Rome took a deep breath. “You’re telling me that three of the Ash Ock could still be alive.”
“It’s possible. I tell you this because you are the leader of E-Tech. You should know such a thing.”
Rome felt a swell of bitterness. “And the leaders of your era—they took it upon themselves to change the facts of history, to lie about the fate of the Royal Caste. What we don’t know can’t hurt us.”
“Yes. And they also made sure that should the time arise, you would be made aware of such knowledge. The intent of their manipulation was to give the Colonies a chance—to take away the burden of fear that our leaders lived with every day of their lives.”
“The way a parent protects a child,” Rome said angrily. “Only this child has grown up and the lie was still maintained.”
Nick’s laugh was brittle. “You are children. You are a society of children, and you should be thankful for it.” He pointed to the monitor. “I see the outlines of your society and I see a world that the people of my time could only dream of. You have peace and you have a measure of security and you have accomplishment for its own sake. My era had accomplishment, too, but not for the good of humanity. We had the science of greed and hatred and the technology of chaos. We had a world of the dead.”
Rome stared up at the reddening sky. And we have a world that wants to become what you were.
“And when do the lies stop?” Rome demanded. “You say that you don’t want Gillian to learn of this second program. Fine. But what about us? Have you decided there is too much truth hidden there? Is it more than we can bear? What gives you the right to make such decisions?”
Nick stared at the blank terminal screen. “The second program—that’s for Gillian, and him alone. The secrecy is for his benefit, not yours.”
Rome heard the genuine feeling in Nick’s voice and some of his anger left. “He’s been a good friend to you.”
“Yes. A good friend.” The midget shut off the monitor and turned to Rome. The smile on his face seemed dreamlike, unreal.
“Let me tell you a story,” Nick began, “about a young man whose parents were slain by a Paratwa.
“Gillian was only eleven when it happened—a small town in the Midwestern United States, decimated by an assassin on the run. The Paratwa fought its final battle on the streets of that town, but not before it had wiped out several hundred citizens, Gillian’s parents included.
“Later, when the town was cleaning up, the local E-Tech officials discovered that one of the Paratwa’s Cohe wands was missing.”
“Gillian took it?” questioned Rome.
“Yes. Secretly, over the next eight or nine years, he taught himself to use the weapon. Now, a Cohe wand is a strange implement—anyone can make it work, but it takes special skills to use it effectively. Some claimed it required unique motor coordination. Others said that an inner calm was needed, like that of a Zen Buddhist. Anyway, whatever the mysterious ability, Gillian had it.
“One day, Gillian met a young woman—love at first sight, that sort of thing. Her name was Catharine and they were together for several years. They were on their honeymoon in South America...” Nick stopped. The smile vanished from his face. “There was another Paratwa.”
“She was killed,” Rome said quietly.
“Yes. Gillian came to E-Tech a few months later. He wanted vengeance. The E-Tech people were ready to dismiss him as just another crank until he gave them a demonstration of what he could do with a Cohe wand.
“After some debate, the E-Tech leaders proposed that Gillian train and lead a secret team. That team’s sole objective would be to search and destroy Paratwa assassins.
“I was an E-Tech programmer at the time and that’s when I met Gillian. We hit it off. I joined the team. Gillian recruited and trained the actual combat unit: three soldiers from the old Earth Patrol Forces—mercenaries, real hard-asses. I used my more humble skills to work on computer probability programs for tracking the assassins.
“If the Paratwa had one fault, it was their predictability. Many of the lesser breeds were easy to track. Most assassins were rigidly territorial, doing their killing within small geographic areas. A few even had homes in respectable suburban communities. If an assassin committed enough murders and remained within its territory, it was just a matter of time before we tracked it down.
“When we located a Paratwa, Gillian and his team were sent out. Most of the assassins were taken by surprise. The team was good. But it was Gillian’s skill with the wand that made the difference.”
