by Steven Brust
“No.”
“Then why feel responsible?”
“Because they were protecting me. Whoever it was, was probably shooting at me, and if he’d let me get shot, he—”
“Rich figured he was doing something important. It was his choice.”
“I know.”
“If they want to kill you that badly, we’d better not let them.”
I said, “I just wish I knew why they were doing it—what their goals were. That’s what I’ve been racking my brains with and I can’t figure it out.”
Libby nodded. “Yeah. If we knew what was in it for them, it would help.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think anything is in it for them, exactly. I think they believe in what they’re doing, at least on some level.”
Jamie said, “Destroying entire populations? They believe in that?”
Libby said, “I heard a rumor today that war broke out on Mince. Nuclear war, every city on the planet. If Sugar Bear is behind it, that’s another, what, eight, nine thousand people they’ve wiped out? You think they believe that’s the right thing to do?”
“What’s Mince?” said Jamie.
“A colony world around a star somewhere between here and the Fishbait Cluster.”
I said, “From talking to Rudd, I do think they believe in what they’re doing.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Jamie. “Are they religious nuts?”
“I don’t know. He referred to the Physician, and a cure, which could be a religious reference of some sort. But I ought to have seen symbols of his religion if there was one, or heard something in what he said. I don’t know.”
“Well,” said Jamie, “let’s make a list of all the possible reasons why a group of people would want to destroy humanity, and—”
I said, “That’s a joke, right?”
“Right.”
I sighed.
Libby said, “Why does anyone want to kill anyone? It’s probably the same reason, only bigger.”
“Money figures in there pretty highly,” I said.
“So does jealousy,” said Jamie. I winced.
“Hate,” said Libby.
“Power,” I said.
“Revenge,” said Jamie.
“If we’re making a list,” said Libby, “put money in twice.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and if we’re going to mention hate, we should mention fear, like you said.”
“That’s true,” she said.
“Fear of what?” said Jamie.
“Hell if I know. Besides, they probably aren’t all like—shit.”
“What?”
I stared off into space for a moment.
Libby said, “What is it, Billy?”
“Maybe they are all like Souci.”
Jamie said, “What do you mean?”
I gestured to Libby. “She was telling me about hate and fear.”
“What about it?”
“That Souci got angry because she was afraid.”
“I could believe that,” said Jamie. “What about it?”
I ignored him and asked Libby, “When’s the first time you ever saw her mad?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen her mad.”
“Yes, you have. The first time you two met.”
“That was right here. You two were sitting at that table and—oh, right, she got mad and walked out.”
“Do you remember why?”
“Ummm, it was a political argument, wasn’t it? No, I remember, it was Hags disease.”
“Right. It was something that scared her so much, she got angry, because that’s what she does.”
“Well, and?”
“Maybe these people are scared about something.”
“Like what?” said Libby. “What’s going to scare someone so badly he’s willing to help destroy entire populations?”
“It’s a quarantine,” said Jamie. “They’re trying to prevent infection.”
“From what?” said Libby.
“Now that I think of it,” I said, “why not Hags disease? They had it on Earth, they still have it. It’s a one hundred percent fatal communicable disease. Isn’t that enough to scare someone?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Scares the shit out of me,” said Jamie.
“So, how do you protect yourself from a disease like that?”
Libby considered this. “To start with,” she said, “I’d pour shitloads of money into research, to find a cure.”
Jamie said, “And be as careful as you can of people you don’t know—”
“How about this?” I said. “You select a group of your friends and peers, and isolate yourselves from everyone else.”
Libby looked thoughtful, then shook her head. “I don’t think it would work. You’d need a whole planet.”
“So? They’re rich.”
“It wouldn’t work over the long run,” said Libby. “How do you ensure there isn’t any contact between you and the rest—oh.”
“Yeah. First you isolate yourselves, then you get the rest of humanity to blow themselves up.”
“A little extreme, I’d say.”
“What,” I said, “history doesn’t have any examples of nutcase fanatics?”
“A point,” said Jamie.
“I don’t know,” said Libby.
“Take it a step at a time, then. Hags disease appeared just about the same time it became possible to consider colonizing the Moon. So they secretly arrange to have a colony, then they start a war on the Earth. But they aren’t quite fast enough, and some people escape and set up on the Moon. So they try Venus, and wipe out everyone on the Moon, but two colony ships make it there, and the Earth is still able to send some ships out, too. So they try for Mars, while wiping out Venus, and the same thing happens, and there they are, looking for their own colony, planning to destroy everyone else.”
“Wow,” said Libby. “It’s weird, but it sort of fits.”
“It sure does,” said Jamie. “But, then, what does Feng want?”
“As I understand it,” said Libby, “what they’re looking for is some sort of handle on the enemy.”
“Handle?”
“A weakness. Some means of striking back at them. In Feng’s time, they’re trying to wipe out Feng’s people, and Feng’s people know nothing about them. We’re supposed to find something that will help.”
