He’s wearing a brown suit and a white shirt with brown dots on it and a dark brown tie. He didn’t bother getting up to shake hands with me but I’d bet a million dollars that he’s wearing brown socks and shoes. Brown is a good colour for Archie Walker BSc, PhD, it reflects his lack of character, his blandness. There is never any small talk with him, no greeting, no questions about family or friends, and no physical contact. The only person I have ever seen touch him is Miss Reynolds, who occasionally puts a proprietary hand on his shoulder while putting his cup of tea on his ordered desk. The desk is protection, like his motherly secretary, and he rarely comes from behind it as if he is glued into his black leather chair that sticks up a good six inches above the back of his head.
‘Well….’ he says again and puts his hands together on the his pristine blotting pad, fingers interlinked. That’s his usual conversation position, as if afraid that the movements of his pale hands will give away his innermost thoughts. He has no need to worry, I doubt if he has any innermost thoughts. Despite the brown suit and the brown hair, he is the most colourless man I have ever met, and ten minutes after meeting him it’s hard to even remember what he looks like.
His job as Corporation psychologist is to prevent any of the Dreamers from suing for damages when they burn out. Each six months, prior to laying down a psi-disc, Dreamers have to report to Walker for a chat, a little heart to heart, during which he will warn us of the dangers of laying down discs, and how we are to speak up if we have any problems or symptoms that might indicate we are not 100 per cent capable of doing the job. Naturally we all say that everything is hunky dory, he gives us a few standard tests, and then Miss Reynolds sends us on our way. The whole interview is recorded, so that as and when Dreamers do go loopy or top themselves, the Corporation can put its collective hand on its corporate heart and say that it has done its duty. No Dreamer has ever been able to convince a lawyer to take on the might of the Corporation. Mind you, most of the Dreamers who go over the edge aren’t in a fit state to speak to an ice cream vendor, never mind a lawyer.
‘Mr Aintrell tells me you are having a rough time with the psi-discs,’ he says, and I nod but don’t say anything.
There is a quiet knock on the door and Miss Reynolds waddles in and puts a cup of steaming tea on Archie’s desk and walks out without saying a word.
‘Is there anything in particular that you find upsetting about them?’ Archie asks the large white flower pot containing the plant. It doesn’t answer and neither do I. I wonder how much Aintrell has told him about the discs.
‘Mr Aintrell is worried that you might not be able to handle the last psi-disc. And he also worries that you might not be able to fulfill your own contract.’
‘I’ll lay down my last psi-disc,’ I say. ‘There is no need to worry on that score.’
‘Then on what score should we be worried?’ he asks the plant.
You’ve got to be careful with Walker. He seems to be such an innocuous deadhead that you start to forget, to forget that he’s a top rate psychologist and to forget that everything is being faithfully recorded.
‘Has Aintrell plugged into the psi-discs?’ I ask him. ‘You’ll have to ask Aintrell,’ he says.
‘Helpful, isn’t he,’ comments Ruth. She leaps up onto his desk and stands on his blotter, growling into his face. ‘How about I rip his nose off,’ she says.
I don’t say anything, and eventually Walker speaks to the plant again. ‘How are you generally, Leif?’
‘He’s fine, no thanks to you,’ spits Ruth.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, but I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice. I mean, what else can I say? Not so good, Archie, but the sky occasionally changes colour and things don’t smell right anymore and every now and again inanimate objects turn into animals and I damn near died because I thought I saw a child in the road. Oh yes, by the way, I’ve started talking to a bobcat with hazel eyes who refuses to fly. If I start talking like that there’s no way they’re going to allow me to finish my contract.
Walker slowly nods his head up and down as if giving my answer serious consideration, while Ruth mimics him.
‘What sort of problems do the other Dreamers have?’ I ask.
In what way?’ he says. Whenever he can Walker answers a question with another question as if he’s frightened to give out any information. I wonder what deep dark secrets he has buried away in the recesses of his mind.
‘Do they go mad, do they see things, do they hear voices?’
