Bessie must have read his thoughts. She asked another question. This time directly of Madeleine. Although again it concerned only herself.
'Tell me, little Miss Muffet, have you three jokers been able to work out why somebody in my position might be so interested in these goonie-types - and in particular, that little runt over there?'
The little runt in question - the Master - was now being held by two of the blondes. They'd made a bee-line for him when they'd entered the room. It must have been the expression on his face. Or possibly it was his cowering behind the pipil squad that gave him away. But in any event, they had the right man and nobody was attempting to deny it - including Mad.
'No, we really have no idea,' replied Madeleine calmly. 'And anyway, how could we? We didn't even know it was you until just a few minutes ago. We're not psychics, you know. We're just detectives.'
Bessie's face puckered and reddened. Apparently this wasn't the response she was seeking. And she soon made this eminently clear.
'You stuck up little bitch,' she exploded. 'You know soddin' well what I'm talking about. You don't need to be a soddin' psychic. You've been working with these bastards, haven't you? You said so, didn't you? So let's just start again. What's so soddin' special about them, eh? Just what might they have to make somebody like me go to all this soddin' trouble? And, my dear, just to make it absolutely clear, I'm not talking about what goes on on board this ship. That's just for the peasants. I'm talking about the goonies themselves. So come on, tell me. What am I soddin' here for?'
Renton knew what Madeleine would do next. She'd play another honest card. It was all she could do.
'The telepathy,' she said slowly. 'The telepathy is what you want.'
'Oh come on!' shouted Bessie, 'You can do a fuckin' sight better than that. Next thing you'll be telling me is that it's that revolting recycling stuff we've come for. Well, I can tell you for nothing. It's not the telepathy and it's certainly not the recycling. Imagine, a friggin' life-cycle business making a play for recycling! Doesn't make sense, does it, my dear? We'd have to be bleedin' mad to do that. And we're not. So come on, have another go.'
At this juncture in the proceedings, Renton thought he should make a contribution. Not only could he now not put his foot in it - with the telepathy and the recycling stuff being out in the open - but he was also beginning to feel a little neglected. Bessie hadn't thrown so much as a single expletive in his direction.
'Look,' he said, with as much authority as he could muster, 'my partner has told you everything we know. We're here to help the Lagooners. And we know about their telepathy thing and, of course, the recycling bit as well. But that's all. And if you're not interested in either of those, then we've haven't a clue what you are interested in. So why don't you just tell us, and then we can all get on with something useful? This guessing game's becoming boring.'
Bessie said nothing. She simply stared at Renton as if he were an item of dirty laundry. Then after a few seconds she did find her voice. And this time it was measured and business-like. All the bluster of her recent outbursts had suddenly drained away.
'Cristalina,' she said, 'I think these three detectives are in need of a little enlightenment. Will you please tell them just what their employers are actually up to. I hate to see them in such a state of ignorance. And who knows? It might even make them see things from a rather different perspective.'
Renton was now intrigued. What had started off as an interrogation was now turning into a full-blown explanation of their captor's purpose. But why? Bessie now had her man - but she was ignoring his existence. And instead she was about to spend her no doubt very valuable time educating a trio of inconsequentials on the subject of goonie folklore. It just didn't make sense. He must be missing something. But what?
Then Cristalina started, and there was the same measured and business-like tone to her opening. It even included a self-introduction.
'I am an associate director of the Trampul Corporation with responsibility for special assignments. Over the past two and a half years I have been working on the Lagooner project. So I now consider myself something of an expert on their habits and, of course, on their… well, let's call it, their agenda.'
'Blimey,' thought Renton, 'some special assignment this! Exchanging your desk for a few scraps of leather and a pop-rivet bra. I've heard of business casual, but this is ridiculous.'
'Now you may be under the impression,' she continued, 'that these Lagooners do nothing more than sit around in this enormous vessel dispensing lechery and licentiousness to a willing public. And whilst this isn't to everyone's taste, it's all pretty harmless. Well, I can assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.
