindings stood upright or lay sideways. Several were open, stacked on top of each other. Other knickknacks decorated the shelves— one, a skull with four eye openings. As Ray struggled to comprehend what his mind was simulating, he remembered this scene, a fantasy holovid, complete with dragons. He turned, knowing what he'd see. Yep, a magician sat on a three-legged stool beside a table covered with paraphernalia, including a crystal ball. On it played scenes from the sky eye. Interesting blending of technologies, Ray mused.

" What are you doing ? And why won't any of you talk to me?" the mage repeated. The face was familiar; he'd seen it on the million counselors. The robes this time were royal purple, with five pointed stars lining the cuffs and bottom hem. Ray's subconscious was giving him plenty of hints; he struggled to absorb them in his dreaming state.

"I am here, and I am ready to talk to you," Ray answered.

"So you are. So you are," the figure answered, scratching his ear absentmindedly. "And what do you have to say?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean by that question."

"Look at you. Just look at you." The mage pointed at his crystal ball. Visions flittered across it of
major buildings burning in Refuge, houses burning in towns. "Bad enough that you tore up my eyes, ears, and fingers to cover the land with worthless stuff. Now you destroy that, too. What can be learned from such actions? I ask you. I ask you!"

"Matters have gotten very confusing. I'm not sure just what is happening," Ray said, fumbling for the central purpose of this conversation and not sure there was one.

"That shows what happens. It really does. You do not listen to me. None of you. You ignore me. Totally ignore."

"I'm listening."

"Not really. You 're not hearing a half, a quarter of what I'm saying to you."

"I'm listening to everything I can hear," Ray assured him. "Can you ask for more than that?"

"Not really, no, not really. But why can't you hear all of me? The Gardener was here. Giving you ears was not beyond his limited skills. Where is the Gardener? I ask you. Where is he?"

Given two questions, Ray chose the easier. "I don't believe the Gardener was able to give ears to all of us. We are not of the Three. We need different ears."

"You are not of the Three, that is sure. That is very sure," the mage said, squinting at Ray. "Don't look at all like any of the Three. None. Who are you? Yes, who are you?"

"I am a human being. Ray Longknife at your service," he said, "Ambassador from the Society of Humanity, and Minister of Science and Technology for the sovereign planet of Wardhaven."

"Lots of names for such a small fellow who can't even hear me clearly. Can't hardly hear at all."

"Yes, " Ray agreed. "But I can hear better than most. Better than those"—he swept a hand toward the crystal ball. "Are you trying to talk to them as well?"

"Talk to them. I'm shouting. Shouting at them. Can't you hear me shouting?" The purple-clad figure shifted in his chair, scowled at the crystal ball. "Shouting."

And is the shouting what's causing them to go berserk? Good question, but not one he wanted this fellow to tackle. "They can't hear you. They have only the beginning of the ear they need for you. Why do you shout at those who cannot hear?"

"Because they should. They should," he snorted. "The Gardener said he was working on their hearing. He said that years ago. Surely he could solve a simple problem as an ear. Three hundred orbits of the sun is enough time to resolve any difficulty," the mage ended, half-muttering to himself.

"We are different from the Three. Maybe more complex. The Gardener did not resolve the problem. You have only to look at what you see to know that."

"And where is the Gardener? " The mage looked up, fixing Ray with an unblinking eye. "He should be here to tell us what he tried. How he did it. What we should do differently. I ask you again: Where is the Gardener? What have you done with him?"

That was the first time the question had gotten personal. Ray considered ignoring it again, but he was getting tired of this thing's unwillingness to face up to reality. Humanity is different. We are not ready to be plugged into whatever idea it has for educating us. The sooner the Teacher realized the world was more complex than it expected, the sooner humanity and it could get down to serious business.