I nodded. “They,” I repeated. “Sugar Bear. The enemy. Wow.”
Jamie said, “Then we haven’t really accomplished anything.”
“On the contrary,” I said. “This is it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve figured out that they almost certainly have a single home world, rather than being spread throughout the galaxy. If that world can be found, Feng’s people can counterattack, or threaten to counterattack, or something like that.” I turned to Libby. “Can’t they?”
“That sounds right to me, Billy,” said Libby carefully.
“Well, great,” said Jamie. “How are we going to find their home world?”
“Whose home world?”
I spun around. Libby said, “Oh, hi, Christian. We didn’t see you there. Get you a beer?”
“That’d be nice. What’s going on? Whose home world are you looking for?”
“Whose do you think?”
“The bad guys?”
“Good guess.”
“I thought you thought I was a bad guy.”
“It’s a possibility,” I said.
“Does that mean you have to kill me?”
I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. I said, “I don’t know. What’s the location of the rebel base?”
He shook his head. “If you’re the good guys, I have to ask that.”
“Don’t bother,” said Jamie. “The bad guys already blew it up.”
“That’s harsh,” said Christian.
“That’s Libby’s word,” I said.
“I’ve been hanging around with her a lot.
Did you mean the Earth, that the bad guys blew up?”
“Yeah,” said Jamie. “How did you know that’s what I meant?”
“It’s where you guys are from,” said Christian.
“Oh.”
“You think they destroyed the whole place?”
“It looks that way,” I said.
“Wow. That’s scary. Why do you have to find out where they live? So you can blow up their planet?” He didn’t seem especially serious about this blowing-up-planets thing. We looked at each other, then at Christian. “All right,” he said, “how are you going to find it?” Again, we didn’t answer. “Man,” he said. “You guys really think I’m with them, don’t you?”
Libby said, “How are we supposed to know, one way or the other?”
“I guess you’re right,” he said. “But who are they, anyway? I’m curious.”
“Well,” I said, “if what I’ve just figured out is true, they’re a bunch of nut cases who think the only way to protect themselves from Hags disease is to kill off anyone who might be infected, which means anyone but themselves. I’m not sure how they manage to be sure none of them have contact with a carrier.”
“Scary,” said Christian. “That means killing a lot of people.”
“The whole human race,” said Libby.
“And what are you guys doing?”
“Trying to save them.”
“Save everyone?”
“Why do you ask?” I said. “Got someone in mind you don’t want saved?”
“No, I just wondered who appointed you guardians of humanity.”
“Shit happens,” said Libby.
“Yeah,” said Christian. “I guess it does at that.” He finished his drink and walked out of the bar.
Jamie got another beer. “What the hell got into him?”
“Hmmm,” said Libby. I agreed with her.
“All right,” said Jamie. “As I was saying, how are we going to find their home world?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But now that we know what we’re after, we’re closer.”
“I just hope they don’t kill us all before we find out,” said Jamie.
“Amen to that,” I said.
In the next room, there was a tinkle of broken glass. I mentally tsked. Then I heard the distant report of a firearm. Someone screamed.
“What’s the secret of comedy?” I said to no one in particular, as Jamie took his pistol from his belt and walked into the next room. Libby didn’t answer, she was too busy turning the key in the cash register and pulling her .44 from under the bar.
“I’ve wandered into a western,” I said. “I don’t believe it.” There were more screams from the next room and I began to be convinced.
Chapter 13
He was a braw gallant
And he rode at the ring.
And the bonny Earl of Morray,
He might have been a king.
“The Earl of Morray,”
Traditional
Chaos engenders confusion springs from disorder; the gentle whitewash of remembrance fails me, and I relive too much. What is this quintessence of dust, as the man said, and on bad days I know why. I wanted to huddle in the bar and hope anybody who didn’t like me wouldn’t come looking, but I’m curious as well as cowardly, and sometimes the former dominates, for a time, for a time.
I stopped beneath the arch, on the taproom side, and stuck my head out to get a glance into the dining room, whence came the tinkle of broken glass et al., and I retain the flashes of sight/sound passing through the tunnel we call memory, the better to cushion the blow, my dear, but the eardrum rings and the retina burns, even now, when die fixer of all contusions should have twisted its rope enough.
They were standing in the doorway, holding the sorts of weapons that it takes two hands to hold. We had somehow moved from a western to a gangster film, which is only a difference of props and stage setting, I suppose, but I didn’t like it.
I ducked back, breathing hard.
In that confusion of fear and adrenaline, I doubted what I had seen, so I looked once more, ducked behind my wall again, and die screaming resumed, accompanied this time by a shower of splinters marking the spot where my head had just been; I resolved at this point to stop sneaking peeks. But I recognized two of those who had come in as Justin and Claude, and I had no reason to think that their intentions toward me were any friendlier than they had been before.