'You see, it is all a cover. A cover that allows this vessel to approach an endless number of planets - and to deliver to each of these planets, a potent virus that threatens the very existence of mankind.'
'You what?' interjected Renton. 'Are you out of your mind?'
'No!' bellowed Bessie. 'She is not. And if you fuckin' well listen, you'll see that yourself. So just keep your mouth shut and let her go on.'
Renton had little option but to accept the advice given, and Cristalina continued.
'As you well know, whenever the Lollipop berths above a planet, it's serviced by a squad of launches. They bring it its new customers, and they relieve it of its old. You no doubt arrived here on one of these yourself. However, what you will not know is that when these launches return whence they came, they carry with them a small present, a sort of mechanical limpet, a tiny round container secured tightly to their bellies. And always to their bellies - where it can't be seen. Only, of course, the present doesn't make it all the way home. It burns up on re-entry. And as it burns up, it releases its deadly contents: an amazing virus that can withstand both the low pressures of near-outer space and the intense heat of re-entry. And that's just the start of its magical qualities…
'You see, the virus is no less than the near-perfect delivery mechanism. As well as being able to penetrate a planet's atmosphere, it can then go on to spread itself throughout that atmosphere in a matter of just days. And within days after that it'll have got into the systems of every human being on that world. It'll have infected its entire population.'
'Infected it with what?' interjected Madeleine. 'What's this near-perfect delivery mechanism actually delivering?'
'Good question,' responded Bessie. 'And good questions deserve good answers. Tell her, Miss Cristalina. Tell her what the virus carries. And what it all means. You know, the brain stuff and things.'
Cristalina acknowledged Bessie's directive with a nod of her head, and then she went on.
'OK. First things first: brain chemistry. And in particular, that little bit of it that's tied up with sex…'
Her audience looked puzzled.
'I'll make it simple. When two humans engage in sex, they either have procreation in mind - or recreation. Either kids or kicks. And if its kids, the brain produces a chemical called Reprocil. And if its kicks, its something called Fornicil. In fact, they're both their in the brain all the time. It's just there's a surge in one or the other depending on what sort of sex is going on. And then there's a bit of two-way traffic. You know: sex for fun produces Fornicil; Fornicil in the brain reinforces desire to have sex for fun. And most importantly, the desire to procreate - even as a sort of by-product - is suppressed. And that, believe me, is very important indeed.
'Because, you see, it's Fornicil that the virus delivers. It's Fornicil that the people are being infected with. And when they're being infected with it continuously… And they will be, because the virus will now be everywhere in the atmosphere… Well, their brains will end up being doused in the stuff. And when that happens, the result's inevitable. Yes, their sex lives get an enormous boost - but only in the fun department. Their desire to have sex to procreate just about disappears. I mean more and more couples decide they don't want children. The contraception industry sees a surge in sales - and th
e birth-rate falls over a cliff. So much so, in fact, that the population begins to dwindle. And it goes on dwindling. And give it long enough, and it dwindles completely. I mean, there's nobody left.'
'But…' started Renton. 'That's just…'
But he got no further. Cristalina was not yet done.
'Now if you're doubting me, let me just ask you to consider what goes on on-board this ship. I said that the Lollipop was a cover for the Lagooners' real purpose. Well, in fact, it's something rather more than that. It's a farm as well - where they breed the Fornicil, the Fornicil they need to pump-prime the virus. That's why it's a sex ship. All this sex for kicks means there's gallons of the stuff. All sloshing round in the brains of the punters. And all they have to do is extract it - with some sort of brain probe…
'Jesus!' screeched Renton to himself. 'The probe room. Those bloody probes. That photograph. Oh, my God. And come to think of it, those probes weren't in a Lagooner's brain, they were in Miss Selva's brain - a passenger's brain. They were nothing to do with the recycling at all… And that means… that means this could all be true!'