Rome held up his hand. “You mean to tell me that Gillian and a few mercenaries were able to actually kill Paratwa assassins? I thought it took large military efforts to destroy them.”
“Usually, it did. Before Gillian, there were basically two methods of stopping a Paratwa. One was saturation bombing of the area where the assassin was believed to be located. Naturally, since most Paratwa were found in cities, the civilian death toll was quite high.”
Rome frowned.
“The second method was to send an urban combat company into the area. On a successful mission, where the assassin was killed, the company could count on fifty to a hundred casualties. If they were unlucky and happened to encounter one of the more dangerous breeds...” Nick shrugged. “Often, only the Paratwa survived.”
Rome nodded. It was hard to visualize such madness. But he was beginning to understand. In Northern California, the Paratwa had slaughtered close to a thousand animals.
“In the first two years, Gillian’s team killed twenty-one Paratwa. We were E-Tech’s secret success. They couldn’t brag about us, of course. It wouldn’t be proper for an organization dedicated to such noble causes to be associated with hired killers.
“At any rate, E-Tech eventually decided to send us after bigger game. A Japanese assassin from the Loshito breed had been terrorizing the south of France for seven months. I located him living in an apartment house overlooking the Mediterranean. Gillian and the team blew him away on the beach.
“Later, we learned that this Loshito had been serving the Ash Ock. The Royal Caste apparently decided we were growing into a nuisance, so they sent a Russian-trained Voshkof Rabbit after us.”
Nick grinned. “Gillian and company rather unceremoniously dispatched that assassin in an alleyway behind the Push ’n’ Shove speedball arena in downtown Calgary, Alberta, Canada.”
Nick’s smile became distant. “At that point, I suppose the Ash Ock decided we were becoming a major threat. The last assassin they sent was better—a real nasty son-of-a-bitch, even by Paratwa standards. A Jeek Elemental named Reemul. He was known as the ‘liege-killer.’”
“There were many Paratwa who did not want to be united under the Ash Ock. This Jeek was sent out to show them the error of their ways.” Nick paused. “In an odd way, this assassin actually helped us. Reemul hunted down and killed Paratwa who refused to serve the Royal Caste.”
Rome shook his head. “This Jeek murdered your team?”
“Everyone but Gillian. It happened in a tavern in Boston. Gillian and I thought we were setting an ambush for this assassin, when, in reality, the reverse was true. The liege-killer was waiting. Gillian escaped only because he used his wand to create a wall of fire that briefly trapped Reemul on the other side of the room.
“That was in 2097. A few months later, it was publicly announced that the last of the Ash Ock had perished. E-Tech decided that Gillian and I might better serve the future.” Nick’s bright smile returned. “Whammo! I go to sleep and I wake up here!”
The sky was almost completely red. Irrya’s skyscrapers were ablaze with light. Tonight, however, Rome felt immeasurably distant from the beauty.
He chose his words carefully. “In the event that I give you and Gillian permission to go after this Paratwa, and you do indeed eliminate him...” He hesitated. “Have you given any consideration to your future here?”
Nick grinned. “Do we have one?”
“Yes. Of course. It’s
just that if you were to become legal citizens, certain formalities would have to be observed. You would have to be endowed with useful occupations.”
Nick looked mildly amused. “The E-Tech treasury will not continue to support us? Gee. I was counting on a life of luxury.”
Rome turned away.
“Hey, I’m joking. All that stuff about the money. You know, I really don’t give a damn about that. Neither does Gillian. Really! I mean, all the riches in the world couldn’t have gotten me into this profession. Know what I mean?”
Rome nodded. “It’s just that the Council of Irrya has certain regulations concerning stasis revivees. There are requirements for permanent citizenship.”
Laughter flooded the office. “Do you mean to say,” Nick asked mischievously, “that Paratwa-killer would not be enough?”
“You have skills as a programmer. I was thinking more of Gillian.”
“Ahh, yes ... Gillian. Well, Gillian, too, has other skills. I suggest, however, that we don’t look that far ahead just yet.”
