I pour myself a tumbler of 15-year-old Matsumoto Glenlivet with a dash of spring water while I wait. I turn on the 3-D TV and tell it to switch to the news channel. A blonde with the eyes of a frightened fawn and a 40-year-old man with the looks of a presidential candidate are taking turns to go through the headlines. The US trade deficit has hit a record high, the only exports that are actually on the increase are psi-discs. Unemployment is at 23 per cent, a slight improvement on last year, but a tame economist in a ten-second interview claims that the Government is fiddling the figures. The Japanese moonbase is to start commercial mining operations next week in a joint venture with the Soviets, and Green activists have launched a campaign to stop it. A new Korean supercomputer thrashes a Chinese chess Grandmaster eight games to one and announces it is retiring. A sniper with a laser rifle kills sixteen teenagers at a High School in Cleveland before he’s taken out by a heat-seeking missile that had been programmed with his individual infra red profile. A member of the SWAT team says its the fifth time they’ve had to use the missiles this month and that the police need more funding. ‘The Japanese missiles don’t come cheap, what with the strength of the yen and that,’ he says. A girl from Singapore wins the Miss Universe title and says she wants to do more to help the people of poorer countries. She plans to visit Europe.
I barely drink half of the whisky before the security video phone tells me she’s here and I tell it to let her in. I have the door open for her as she gets out of the lift.
She is not what I expect, in that she doesn’t look like an elderly spinster who would throw up her arms in horror at the merest hint of exposed female flesh or scenes of violence. I’ve seen a few of the Moral Crusade spokesmen - and women - on late night chat shows, and they’re rarely under sixty years old and have a tendency to look down their noses when they talk about the evils of sex and violence and the effect they have on the weaker members of society and how it is the duty of the more responsible citizens to do all they can to protect them.
Helen Gwynne looks to be in her early thirties with straight blonde hair parted dead centre and falling to just above her shoulders. Her eyes are a piercing blue and her skin is milky white. She smiles when she shakes my hand, and her grip is firm, like a man’s. Her nails are very long and painted a glossy red, the same shade as her lipstick.
‘Thank you for seeing me, Mr Ableman.’
‘Leif,’ I say, ‘please call me Leif.’
She is wearing a dark blue jacket with wide lapels and padded shoulders over a pale blue silk shirt and a pleated skirt made out of the same material as the jacket. Her shoes are black and simple but obviously expensive and as I follow her into the room I see the black lines down the back of her legs that show she is wearing stockings.
In her wake she leaves the lingering fragrance of something exotic and flowery, and her hips sway as she walks as if she is used to being watched. She has the bearing and looks of a former model, past the flush of youth and a bit too heavy for the catwalk these days but still very desirable.
‘And at least ten years younger than you,’ purrs Ruth sweetly.
Helen arranges herself in one of the sofas, delicately crossing her legs and pulling the skirt down over her knees.
‘Can I get you anything?’ I ask her and she says she’ll have a vodka and tonic so it looks as if the Moral Crusade isn’t against alcohol. As I pass her the tumbler she hands me her business card and I put it on the bar, next to the bottle of whisky.
I settle down on the sofa facing her and ask her what it is she wants from me and why she feels that she has to come to my flat to talk about it. Ruth lies down at her feet, her eyes on me.
‘Well Mr Ableman, I mean Leif, as you probably are aware the Moral Crusade is very concerned about the effects pornography in all its various forms are having on our society.’
Sure, everyone knows about the activities of the Moral Crusade. They reckon that membership of the Crusade stands at some ten million in the US alone, so they have a fair amount of clout and the networks do listen to them. They’ve yet to make much headway with the psi-disc companies, mainly because we’re not reliant on advertising at all, but they do have a couple of representatives on the Government censorship committees where they are forever making themselves heard. I’ve always reckoned that what consenting adults do, or watch, in private is their own concern, but that was before I’d plugged into the last two psi-discs and experienced the effects they had on me. Maybe the Crusade do have a point, maybe they would be too much for some people to handle.
But I’m not sure if I should be telling Helen Gwynne that, so I just nod politely while she demurely sips her drink. There is lipstick on the glass when she takes it away from her mouth.
