Only Forward

by Michael Marshall Smith

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘There are those who will have known from the start that I wasn’t kidnapped, and you were given this Thing to Do, Zenda, by one of them. C knew that I’d gone by myself, and he knew why, too.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Zenda. ‘C knew you hadn’t been kidnapped? Then why did he tell me you had been? Why did he put me on the case?’

  ‘Because he didn’t know where I was, and he wanted me found. The simplest thing to do was say I’d been kidnapped. That way it would be easy to motivate people to go out and find me.’

  ‘It did occur to me to wonder,’ I said, ‘exactly why anyone would kidnap a senior Actioneer, what it was that only the Centre would have that could make it worth someone’s while. Nothing came to mind, but I just assumed I hadn’t thought about it long enough.’

  ‘But C could have told me that you’d just left,’ Zenda said, angrily. ‘Why wouldn’t he trust me? It wouldn’t have made any difference to me. I do my job: if someone needed finding, then I’d have them found.’

  ‘Because you might have asked questions. Look at the way you reacted when I told you I’d just left. You might not have asked C what the issue was, but you’d have thought it strange all the same. You’ve noticed something odd in the Centre as it is: you’d have noticed a lot sooner if you’d been looking for it.’

  The Actioneer ground to a halt again, and I decided that it was time for some focused discussion, some agenda-building. The day was wearing on. I didn’t know what excuse Zenda had for being out of the Centre, but it wouldn’t last for ever.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘there are three questions that need answering. Why did you leave? Why are they looking for you? Quickly, Alkland.’ I didn’t like pushing the older man, because he looked so ill, and I knew he was very much on edge. But on the other hand I had to do it because of precisely those same things. It was nearly five hours since we’d left the roof, and it was already getting dark outside. If I wasn’t going to complete the job I was asked to do, I needed to know what else was going to happen, and soon.

  ‘That’s only two questions,’ said a muffled voice from the drawer. ‘Moron.’

  ‘Shut up and turn yourself off,’ I suggested. ‘In whatever order.’

  ‘What is the third question?’ asked Alkland.

  ‘Later,’ I said.

  ‘He hasn’t thought of one yet,’ chipped in the BugAnaly™. ‘He’s just trying to sound clever.’

  I got up, opened the drawer and turned the machine off by whacking it against the desk not quite hard enough to break it. It does come in useful sometimes, and more importantly I want it to be in full working order for when it goes sailing out the window.

  Much later I realised that there were four questions I should have asked. If I’d have realised that then, things might have gone differently. But I didn’t.

  ‘All right,’ said Alkland. ‘Why did I leave? I left because I couldn’t continue to turn a blind eye to what has been going on in the Centre for a number of years. Zenda, have you heard of a drug called Dilligenz?’

  We both had. A few Actioneers, the most nauseatingly can-do-at-all-costs young guns intent on clawing their way up the ladder, allegedly make occasional use of the drug. It’s meant to be illegal, but then what isn’t?

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, disdainfully. ‘It’s supposed to make you more diligent.’ I smiled to myself. Zenda doesn’t like cheating, never has.

  ‘It does,’ said Alkland sadly. ‘Not much, and not for very long, but a little. It’s been around for a long while, and some of the people who’ve worked their way up to senior positions in Centre have been using it all their lives. It’s got them to where they are. There’s a kind of inner circle now, a network of people who use it and control it, getting it to the people they want to succeed. The Centre isn’t a meritocracy any more, I’m afraid, and hasn’t been for quite some time.’

  I wasn’t hugely surprised to hear that, but I could see that Zenda looked stunned. She’s not naïve, exactly, just focused. She worked hard to get into the Centre, and like most of them, takes pride in her own capabilities. I knew it would take her a while to assimilate this new picture of how the Neighbourhood actually worked behind the scenes. I wondered if it would ever be the same for her again.

  ‘But it’s worse than that,’ Alkland went on, more passionately now. ‘It was when I discovered how they make it that I finally decided that enough was enough. Why are some people more diligent than others? What makes some people desperate to succeed? It’s in the mind, partly, but it’s also physiological, chemical. Dilligenz is made from an extract of the human brain.’

