The Assassination of Billy Jeeling

by Brian Herbert

  There had been clues about Tobek’s spirituality, though. Billy knew that he had essentially been a pacifist, because he had railed against the endless succession of wars caused by male aggression and imperialism, and had said that there should be more female energy in the star system to balance the violent, destructive tendencies of men. So, in putting up the great symbol, Tobek might have been harkening back to the remarkable Sermon on the Mount of Jesus, and to other peaceful things the Christ said, many of which were recounted in the Bible and other religious texts. Tobek must not have been honoring the crusades or other terrible wars fought in the name of Christianity, wars that the deeply nonviolent Jesus would never have condoned.

  Yet why hadn’t Tobek chosen an earlier symbol of Christianity, the fish? The answer came to Billy when he recalled that Tobek once said he admired the brave way that Jesus had died on the cross, and how he’d done that for the sake of humankind, making a great and historic sacrifice. In his own way, Tobek had also died for humanity, though he could not have seen that coming, the disturbing, horrible way he was killed.

  And now Billy Jeeling was himself nailed to a symbolic cross, dying from the wounds inflicted on his reputation, the assassination of his good name. After all he’d done for people, it had come to this.

  Despite his personal suffering and the depressions it sent him into, Billy didn’t really like Lainey’s public relations campaign, even though he had agreed to let her conduct it on a limited basis, and it was for his benefit. He felt that the truth should win out if it deserved to win out.

  But life wasn’t that way, not at all. For him, it was not following that particular script.

  A political leader of centuries past, a beloved American president who was ultimately assassinated, once observed that life was not fair. How prescient and ironic. And true! The thoughts gave Billy some solace; at least he was not the only person to ever have been treated unfairly, far from it. It happened all the time. Not on the scale it was happening to him, perhaps, but all of the time nonetheless. It was part of the human condition, part of the suffering of mankind. It was history, it was the present, it was the future.

  He activated his smart watch, saw the green dial light up. Almost 2:00 am.

  Just then a person approached on one of the walkways, wearing an illuminated headlamp. Soon Billy recognized the characteristic stride of Devv Jeeling. His son was always punctual. Billy had summoned him here to talk. They did this on the elevated walkway whenever they could, on nights when they could have solitude and gaze into the timeless, serene infinity of the universe.

  It wasn’t as if Billy had anything really important to say to Devv this time. There were certain things he could not tell him. But in Billy’s increasing despondency he liked to talk with his son, and with the others who were close to him, including Lainey Forster and Rachel Ginsberg. Now it was Devv’s turn.

  The younger man paused on the walkway, next to Billy’s high-tech chair, which rested on a raised maglev track, so that the eye levels of the two men were the same. Billy activated a panel of soft lights around his chair, and Devv switched off the headlamp.

  “I’m happy to come to you whenever you need me, Father. Even though I’ve had a long day, and just had a bad argument with Sonya over her flirtations with other men. Before that, it was a day full of police problems, sapping me of energy. I’ve told you we need more human officers, and again I request your blessing to get more. Sometimes the robots are problematic, not responding well to unusual situations, even though they were programmed to do so. Humans are naturally more adaptable.”

  “That is true, but I assume your programmers are looking at the robots now?”

  “Yes.” Devv provided additional details, many of which he had mentioned before, about why he wanted more non-machine officers. Then he asked, “Is it all right if I make arrangements for additional human recruits?”

  Billy took a moment to consider this, and finally he nodded. Even though he would prefer an all-robot police and security force, he had too many problems to argue with his son about this. “As for the robots, if your programmers have trouble figuring them out, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.” He smiled softly, added, “They are my family, almost as much as you are, because I created them.”

  “I know,” Devv said, “but I don’t want to add another problem to your already-long list. The glitches with the machines are nothing I can’t handle, or at least supervise. You’ve said yourself, the programmers are doing a fine job, and they’ve trained replacements for themselves, so you don’t need to be involved. Besides, we have plenty of backup ‘bots in storage, and can put them on duty while we’re having others worked on.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all under control. Wish I could say the same about my own responsibilities. I just received my daily stack of reports from our operatives on AmEarth, describing the campaign of personal attacks that is increasing against me, in city after city, community after community. It’s character assassination, pure and simple. A mountain of lies and distortions. And I have to admit to you, I feel myself dying inside.”