‘Thanks to the efforts of the Moral Crusade, and other concerned groups, I think it is fair to say that the programmes we see on our television screens these days are considerably healthier than they were a few years ago,’ she says.
For healthier, read boring. One of the reasons for the runaway success of the psi-disc is that the daily output of the networks is now so drab and lifeless that it offers about as much stimulation as watching a fridge defrost. I continue to nod and admire her legs.
‘And it is with no small personal satisfaction that the sexual content of our newspapers, especially the racier tabloids, has decreased substantially since the Moral Crusade made its objections known.’
Now that newspapers are transmitted electronically and printed on personal laser printers, I reckon that they fall within the privacy of your own home category. Only those who subscribe receive the stories and pictures, so for the life of me I can’t see what damage they are doing. But after the Moral Crusade organised mass rallies outside the offices of newspapers they felt were too titillating or violent and followed it up with a worldwide boycott of products advertised in them, it didn’t take long before the publishers started to throttle back. It wasn’t worth the grief. Helen Gwynne does have very shapely legs. She has a thin gold chain around her left ankle, so subtle that I’d missed it at first.
‘The cinema industry has also decided to comply with our standards, I am happy to say.’ True enough, though audiences have dwindled. Nobody wants to pay to watch flat screens anymore. The movie moguls blame the psi-disc corporations but personally I reckon it’s because the films they produce these days are every bit as dry as the television, even when they’re in 3-D. They’ve given up. The only sector that’s doing well is the 3-D video and laser disc sector and that’s because people prefer their entertainment without advertising breaks. But given the choice, everyone prefers the psi-disc. That’s why our sales and profits are soaring and the rest of the entertainment business is in the doldrums. Which, I guess, is why the lovely Miss Gwynne has dropped in for a chat.
‘The only area where we have so far failed to make any progress is in the psi-disc market,’ she says. She uncrosses her legs and presses them close together and I wonder if I have been staring.
‘Yes,’ says Ruth tartly. ‘You were.’
‘Which is why I have come to see you, Leif,’ she says, and places her glass on the table next to the sofa. I can clearly see the imprint of her lips on it. ‘In many ways what goes on inside corporations like CBS is a closed book to us. We see the final products but we have virtually no technical knowledge, and the psi-disc companies allow us no input at the creative stage.’
I can understand why the Moral Crusade sent along a looker like Helen Gwynne to give me a going over. If it had been one of the tweed twin set and pearls brigade or an earnest priest with watery eyes and minty breath then I’d have shown them to the door already but she was so easy on the eye and had such class that I’d listen to her even if she was selling the latest computerised encyclopedia.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ she says, catching me by surprise. I was busy watching the way her breasts seem to bump the material of her shirt each time she moves her shoulders. It isn’t that she appears top heavy or anything, it’s just that
I’m constantly aware of what is lurking under the silk.
‘Leif, you’re staring,’ purrs Ruth. She rolls on her back with her paws in the air, scraping her head along the thick pile carpet.
‘No, of course not,’ I reply and hand her an ashtray. I realise then that she’s not carrying a handbag but she takes a packet of cigarettes from her jacket pocket, along with a slim, gold lighter.
She tosses her head once she has her cigarette lit and purses her lips as she blows the smoke towards the floor. Ruth fakes a cough.
‘We believe that the psi-disc corporations are planning to develop a new range of discs, discs which are more explicit than anything we have seen before. We have made approaches to both CBS and RCA but have been told quite bluntly that we are to mind our own business.’ She takes a long pull on the cigarette and when she exhales I see lipstick smeared on the filter.
‘Well, Leif, constant vigilance over any medium which can affect the minds and attitudes of our society is our business. Very much our business.’ She smiles, seeking my agreement.
‘Surely all psi-discs have to be cleared by the Government anyway, and the Crusade is represented on the censorship committee. You can make your feelings known then,’ I tell her.
She pulls a face as if there is a bad taste in her mouth. ‘What worries us, Leif, is that we have detected a gradual change in emphasis among the other members of the committees, those members who are not attached to the Moral Crusade. To be frank, Leif, it is as if some of the committee members are being leaned on. If the trend continues, we are reasonably certain that there will be a tendency for more violent psi-discs to be permitted, and there will be a more liberal approach taken towards their sexual content.’