  Zenda breathed in sharply at this, and I was mildly shocked too. Not very, but a bit. Like I said, I’ve seen some harsh things.

  ‘It’s always been said that the drug is bought in from Red, but that’s not true. The extract is brought in from the outside, but the drug is manufactured in the Centre.’

  ‘Where do they get the extract?’

  ‘Stable.’

  I put a tick against a question earlier filed for later consideration. Hence the Stable Authorities’ purchasing power for computers and AG technology. Zenda was aghast.

  ‘They’re taking stuff out of people’s brains?’

  ‘The process is quite straightforward, and does the “donor” no physical harm. It just leaves them, well, rather less diligent than they were before. Placid.’

  ‘Which is,’ I added, ‘perfect for the Authorities.’

  ‘Exactly. A truly symbiotic arrangement for those in power. A diligence transplant. Those who don’t want their people to have it sell it to those who do. It’s perfect.’

  ‘It’s disgusting,’ Zenda muttered furiously.

  ‘But now the engineers have made a new advance: Dilligenz II. More powerful, works for much longer and requires a slightly different type of extract. It still doesn’t kill the donor, but leaves them as vegetables. And no one tends vegetables any more, especially not in Stable. They can’t afford dead weight. Ultimately it’s people-farming, and I couldn’t condone it any longer. So I left.’

  ‘Which answers question two,’ I said. They think you’re going to blow the whistle on them.’

  ‘Yes.’ He shrugged.

  ‘And are you?’

  The Actioneer sighed. Sitting in his chair he looked very old and tired.

  ‘To whom? The Chief Actioneer knows what’s going on, but he’s old, and he wants to stay Chief Actioneer. C has enough of a power-base to topple him if he causes any trouble. Outside the Centre, who cares? No one has any authority over the Centre or anyone else. C and those who work with him are already in negotiation with Stable and a couple of other Neighbourhoods. There’s no point going to Stable, or Shan, or Idyll because the Authorities there know what’s going on. They’re part of it.’

  ‘Idyll?’ shouted Zenda, ‘Idyll are part of this? No, no, no…’

  I tried to calm Zenda, but didn’t do very well: I was furious myself. I’ve seen a lot of Neighbourhoods, I’ve been around. But Idyll is a special place, for a variety of reasons. It’s not like anywhere else. Idyll is an old Neighbourhood, where people come and go quietly and peacefully. They don’t care about anyone else, and they have no argument with anyone. They just want to be left alone to be kind and gentle to each other. I know that sounds kind of weird, but it works for them.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Alkland quickly. ‘So far the Centre has just used Stable and Shan. But Dilligenz II will need more donors, and Idyll is in danger of falling apart financially. I’ve never been there, I hear it’s very nice, but—’

  ‘Very nice?’ Zenda yelled. ‘It’s my home. It’s where I grew up. It’s, Stark, tell him, it’s—’

  ‘It’s not supporting itself any longer,’ Alkland finished for her. ‘Centre is threatening to call in equipment loans it negotiated for them through Natsci. Idyll will fall apart if they do. They don’t have any choice.’

  Zenda sat seething for a few moments. I waited. I knew what was
coming. I’d suspected for a while, pretty much since I’d discovered there was no gang, that something like this was lumbering over the horizon towards me. I don’t look for jobs. They come and find me, and that’s why my life is such a rich pageant of strikingly grief-laden events. Zenda turned to me eventually, as I knew she would.

  ‘Yes, they do. They do now.’

  I looked at her and smiled. Like I said, sometimes I get to choose, sometimes I don’t. The odd thing is that fighting for the right side never feels like a choice. You choose to do the bad things in your life: the good ones come and drag you along with them. It’s just a shame their goodness doesn’t rub off.

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  She smiled radiantly, beautifully, and took my hand.

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can,’ she said. ‘Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.’

  Alkland looked at us blankly.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘We’re talking about stopping this.’