There was more shooting, and I looked again, my decision forgotten in the heat of the moment. All right, then. Forget the sights and sounds and memories and emotions, I’ll just tell you what happened, as I was able to reconstruct it later, and you can supply your own reactions, since you will, anyway.
The plan involved three of them walking in the front door with automatic weapons, just seconds after two others were to appear from the back with hand weapons, and the group was to simply go through the place shooting any of us they saw until they found me, and then they could leave after making certain I was dead.
How were they to get in the back door, normally kept locked? A “customer” slipped back there and unlocked it, after making certain where I was in the restaurant. The plan was good, and would have worked except that Fred happened to be taking out the garbage. A few days before he was killed, Rich had installed a small light in the back door, just to let us know the door was unlocked. The light was on, and Fred knew that it shouldn’t have been. Fred was not the sort to let this kind of thing slip by.
He picked up his machine pistol and returned to the door to check things out, just as it opened, and two heavily armed persons attempted to, as they say, gain entrance. Fred fired, knocking out a window and making someone scream, but not actually hitting either of them. It is much more difficult to hit someone you’re firing at than you may think, especially when you’re in a hurry and he’s shooting back. Fred was good enough that he might have been able to drop them both by taking his time and picking his targets, but he chose, on this occasion, to just fill the air with so much lead that they had to leave, which they quite reasonably did.
Jamie and Libby appeared right as they were slamming the door shut. Fred told them, “Guard the hall,” and turned to deal with the front, correctly guessing what was about to happen, but not wanting to leave the back way unattended.
There were three of them, as I said, all with full-automatic rifles. Tom took out his pistol, but Fred was ready. They saw Fred as he saw them, and everybody fired. When the smoke cleared, one of the attackers, someone I’d never seen, was wounded and running up the street as fast as he could and Justin had dived out the door, leaving Claude alone in the room.
By this time, all of the customers were on the floor, most of them screaming. Claude ducked to the side, losing his weapon in the process. He came up with a small pistol and, from a prone position on the floor, shot three times at Fred, then he got up and ran out the door himself as Tom emptied his automatic in Claude’s general direction.
Fred slumped against a wall and no one moved. Apparently one of Claude’s shots had hit him, though not badly as far as I could tell. I saw a wound high on his right leg, which hadn’t been as obvious as Rich’s wound had, I suppose due to differences in weapon, bullet, and location. The customers gradually stopped screaming, although one of them continued to moan softly.
Jamie and Libby appeared in the room, just as I walked in. “I’ve locked the back door,” said Jamie.
“Good work,” said Fred. Sweat was pouring down his face, and I realized that he was in a great deal of pain. Tom put another magazine into his .45, walked up to a window, and looked out it. There was no trace of humor on his features.
Libby knelt next to Fred and said, “You all right, babe?”
“Fine,” he said, gasping.
Libby turned and said, “Get him in the back room, and I’ll look at that leg. We also need to get these people out of here.”
Tom said, “Better put them in the bar. I don’t think it’s safe to send them o
utside.”
I said, “Oh?”
“I saw Justin meet up with Claude, and they’re sitting in the bakery across the street, probably going to shoot at us.”
“Wonderful.”
I came forward, wanting very much to feel useful. The room was thick with the harsh smell of gunpowder. There was a blue haze in the air, like and yet more sinister than tobacco smoke. Jamie and I carried Fred upstairs where he could rest on the bedding where Libby and I had made love twelve hours before.
Rose and Libby coerced the ten or so customers into the bar. Fred seemed to be losing a great deal of blood. I pressed a shirt against the wound as hard as I could. Fred’s face was covered with sweat and he winced as I applied pressure.
He held out his gun to me. “You want to use this?”
“No. Now shut up.”
“Yes, sir.”
I went back out. Libby was just finishing getting all of the customers into the bar. Tom yelled, “Watch it!” and ducked. There was a spray of glass, and someone screamed again.
I told Libby, “He’s upstairs, lying down.”
She nodded and set her pistol on a table, disappeared in back. Tom stood up, fired out the window, and ducked again. Jamie did the same thing. I stayed down. There was a thunk somewhere above my head and off to the right, and I was sprayed with particleboard as a bullet hit the wall. I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry. Rose huddled on the floor next to Jamie’s right leg. This continued for a while. Tom selected a magazine from the pile by his feet and reloaded. Jamie used the quick-loader for his revolver, tossing it over his shoulder as if for luck. They both fired out the window again.
There was a pause, during which I crawled over to Tom and said, “What the hell’s going on?”
He shrugged. “There’s at least a couple of them, in the bakery across the street. They shoot, we duck. We shoot, they duck. No one’s going to hit anyone.”
“Great,” I said.
“I wonder why the police haven’t shown up?”
“Hell if I know.”
Jamie said, “Maybe we should rush them.”
At that point Libby, who had just emerged from tending to Fred’s wound, walked past him. She said, “Good idea.” She picked up her pistol and carried it loosely at her side. Then she just walked out the door, turned toward the bakery, and started shooting.