“All right. But there’s another potential problem. Under Intercolonial law, should you actually kill this assassin, there is a possibility that you could be tried for murder. Councilor Artwhiler might bring such charges against you just to hurt E-Tech.”
Nick looked grave. “That may be so. But your worries are based on the tenets of a civilized society and the Paratwa is not a civil creature. Right now, this assassin is something novel in the lives of your people—a vicarious excitement, a break in their monotony. After it brutalizes your Colonies for a while, the public mood will change.” He chuckled softly. “Take my word for it. If Gillian and I destroy this creature, they’ll make us public heroes.”
O}o{O
Codrus closed his four eyes and generated the internal peace necessary for holistic thought. Sounds and odors continued to bombard him from two locations almost a mile apart, yet the interference factor brought on by those senses was negligible when compared to the omnipresence of sight. Intense cerebral reflection remained easier when two visual fields did not have to be interlaced.
Reemul has flexed. It has been done in such a way that no one will suspect his identity. Any Paratwa could have attacked a zoo and slaughtered wild animals.
Two faces smiled.
The flexing, although savage, also serves to reduce the factor of terror throughout the Colonies. It is an act of violence amenable to rationalization. The Paratwa could have killed hundreds of citizens, yet the assassin—or the force guiding it—chose a zoo as the target. Therefore, the Paratwa does not wish to deliberately harm humans. After all, the Guardian patrol stumbled upon the scene—had they arrived a few minutes later, their lives would have been saved. The assassin spared the young warden, didn’t he? And the first victim—well, Bob Max was a smuggler, and had probably deserved such a fate.
A billion humans will cling to such rationalizations once their thoughts are directed. (The bishop-tway would help in that regard. His next sermon would be developed along such lines.) A billion humans will be relaxed when the next shock occurs.
It was the essence of terror. When Codrus was a child, he had been fascinated by old videos dealing with twentieth-century amusements. Images of roller coasters had been particularly intriguing. At the crest of the ride, faces were strained, poised for the shock of the downhill run. At the bottom of the hill, a sense of deliverance could be detected. And then, unexpectedly perhaps, the roller coaster would plummet down another mountain, and collective terror would again disfigure those countenances.
The terror would be instantly repressed, of course. Cathartic laughter and cries of relief would serve as substitutes for what few humans could face directly.
The roller coaster was a microcosm of social reaction; the same emotions could be created throughout a society when the proper techniques were applied. Unfortunately, the Ash Ock had not developed such control in the beginning. They had held humanity at the frightening crest for too long. The terror had numbed the senses, the riders of the roller coaster had been forced to repress even cathartic reactions to their fear, thus making the emotion more potent. Eventually, humanity had become oversaturated by terror and had been unable to contain it. The world had flexed. The roller coaster had collapsed.
For the second coming there would be no such mistake. The terror of Reemul would build gradually, deepening with time, yet cries of relief would be allowed. The summation of the roller-coaster crests would be directed, the proper social changes would occur, and then the final downhill run would take place and humanity would emerge from the train, shaken yet essentially unharmed. Most would never realize that they had been switched to a different track until it was too late.
By the timeframe of the Ash Ock, Reemul’s reign of terror would not last very long. It was a minor correction in the social flow, inconsequential when viewed up close, yet critical when perceived on a grander scale.
Codrus chuckled. Two mouths shaped laughter. He felt childishly pleased by the flow of events. He stretched out his four arms and allowed himself to relish the experience of being whole, of simply being Codrus. Too often, these days, he was forced to function as independent tways. Such a life was acceptable, but certainly not desirable. The Ash Ock, alone among Paratwa, possessed the power to interlink and unlink at will—to be whole or to be separate—to exist as two pseudo-humans or as Paratwa. When Codrus was younger, the unlinking into two distinct entities had been a satisfying game. But nowadays he desired only to be what felt natural.
I desire unity.