‘Any problems that I am told about obviously must remain confidential,’ he replies.
‘Yeah, I bet,’ says Ruth. ‘Just between you, the Dreamer, and the Corporation.’
‘Let’s talk generally then. Generally speaking, what sort of problems are Dreamers susceptible to?’
Walker looks even more uncomfortable. He is not used to being asked questions. At any moment he might burst into tears and go running to clutch the skirts of Miss Reynolds. Except that would mean leaving the sanctuary of his desk and chair.
‘Do they tell you when they’re going to kill themselves?’ I press, and he flinches. This is not going to sound good when Aintrell plays back the tape, and I’m starting to shout. If I’m not careful it’s going to look as if I’m losing it. I quieten myself down because the last thing I need right now is ‘Psychologically Unstable’ stamped on my file. Along with ‘Contract Terminated.’
Ruth looks at me over her shoulder. ‘Wimp,’ she says. ‘Tell him what for. Tell him what he can do with his psychological testing and his hidden video recorders.’
It’s easy for her to say, she’s only a cat.
We sit in silence, the three of us, four if you include Walker’s plant. He mumbles something and I ask him to repeat himself.
‘It’s a difficult area, Leif, this whole business of Dreamers. It’s such a new science, or art, that there is virtually nothing in the way of research about the effects on the Dreamers. Sure, there’s papers galore on the effects on the public, whether or not viewers are over-influenced by what they see, the effects of advertising embedded in the discs, how children react to the shifts in reality. But no-one has really researched into what it does to the Dreamers, have they?’ It’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard him make.
‘But you speak to them, they tell you what they’re going through,’ I say.
He finally tears his eyes away from the plant and looks at me. ‘Do you?’ he asks.
There’s not a lot I can say to that. He’s right, of course. If I haven’t opened up to him, then why should anyone else?
He suddenly seems to realise that we have eye contact and he lowers his gaze. He appears to be examining Ruth’s forepaws but I know he can’t see her.
‘The psi-discs I’ve seen, two of them so far, are violent,’ I say. ‘Very violent.’
‘There seems to be a trend in that direction these days,’ he agrees. ‘Initially the mere sensation of the psi-discs was attraction enough for people to buy them. But the more they use them, the more extreme they want the experiences. That’s the way of the world. That’s what happened with television and movies. There is no reason for psi-discs to be any different, is there?’ He even manages to turn a statement of fact into a question.
‘But isn’t there a danger that the psi-discs might alter personalities?’
‘Of the viewers or the Dreamers?’ he asks.
‘Viewers,’ I answer.
‘Both,’ says Ruth.
‘That’s really not for us to decide, Leif. That’s for the Government censors and watchdogs like the Moral Crusade. All we do is to produce psi-discs within their guidelines. What more can we do?’
‘Okay, let me put it another way. Assuming CBS Corporation follows the existing rules and regulations, what are the chances of a viewer becoming disturbed? Mentally disturbed, I mean.’ He exhales deeply, the stress of having to provide an answer rather than another question.
‘Who can say, Leif? Who can say?’
&
nbsp; ‘Not you, that’s for sure, Dog Breath,’ hisses Ruth. ‘Doesn’t he ever give a straight answer?’ No, he doesn’t. Actually, its probably because years of analysis and probing means that he can’t communicate anymore, even if he wanted to.
‘Are you married?’ I ask him.
‘Why do you ask?’ he says.
See what I mean? I bet if you ask him the colour of his socks he’ll come back with a question. ‘No reason,’ I say. ‘Look, how many complaints does the Corporation get from viewers alleging that they’ve suffered because of plugging into psi-discs?’
‘That would be something to ask Legal, wouldn’t it?’ he says. ‘About the psi-disc you plugged into today, the one by Janet Dewar. What was it about?’
‘It was a space adventure, dog fight among the stars, battling aliens to save the Earth, you know the sort of thing.’
‘How would you rate it?’
‘Good. Lots of excitement.’
‘Violent?’
‘Very.’
‘Anything unusual about it?’