‘Well?’ I say, because I’m still not sure what it is she wants.
‘Well, we’ve decided to approach you, Leif, because you are, how can I put it tactfully, slightly more mature than the usual Dreamers.’
Yeah, that’s pretty tactful. She means I’m a hell of a lot older than they are. ‘Not much gets past her, does it?’ purrs Ruth.
‘We thought that your maturity might mean that you would be more sympathetic to our views than the Dreamers who are already turning out material which we consider is too strong. Also, we have seen all nine of the psi-discs you have recorded, and we have been impressed by their….’ She seems to be struggling for the word so I help her.
‘Maturity,’ I say. She smiles.
‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘Your discs have character, depth, integrity, strong storylines and more often than not there is usually a strong moral theme running through them. Good triumphs over evil, crime doesn’t pay, the importance of protecting one’s family and loved ones…’
‘And all the rest of the cliches,’ says Ruth.
‘And your version of Macbeth was superb, absolutely superb. You won an award for that, didn’t you?’
Yeah I did. It was my fifth psi-disc and I fancied a change, so I spent three months living in a castle Herbie found for me on the west coast of Scotland, cold, damp and totally miserable. He found a top chef who cooked meals in the style of medieval England and we hired a team of top swordsmen to teach me the finer points of fencing and the end result was sheer magic, even if I do say so myself. I gave Herbie the Oscar because the awards mean nothing to me anymore, my sole concern now is to finish my contract and get the hell out of the business. Funny that she should pick on that one as an example of the quality of my work. I wonder if she realises how many deaths there were and how gory it was, it was actually one of the most violent psi-discs I’ve ever done.
I nod, trying to be cool. ‘Yeah, but I still don’t see what you want from me. You want me to campaign on the Crusade’s behalf?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ she laughs, and the blouse moves, rippling like a windswept sea. She stubs out the cigarette with a savage twist, breaking the white cylinder in half. She had only taken two or three puffs at it, obviously one of those smokers who take more pleasure in the lighting than the inhaling.
‘We simply require some guidance, Leif. Some information. For instance, are you aware of any new policy with regard to violence in psi-discs? Are we right in assuming that CBS wants to make a new range of violent discs for general release?’ She looks at me carefully as she speaks to see how I react to the question, but I’ve got enough control over my emotions not to be caught as easily as that. I shrug and she laughs again, a deep throaty sound that sets the silk rustling once more. Yeah, I know, I’m staring.
‘I suppose it was a little naive of me to expect you to tell me company secrets, wasn’t it?’
‘I guess so. Why are you suddenly taking such an interest in the psi-disc business?’
‘It’s not a sudden interest, we’ve always felt that they exert too much of an influence, especially on children and those who aren’t as intelligent as, well…..as you and I, for instance. The ones who are easily influenced. In the past the Government has been quite firm about what can go into the discs, but if their vigilance should slacken, there’s no telling what damage might be done.’
‘But what evidence do you have that viewing violent discs can be dangerous?’ I ask. She takes another cigarette from her pack and slowly lights it, her eyes on the flickering flame.
‘We’re both too young to remember a time without television, Leif, but we both know that the crime rate soared once televisions became commonplace. There were more rapes, more assaults, more murders. Not in the early days I grant you, but later in the eighties and nineties. As television became more violent, more liberal if you like, there was a corresponding increase in crime. That is a fact.’
‘But at the same time there was a bigger population anyway, and an expanded police force, more crimes being investigated, more statistics kept,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t think the link between more violence on the television and more violence in society is as strong as you make it sound.’
‘That’s like saying there’s no proven link between smoking and lung cancer. We all know there is.’
‘But that doesn’t stop you smoking, does it?’
She blows a perfect smoke ring and watches it drift towards the ceiling, a languid smile on her lips. The smile gets wider and wider and then she laughs again. She seems to be laughing a lot. Maybe she likes me.
‘You wish, Jack,’ sneers Ruth.