  The Actioneer shook his head hopelessly.

  ‘You can’t. They’re powerful, and they won’t stop at anything. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.’

  ‘Neither do they,’ said Zenda fiercely, nodding her head in my direction, which was kind of flattering. I did my best to look like a force to be reckoned with, but it’s not in the face, and I didn’t expect to convince him, not yet. Alkland looked at us both gloomily for a while, and then shook his head.

  A little later the Actioneer fell asleep on the sofa, lulled by the warmth and safety of the apartment, and Zenda and I crept into the kitchen to let him get on with it. I used the vidiphone in there to order some pizza. I ordered a lot. The telephonist seemed a little taken aback by how much I ordered, in fact, but I managed to convince her I was serious in the end.

  ‘What happens now, Stark?’ Zenda asked quietly when I’d finished.

  ‘You have to go back to the Centre,’ I said, ‘taking your bug with you.’ She looked glum at this, but resigned. In matters of this kind she always does what I say. Nearly always, anyway. ‘You’ve got to put it back where you found it, and hope that no one’s checked for it in the meantime.’

  ‘What if they have?’

  ‘Play clever. Say you found it, and checked it out.’

  ‘What? Is that wise?’

  ‘Saying anything else wouldn’t be convincing. Just don’t say you’ve seen me, or even heard from me. That’s what they’re bugging you for in the first place. Department Security should be able to tell you if anyone’s been in your office: if anyone has, someone like Darv, then go straight to C, and report the bug. Remember: you don’t know anything, and you haven’t seen Alkland and me, so that’s the most natural thing to do. He’ll pretend not to know anything about it, and apologise, and they’ll hide the next one more carefully.’

  ‘Okay. Then what do I do?’

  ‘Sit tight, do your job, and pretend you haven’t heard from me. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  I looked at her for a long moment, and she understood, and nodded.

  ‘I wondered,’ she said. ‘So there’s a Something after all. Does he know?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘He thinks they’re just bad dreams, and there’s no reason he would know otherwise. But you’ve seen the way he looks: that has to be sorted out before anything else, or he’s not going to make it.’

  ‘Be careful, Stark.’

  ‘I will. One more thing: on your way home give Ji a call, and let him know where I’m going.’

  ‘Will he remember who I am?’

  ‘He remembers.’

  Suddenly there was a cry from the living room, and I swung the door open to see Alkland thrashing about on the sofa, still asleep. His skin was mottled and his breathing was coming in harsh irregular gasps. I hurried over to him and shook his shoulder hard. The entryphone went and Zenda stabbed the button to let the pizza delivery girl in. It took a couple of very hard shakes to wake Alkland. He jerked up, eyes staring, babbling something incomprehensible. I shook him again and his eyes focused on me, terrified and staring.

  ‘Where were you?’ I asked quickly. The Actioneer only mumbled and stuttered, and I shook him again, hard. ‘This is the third question. It’s important. Where? What were you dreaming?’

  ‘I, in a jungle. I was in a jungle.’

  ‘Was anyone else with you? Come on, think.’

  ‘No, I, no, I was alone.’ He was shaking, his hands trembling with fear, but I pushed him. You have to.

  ‘Are you sure? Think.’

  ‘Yes, but,’ he shook his head vigorously and seemed on the verge of tears. It was hard, but I slapped him lightly across the face. Zenda didn’t interfere: she knows I know what I’m doing.

  ‘But what?’

  A breath shuddered out of him.

  ‘Someone was coming.’

  There was a ring at the door and I nodded to Zenda. She opened it cautiously and the pizza delivery girl came in, took an uninterested look at Alkland and me, and headed straight for the kitchen. Zenda came and crouched down by us, doing her best to soothe the Actioneer. I don’t know what it is about women, but they can do that. They have the technology. Even now, when no one really gives a shit about the difference between men and women any more, even now that more women work than men, even now that the sexes have stopped giving each other such a hard time all the time, there are differences, as there always have been. Men and women are not the same. I’m sorry, but it’s true.