‘Unusual?’ Two can play at the question game.
‘Anything, how can I put it, excessive?’
‘It was very violent, Archie, but I’m sure you know that. Why don’t you come right out with it and tell me what it is you’re after?’
‘What makes you think I’m after anything?’ he says without missing a beat. I want to hit him, hard, I want to grab him by the throat and squeeze, to see his eyes bulge and pop and the cartilage crunch beneath my tightening fingers, I want to see him choke and die….
‘Easy Leif, easy,’ says Ruth, and I realise just how angry I’ve become, the red mist is back and there’s a pounding pulse in my head. A few seconds more and I could have grabbed Archie Walker and pulled him out of the chair, thrown him down hard on the desk and pounded my fist into his face, again and again…..
‘Leif!’ shouts Ruth. She is standing in front of my chair, butting her head against my knees. ‘Relax, don’t let him upset you. That’s what they want.’ I reach forward and stroke her between the ears and she purrs. I lean forward and she turns up her head and licks me on the nose, and then she rubs her head against my cheek. I pretend to tie my shoelace so that Walker doesn’t think I’ve totally flipped, then I flop back into the seat and give him a big, open smile.
‘No, Archie, there was nothing excessive about it. You should try it, it’s a hell of a show. Now, is there anything else you want to know?’ I fill my head with soothing images, foremost among them is stroking a bobcat with hazel eyes.
For only the second time during the interview he looks at me, and he shakes his head. ‘No Leif, that’s all. Thanks for dropping by.’
He doesn’t get up to see me out and I know without looking back that he doesn’t watch me go. Outside Herbie is waiting for me and we walk to the lift together.
‘Goodbye Herbert, goodbye Leif,’ trills Mrs Reynolds. She doesn’t say goodbye to Ruth, but she takes it well. She sits between Herbie and me while we wait for the lift, washing her face with her right paw and grunting with concentration.
The lift arrives and Herbie lets me in first. Ruth plays it cool and waits until the last minute, until the doors are almost shut, before she jumps in. Herbie and I reach for the buttons together, he goes for the one marked ‘G’ but I hit the Penthouse button first.
‘Louis Aintrell and I have something to discuss,’ I say by way of explanation.
He starts to argue, telling me that we’ll need an appointment, but I tell him to be quiet. The lift begins to rattle off the latest share prices and I tell it to shut up, too. Ruth can sense I’m not to be annoyed so she keeps quiet.
‘You wish, Jack.’ Yeah, well two out of three isn’t bad.
We storm past his secretaries and his assistant, ignoring their protests. I reach the door first and I’m through before they can stop me. Aintrell is behind his desk, a big cigar in his mouth and two stuffed shirts from Legal hanging on his every nicotine-scented word.
‘I’d like a chat,’ I say. ‘Now.’
Aintrell flashes me The Smile and gets to his feet, apologising to his legal eagles and pointing them to the doors. They glare at me as they go but it’s no contest as far as the chief executive is concerned, I’m a revenue earner, one of the best, and lawyers are just the hired help.
‘Leif, Leif, Leif,’ he croons. ‘Good to see you. Come on, sit down, sit down.’ For some reason he seems to be saying everything twice, as if doubling the amount of time he has to think. He doesn’t, it has to be said, seem over-surprised to see me. Herbie has had the good grace to wait outside but Ruth is stalking up and down on one of the wide window sills.
‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ she purrs.
Aintrell puts his arm around me and guides me into one of the big green armchairs. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks and I say no thanks even though I’d like nothing better.
‘Me too,’ says Ruth.
Aintrell taps his cigar on the edge of a crystal ashtray the size of an Olympic discus and then waves it in the air like a magician’s wand. I wonder what Archie Walker would say about men who smoke big cigars, but realise that he’d probably just ask a question like ‘Why do you think they do?’
The chief executive crosses his legs at the ankles and relaxes back in the chair. ‘What’s your problem, Leif?’ he asks quietly, and he sounds as if he cares, as if a close relative had died and he’s about to offer to pay for the funeral expenses.