He sighed, exhaling through one tway, then the other. Even the pattern of slightly out-of-step dual breathing brought exquisite pleasure.
He reined in his emotions. It was too easy to simply forget his troubles, to bathe in unity. The second coming would not be brought about by such self-indulgence.
And Codrus had already made one mistake. He had underestimated human greed. Bob Max was supposed to have had the pirates destroy that stasis tunnel in Philadelphia. But Max—or the pirates—failed to carry out that order. There was only one explanation: someone had hoped to return to the stasis tunnel, perhaps to search for hidden treasure. Foolish humans. Couldn’t they see that Reemul was the treasure?
E-Tech had gotten a look inside that tunnel and had seen the stasis operation. Codrus knew there was little chance that the humans would learn much from their discovery; nevertheless, an error remained an error. There was nothing he could do now except phase the schema into his overall plan.
At least the Irryan Council meeting had gone well. A delicious interlacing of possibilities had spiraled into the choice pattern. Rome Franco had performed as expected. His doomed attempt to hide the existence of the Paratwa from the Council had further accentuated E-Tech’s position of weakness.
As the clear underdog, Rome Franco’s organization was now perfectly situated for a remarkable ascent. E-Tech would shortly be springboarded into the role of colonial savior. Rome Franco would satisfy society’s need for a hero. About one month from now, a celebration of majestic proportions would overwhelm the dedicated councilor when it was announced that E-Tech had destroyed the Paratwa assassin.
Naturally, Reemul would not die. Codrus had still to establish the final details, but the basic plan called for Reemul to be trapped by E-Tech and to purportedly perish in a fire. The lack of identifiable bodies would leave a certain residue of suspicion within E-Tech, but the ending of the Paratwa attacks would soon convince nearly everyone that the threat had indeed been crushed.
And should Reemul actually be destroyed ahead of plan, Codrus knew of other sleeping assassins, hidden before the Apocalypse. If a second or third Paratwa had to be awakened, so be it. That correction in the social flow was the only item of importance.
Of course, the chances of Reemul failing were negligible. He was a Jeek Elemental, the deadliest of the breeds. And Reemul had an ability that went beyond the intentions of his creators.
Due to some flaw in the McQuade Unity
that had been injected into his two eggs, Reemul had been born with a synchronization disturbance. The standard interlacing of his two brains had not occurred in the normal manner. Horizontal and vertical scanning patterns had been supplanted by strange diagonal flows, theretofore unknown to Jeek scientists. Reemul had been honed under the vigorous tutelage of the Jeek fighting masters; all the while, the scientists had studied his strange interlacing, never intending for him to be sold on the world armaments market. But by Reemul’s teenage years, it became obvious that his inherent difference had made him even deadlier.
Unpredictability. The Paratwa assassins tended to lack that quality. They were creatures that had been specialized almost to the point of absurdity, and such specialization inevitably led to the formation of strong habits. Repeated actions were predictable actions.
Reemul was the exception to the rule. His skewed interlace patterns had made a shambles of E-Tech’s computer-tracking methods. He did not quite fit the known parameters of the Jeek Elementals. Even after Reemul had entered the Ash Ock fold, his bizarre ways of carrying out assignments had left E-Tech stumped. They knew he existed—somewhere in the world was an assassin whose primary identification was his failure to fit into a probability matrix. E-Tech had gotten no further. Even their greatest weapon—that secret little band of soldier-hunters—had succumbed to Reemul in the end.
No, Reemul would not fail, but he must appear to. The Colonies had to emerge from the Paratwa onslaught with a sense of victory. The essence of Codrus’s problem was that Reemul would have to be put back into stasis at the end of this affair.
Reemul would not like that. The same qualities that made the Jeek unpredictable also made him the least malleable assassin in the Ash Ock fold. Two centuries ago, when the Royal Caste had deduced the inevitable coming of the Apocalypse, Reemul had balked at being frozen. Codrus knew that this time it would be even more difficult to convince the Jeek to go peacefully to sleep.
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