  Devv placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I wish I knew what to do for you, Father, to make the pain go away. I wish I could help.”

  “You’re helping by just being here. I admit, I have countless personal flaws; I am not perfect. I am human, I hurt and I weep. The attacks on me are so unjustified that they tear at my very soul!” His voice trailed off.

  “The verbal assaults are overwhelming you, Father. You’re suffering an injustice that cries out for redemption, for one hell of a good donnybrook to get even. Don’t you ever feel like mounting a military attack against the Empire, or at least sending assassins to kill the leaders of the conspiracy against you?”

  He shook his head. “That is not my way.”

  They talked for another hour, about this and other matters, even about their own strong personal relationship. Then Devv climbed into the sidecar of Billy’s chair, and they returned together.

  CHAPTER 13

  People are never what they appear to be. It is only a matter of degree, of how much is concealed behind the façade they attempt to maintain.

  —“Deception in the Human Animal,” a government study

  Walking right behind the tall, attractive proctor, Yürgen Zayeddi accompanied thirty-four other students as they made their way toward one of the docking areas on the perimeter of the ship, passing through tunnels and airlocks to get there. Earlier that morning he had reported to security headquarters to demonstrate his skills as a humbaby pilot. Impressing several officers, he had been injected with a special identification implant and assigned to the reserve force, to be activated in case of an emergency. Now he was about to board an entirely different ship—a skyminer, and not as a pilot. He would be a passenger, learning how the robotic operated vessels performed their work in the atmosphere.

  On the way to the docking area, Yürgen noted numerous dents, smudges, and scratches on the walls and rampways, as well as places where he had to watch his footing on worn or damaged metal, to keep from tripping—or worse, from falling several floors to one of the hangar levels below that he could see through the grates. The handrails might be strong enough, but rattled in some places when class members used them, so Yürgen thought it was better to avoid them, while staying in the center of each ramp and walking carefully. He was not alone in noticing such things, as he heard some of the muted expressions of concern around him.

  He caught up with Sonya Orr, and said to her, “Before coming to Skyship, I never imagined the interior would be anything like this. I expected to find everything in pristine condition, shiny white, silver, and clean, but instead, wherever I go I see evidence of wear.”

  She nodded. “There’ve been multitudes of people and robots traversing every square centimeter of this great ship, leaving signs of their passage behind them. You aren’t disappointed, are you?”

  “Not at all.” He grinned. “I couldn’t possibl
y be disappointed, being here with Billy Jeeling. I’m more surprised than anything else. I had preconceived images of perfection, I guess, and I’d never seen photographs of the interior of Skyship.”

  “For reasons of security, Billy doesn’t permit photographs here. The small number of elite tourists who are allowed to visit us are prohibited from documenting anything on board—and there are technological barriers to prevent photography, or video or audio recording. The prohibition goes for Skyship employees, too, and when they visit AmEarth they can’t even talk about what they do here, or take any form of information with them to pass on.”

  Yürgen had no idea what this meant for ex-workers who were now on the surface of the planet—but somehow there was a broad blanket of secrecy about the operation of the great vessel, as if it was being run by one of the worldwide security agencies.

  Sonya continued, saying, “Billy even manages to enforce his strict prohibition against any form of recording with respect to the exterior, to the extent that he can. Nevertheless, images of the outside of our great ship make it down to the people of AmEarth, with some photos taken from aircraft.”

  “I thought they’d be shot down if they came near.”

  “They take pictures with long-distance lenses, when they’re beyond the range of being shot down. Some pictures are also taken from the surface of the planet, using high-powered cameras.”

  “I saw one of those pictures years ago,” Yürgen said, visualizing it in his memory. “A grainy photograph with scores of small skyminers around the mother ship. I’m surprised there are any photos at all, as security-conscious as Billy Jeeling is.”

  “There are always people trying to get around rules,” Sonya said. “As for the somewhat worn conditions you see here, I assure you that Skyship is perfectly sound, structurally and mechanically. It’s a matter of priorities. We don’t waste time making our surroundings look unnecessarily perfect. Repairs are made as necessary, and we’re always having to repaint. Billy’s air-treatment mix is in the interior air, including particles of ozone, nothing for us to worry about breathing it. But the mixture is hard on paint, rubber, and fabrics. The production of Billy’s mixture is a critical, time-consuming project, much more important than the cosmetics of the ship.”