‘There is a difference, Leif,’ she says. ‘I smoke because I enjoy it, but any damage is confined to myself, arguments about passive smoking notwithstanding. Nobody else gets hurt. But if I watch a violent film or plug into a violent psi-disc and then go out and run someone over in my car or rob them or rape them then there is someone else involved - a victim.’
For some reason the thought of Helen Gwynne committing rape is incredibly stimulating and it’s difficult to get the image out of my mind, especially considering the erotic way she’s handling the cigarette.
‘Point taken,’ I say. ‘But it’s not my job to say what is and what isn’t too violent. That’s for the censorship committee to decide.’
‘And if the committee is being unduly influenced, Leif? What then?’
‘That would be unfair. But again I don’t see how that involves me.’
I get up and refill my tumbler with whisky. She says she doesn’t need a refill. She is making me nervous, not because she’s giving me a hard time, but because she is so attractive and so self-confident and yeah, let’s face it, she’s goddam sexy. I consider making a move but I know how easily that could backfire, she is after all a paid official of the Moral Crusade and probably would not take too kindly to being pawed by a man some fifteen years her senior. I walk over to the window and look out over the Chicago sky line and the moon hanging over it, pure and white.
‘You’re nearing the end of your contract, Leif. One more psi-disc and you can retire, for good. Rich beyond the dreams of most men, far richer than most of us could ever hope to be. When that happens, we’d like you to join us as an adviser, a consultant. Someone who c
an advise us on how to proceed, to give us information on how the psi-disc corporations work, but more importantly, how the Dreamers work. If we had some understanding of how you Dreamers actually produce the psi-discs, then perhaps we could start to understand how we can stop them from degenerating into cesspits of sex and violence. That’s what we want from you, Leif. We want you to join us.’
That makes sense, I suppose. Most people have a vague idea of how the Dreamers work, but only a handful outside the corporations actually know anything about the technicalities.
‘Will you help us?’ she asks softly, and stubs out her cigarette.
‘Let me think about it,’ I say, but in my heart I’ve already made up my mind, and it’s not just the thought of working alongside Helen Gwynne that tempts me. I would relish the opportunity of giving the Moral Crusade the inside track on Louis Aintrell et al.
She glides up off the sofa and stands with me at the window, not so close that we’re touching, but close enough so that I can smell her perfume. We both stand and look at the stark towers and there, slap bang in the middle of the skyline, is CBS Tower, the tallest of them all. I’ve often wondered if Herbie chose the flat because of the view.
‘I’ve always envied Dreamers,’ she says wistfully.
‘Envied what? The money?’
‘Of course the money,’ she says, ‘but it’s more than that. The sheer creativity, the ability to…..I don’t know how to explain…it must be like being God, to be able to create whole worlds, characters, and to make them do anything you want. It’s like being a writer, producer, director, and actor, all at the same time. You must get such a feeling of power. I took the test myself, but of course nothing came of it. How many is it that actually pass the test?’
‘I dunno. A couple in every million, I guess.’
All the psi-disc corporations hold ability tests on a regular basis, trawling through the population for those with the talent to be Dreamers. There’s no shortage of applicants, of course, not with the prospects of virtually unlimited wealth, and the rest of the perks. Most take the test when they’re still in their teens, but if you fail once there’s no point in taking it again. It’s like having your IQ measured, it’s not something you can change, not markedly anyway. The test is actually quite simple. They strap the headset on and then ask you to visualise things. They start off asking for something simple, like a horse. Then they tell you to change its colour, then to have it walk, then run. Then they ask you to imagine another animal, a black dog, say, and then they’ll ask you to make the horse disappear at the same time as the dog barks. They begin with simple things like that, then gradually increase the degree of difficulty until you’re holding several characters in your head all speaking at once. Most don’t even get beyond the dog stage, they just don’t have firm enough control over their imagination. Try it yourself. Close your eyes and think of a black dog. Now stop thinking about it. Yeah, difficult isn’t it? Now matter how you try to shut out the image of the dog, it keeps coming back. That’s the difference between Dreamers and the rest of the world - when the Dreamers want the dog to go, it stays gone. ‘Cats are harder,’ Ruth chips in.
Dreamer's Cat: a sci-fi murder mystery with a killer twist Page 11