'So there you have it,' concluded Cristalina. 'These Lagooners may not be murdering individuals, but they're murdering mankind. With this incredible virus… and with all this Fornicil, slowly but surely, planet by planet, they're snuffing out our very future…'
'Errh pardon me,' interjected Boz gently, 'but I'd like a lill' bit o' claritycation if yous don't mind. I mean, you said this here virus is messin' up the brains of all these human-types. An' I mean… well, can I infer with complete surity like, that it's only ole humi-beans that get infected? You know, I don't want you to think that I don't care for my human type friends. Cos indeed, I sure do. But I jus' wanted to check that insectals and amphibiads and errh… and errh… reptilians an' the like… well, that they don't get infected. That it really is jus' a human type problem we're talkin' 'bout here…'
'You fuckin' bet it is,' roared Bessie. 'Shit, what do you think these little bastards are doing it for anyway? They're not interested in your lot. They've just got it in for us human types. We're the ones they want out.'
'Errh… but beggin' your pardon, my dear lady. I ain't quite sure I follows your drift. I mean, why…'
'Oh, for fuck's sake,' she interrupted. 'Can't you see? They recycle themselves. They can go on forever. And they can certainly go on for as long as it takes to kill off the whole of mankind - the normal sort that is. Then what'll be left? These spooks, that's what. They'll be the only sort of humans in the entire universe - if you can call anything that regularly chops itself up human. And that little bastard over there will be king of the fuckin' castle. He'll be number one dude in the whole cosmos. And look at him. He's a fuckin' wimp. And I can tell you now, he doesn't need fuckin' crowning, he needs fuckin' exterminating.'
Renton could keep quiet no longer. He was now completely engaged by this tale - but still incredulous. It was just so bizarre, just so foreign to any normal thinking. And that bit about the tiny number of Lagooners on board the Lollipop becoming the human population of the entire universe. That was just impossible to take seriously. And this was the point he would make.
'Do you actually believe that the humanoid population of the universe will be reduced to just the handful of Lagooners on board this ship? Are you really expecting us to believe that? I mean, are you serious?'
'I'm always serious,' snapped Bessie. 'And anyway, who's to say that recycling doesn't extend to re-creating? For all we know this little bugger may be planning to play God. Have you thought of that, eh? Hell, he might be able to knock up any number of these weirdos whenever he wants. I mean, how do you think he ended up with the crew of this soddin' ship in the first place? And shit, he might have a whole load more of them - a stash somewhere - on some secret planet. Some soddin' great warehouse full of dummies, all of them waiting to be spread around the universe - when he's emptied it of all the real stuff - of all us real humans.'
'But you aren't here to save us real humans, are you?' observed Madeleine. 'You've got some other purpose. The one I'm supposed to have guessed. And I think I now know what it is - always assuming all this nonsense it anything more than just nonsense…'
True to her form, Madeleine had held on to the thread of the initial interrogation, and was now apparently ready to follow it through. She started with the two kidnapped Lagooners, the two she'd sought on the planets of Tumara and Daartlegaart - but hadn't found.
'You kidnapped two Lagooners. I'm sure you remember. And then you either killed them or they died because you'd taken them off this ship. They were too far away from the Master. And they couldn't survive.'
'Spot on,' confirmed Bessie. 'Take any of these creeps too far away from that little shit over there and they wither and die. Difficult to believe really, but it's true. And it's gonna be a bit of a problem for his domination of the whole universe. But I'm sure he's working on it. And he'll get it sorted. If, of course, I haven't vapourised him in the meantime. I don't think recycling can quite cope with that yet…'
'OK,' resumed Madeleine, 'so you took these two guys to get some information from them, and they either died before you could get it or they simply didn't have it.'
'They didn't have it,' said Bessie quietly.
'So you deduced that only the Master had this information. And you knew that there was a Master through this woman here - this Cristalina. And that meant you had to come to the Lollipop to find the Master. And as it was such important information, you had to come yourself.'