  Alkland calmed marginally, but craned his neck to look towards the kitchen from which the sounds of culinary clattering were ringing.

  ‘Who’s she?’ he asked querulously.

  ‘Pizza girl,’ I explained. ‘They come and cook it in your own nukoven. Only takes a minute, and it tastes fantastic. And you’re going to eat a lot of it, because straight afterwards you and I have to go somewhere.’

  ‘Where?’ he asked, plaintively, but I didn’t get the chance to answer, because just then a massive explosion blew the kitchen into about a million pieces.

  10

  There’s a weird thing about explosions. No matter how much you know that the sound they make is a dull crump, followed by the whistling of debris and the clang of shattering glass, there’s only one word which sums them up.

  Bang.

  This one was more of a BANG!, in fact, and the immediate aftermath was kind of intense. Zenda was thrown on top of me and I ended up spread across the sofa over Alkland, covered in pieces of masonry and flashing, blinking videowall.

  ‘Shit!’ I shouted intelligently, leaping up when it seemed safe. ‘Fuck!’ I quickly checked Zenda, who was all right apart from a few scratches. ‘Stay with him. Shit, where’s Spangle? Where’s the cat?’

  I found him sitting dozily in the bedroom, looking mildly surprised but a lot more relaxed than I felt. I ran back into the living room. Sparks from the annihilated videowall were arcing up and around the hole through to the kitchen, and I kicked the power unit out as I stepped through.

  The kitchen looked like, well as if a bomb had hit it, actually. It was full of smoke and small fires were burning in some of the corners. I stomped them out as best I could, trying to avoid the splodges of red grunge all over the floor and walls. It was impossible to tell which was pizza, and which wasn’t.

  ‘Is she dead?’ called Zenda.

  ‘Sort of!’ I shouted. ‘And the pizza’s completely fucked too.’ Alkland looked appalled at this until Zenda explained that the delivery girls are only pseudoflesh droids. Pizza firms in some of the seedier Neighbourhoods run a service where a pseudoflesh pizza droid will come round, have sex with you, cook you a pizza and then leave, and all for twenty credits. It was voted ‘Most Tremendous Concept Ever’ for four years running in Chauv Neighbourhood, and I know a few busy women who have the number programmed into their phone.

  I knelt in front of the remains of the nukoven and peered cautiously into it.
Deep in the mangled twist of metal and covered with vaporised tomato paste I found what I was looking for. A small metallic cube with a flashing light on it.

  It was an Impact device, which works like a bomb, but is more controllable as it destroys by artificial shock waves and can be set for radius. Luckily whoever had planted the bomb had left it at room dispersal intensity, assuming that would be enough. I didn’t need the BugAnaly™ to tell me what the flashing light meant. It was transmitting completion of its mission back to base, and transmitting by shock sound displacement. You can’t screen against that.

  ‘Fuck,’ I said again, and hurried out into the living room. ‘We have to get out of here, now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because any minute now we’re going to have some visitors.’

  Suddenly, with complete and utter clarity, I realised what it was that had tickled at the back of my mind on the roof of Stable, the disquieting thought I’d forgotten about. And I realised what it meant.

  I ran around the living room, grabbing a few bits and pieces, while Zenda gently helped Alkland to his feet. I dashed into the bedroom, picked up Spangle, and then hurried everyone out into the hallway, where fire warning lights were flashing.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘Zenda, you have to get the hell back to the Centre. Take Spangle with you, and be very, very careful.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Alkland was right,’ I said, shepherding them into the elevator and shooting it down towards the ground. These guys are deadly serious. When I called you, when I was trying to get into Stable, I’d just been shot at. I thought it was one of the gang that had got Alkland, but of course there was no gang.’ The floor lights zipped past, and I willed the elevator to go faster as I handed Spangle over to Zenda.

  ‘Who was it then?’

  ‘Who knew I was going in? You, Ji, Snedd. And the Centre. C, Darv, and however many lunatics they have on their side. They tried to kill me yesterday, before I’d even got to Alkland.’

  ‘The Centre don’t try to kill people.’