‘You were listening?’ I ask.
‘Of course,’ he says, and I’m immediately grateful for his honesty. At least he didn’t play psychologist and ask ‘listening to what?’
‘You knew there was nothing Archie Walker could do to get an insight into those psi-discs and my reaction to them,’ I say. ‘He’s never managed to get anything out of any of the Dreamers, he’s just there to rubber stamp the psychological profiles, we both know that. He’s not even in on the selection procedures.’
Aintrell nods and pulls deeply on his cigar, inhaling the smoke and holding it in his lungs as if it was too precious to share with the atmosphere. He lays back his head and only then lets the smoke out in a narrow jet that expands as it heads for the ceiling, like a nuclear cloud.
‘You’re not telling me anything I don’t know so far,’ he says, still looking at the ceiling.
‘You knew that he’d get up my nose, especially so soon after being exposed to that woman’s psi-disc. You wanted to see my reaction. Normally I can handle that jerk of a shrink, but you wanted to see how I could handle him after…….’
‘After what, Leif?’
‘After going through what was on her disc.’
He is studying me now, his cigar forgotten. ‘And what was on the disc?’
‘Violence. Even more intense than on Woolrich’s disc.’
‘From the viewer’s point of view, or third party?’
‘Viewer. Did you know?’
He shrugs but doesn’t say one way or another.
‘He knows,’ says Ruth, and I believe her. She was right about them using me, she was right about them wanting me to lose my temper with Archie. She might be a product of my imagination, but she often operates at a subconscious level that allows her insights that are denied me, things I’ve noticed or deduced but at a level far below conscious thought.
‘You betta believe it,’ she says from the windowsill. ‘Whose idea are these discs, Louis?’ I ask him.
‘The Dreamers,’ he replies. ‘They have complete editorial control, you know that.’
‘But you’re guiding them?’
‘We are looking for something different,’ he says, sitting forward in his chair. ‘We’re looking to get back to the leading edge of these discs, to keep ourselves ahead of RCA. Latest viewing figures show they are gaining on us, they picked up an extra three points last month. We need something to grab attention, to get our ratings up.’
‘Like sex and violence?’
‘There’s
always been sex and violence, Leif. Not from you, I know, but it’s always there.’
‘Not to this degree, and never from the viewer’s point of view. That’s illegal.’
Aintrell sighs and taps ash off his cigar again.
‘As I said yesterday, it’s illegal according to the present rules. But the goalposts could be shifted at any time.’
‘They’re not safe,’ I say.
He looks at me intently. ‘So they did affect you,’ he says sharply.
‘Excite,’ I answer, picking my words carefully. ‘They were incredibly exciting, incredibly stimulating. And there was a spill over after I came out.’
‘Spill over?’
‘Anger. Intense anger. I was on a high and it took some time to come down.’
‘But that’s good,’ he says enthusiastically. ‘Don’t you see, Leif. That’s what we need. A hook. Something to keep them coming back for more. You know the value of repeats.’
‘Yeah, I know the value of repeats.’ I wanted to say that there was more than that, that I had wanted to hurt Archie Walker, and that if his secretary had been half way attractive I might have wanted to hurt her, too. But there was a nagging doubt in my mind, and the doubt was whether the feelings were my own or if they had been induced by the disc. If it was the psi-disc, and I told Aintrell how it had gripped me, then maybe I’d lose my contract. It was only a maybe, but I was so close to finishing that I couldn’t risk it. I’d have to wait until I was really sure and that meant plugging into the third and final fatal disc.
He continues to speak, rolling the cigar between his finger and thumb. I lose concentration and it turns into a snake, a yellow and brown snake with a black flicking tongue and I jump but when I look again it’s just a cigar.
‘But don’t let the novelty of the new psi-discs blind you to the problem at hand,’ he says, not noticing my discomfort. ‘Are you any nearer finding out what killed the Dreamers?’
Dreamer's Cat: a sci-fi murder mystery with a killer twist Page 9