'Correct, my dear lady,' agreed Bessie. 'You might just make a reasonable detective one of these days.'
'And the information you needed concerns the virus,' continued Madeleine. 'You want to copy it, don't you? But not quite in the same form. You want it in its mirror image. You don't want a virus which carries Fornicil - which suppresses the desire to procreate. You want one which carries the other one: Reprocil, the one that switches on the desire to procreate. And if you get that: a procreation booster - then the humanoid race will grow even faster than it is at the moment. Much faster. And so too will your market - for all your life-cycle products. You'll have a boom on your hands. Consumption will mushroom - and Trampul will have an absolute field day.'
Bessie started to clap. She was grinning and slapping her two great hands together in a parody of real applause. And then she began to speak - almost pleasantly.
'Well done, my young girl. You're about 90% there - if not a little bit more. All you're missing is that this whole wonderful scheme started from just a little industrial espionage. And the spy was our dear Cristalina here. She was here on the Lollipop to find out how they ran things. So that Trampul Entertainment could errh… you know, replicate what they were doing. We've got our own fleet, you see - to do the same sort of thing. Discreetly, of course. Under another brand outside the Trampul family. But it looks to have real potential. And our ships are now ready. We've got twelve of them, all bigger and better than this old thing. And, of course, they'll now have the same dual rôle as the Lollipop. As well as sex, they'll be delivering our own vastly improved version of the virus to as many worlds as possible - in the shortest time possible. I mean, you can't wait forever for markets to develop on their own. You've got to give them a bit of a push if you can. And my dear, we certainly can!
'So that's it. We just need old shit-face over there to give us his secrets, and we're home and dry. And then, end of story. Only, of course, it's not a story. It's for real. And remember, whilst you may not entirely agree with our motives, you can't disagree with what we'll achieve. OK, it might get a little crowded, but we'll have rescued the whole of bleedin' mankind. And I will be its saviour and its guardian - me Bessie Broperhoperen. And that all sounds a soddin' sight better than what those bastard Lagooners have in mind.
'So you've got to give us that. You've got to see we're the good guys - although maybe not quite in the conventional sense. In fact, not quite in the conventional sense at all…'
> And at this point in her prose, Bessie started to cackle like a turkey in pain. She'd obviously found her own conclusion of some amusement. Although she was the only one so afflicted.
Her own troops, Cristalina, and all the Lagooners including Orphenia, appeared entirely unamused. Boz just looked dismayed and Madeleine wore an expression of deep disdain.
Renton too found it less than hilarious. He thought it acutely depressing. Indeed he thought every aspect of the entire dénouement was desperately depressing. And, of course, that in itself meant only one thing: that he believed it.
Hell, these weird Lagooners really were the bad guys. And after a roller-coaster ride of emotional attachment and repulsion, he'd now ended up in a deep pit of loathing - for all of them. And that had to include Orphenia. How could it not? And that was especially awful.
With all this depression, Renton could have simply sunk with its weight - but for one large inflatable item: this Bessie woman. Not the fact that she was large and apparently inflated herself, but that her ego was as well. He went back to his earlier thoughts: her spending all this time telling three people who were entirely incidental to her scheme, what this scheme was. And spending this time just when she had in her grasp - finally - the key to achieving her scheme. It just wasn't sane. Unless, of course, her ego was just stupendously large - and her opinion of her own importance was even larger. And she needed to tell as many people as possible just how incredibly important she was. And yes, that was it. Bessie was what she was because she suffered from a very acute form of self-important arrogance. It shaped her thoughts and her actions. It made her behave in apparently irrational ways. And, as he had just witnessed, it would drive her on. It would drive her on to commit these crimes against humanity. He was sure of it.
And perversely, here was a glimmer of hope, a buoyant raft to support him and his heavy load of woe. An overestimation of your own importance is a great undoer. Arrogant self-conceit trips you over. Who knows? It could yet bring that cow crashing down. And the sooner the better. Yes, for the sake of mankind, the sooner the better.
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