  Zayeddi stared at the tall blonde as he walked beside her, noting the unblemished skin, the proud way she held her head high, and her large blue eyes.

  “You’re quite beautiful,” he said. Then he felt his face flush, in embarrassment. “Forgive me for saying that. I know you’re Devv Jeeling’s girlfriend. I’m sorry.”

  After a moment’s surprise she smiled, and returned to what they’d been talking about before that. “I’ve been assured that the atmospheric-repair equipment is all maintained to the hilt, and so are the onboard life-safety systems—which is reassuring, no matter the appearance.”

  They walked along in silence, ahead of the others.

  Earlier, Yürgen had noticed her looking at him, with apparent interest. He’d like to do something about it at the first opportunity, but another man was in her life, and a powerful one—the son of Billy Jeeling. This worried and frustrated him, created a barricade. He didn’t want to be fired, and had to keep his priorities straight or he’d be thrown off the ship. But he found himself extremely attracted to her. There was no denying that, and she seemed responsive to his attentions.

  Presently Sonya and her class stood in a cavernous area where the air was much cooler and had slightly less oxygen due to the intrusion of the thin atmosphere from outside, despite an elaborate system of re-oxygenation, and a series of airlocks through which the class had passed. Yürgen felt his breathing shift, as he took more breaths to compensate in the thinner air. He saw high metal beams overhead, and streaky, gray-black walls, with no semblance of aesthetics. Everything was utilitarian, built for functionality, not for looks.

  Yürgen and his classmates were taken to the edge of the sealed main dock, where they prepared to go through an egress tunnel and board the skyminers. Through a clearplaz screen he saw the robot-operated ships in their docking clamps, each vessel a two-seater with a sealed, oxygenated cabin and a robot already inside, at the controls. Robots didn’t need oxygen, but these craft were for taking human passengers out to air-mining sites, often on inspection trips made by Billy or one of his managers. The robots looked humanoid on their upper bodies, and had two arms, but Sonya said they had no lower bodies because they were built-into the aircraft, connected to the machinery.

  The students entered the tunnel, and one by one they boarded the small ships, which took off quickly. When Yürgen’s turn came, he climbed into the seat behind the robot pilot, and as the hatch closed behind him he felt a change in cabin pressure that made one of his ears click. Looking around, he was relieved and delighted to see that this particular craft appeared to be brand new. Everything was shiny and unused, with arrays of lighted instruments in front of both the pilot and the passenger.

  The aircraft accelerated away from the immense mother ship and descended in the atmosphere. The robot explained, in its detached, mechanical voice, “Instruments in front of you show airspeed and other flight characteristics, as well as a constant analysis of the contents of the air we fly through and are about to collect. Since we are in constant motion, these percentages vary from moment to moment, so you are looking at changing averages. My name is Eric, and that is the name of this skymining ship, too.”

  Acceleration pushed Zayeddi back in his seat, but for only a few moments. He saw the sudden increase in speed register on a small analog screen, until it leveled off at a little over 300 k.p.h., and an altitude of eight kilometers. The craft made a wide turn and decelerated until it was going very slowly. He became aware of other skyminers around him, opening large collector sacks behind them in great puffy forms that were much larger than the craft. He saw that his own ship was doing the same thing.

  “We are beginning to mine the air,” the robot reported. “We have located an air current that is saturated with industrial pollution and vehicle emissions. Carbon dioxide—CO2—and other elements are being scrubbed from the air, compressed, and stored for future use.”

  Yürgen studied a rectangular screen registering the elements in the air that were being pulled into compartments in the container sack, and accumulating: CO2, as well as sulfur dioxide and the various by-products of smelting and refining plants and other industries that burned fossil fuels (gas, oil, or coal), as well as hydrocarbons and carbon monoxide emitted by motor vehicle engines. Even at this altitude, he saw a “smog” entry, which further described its peroxyacetyl nitrate and other components. In addition, he noted measurements of pollen, dust, and even live bacteria that could live high above the surface of the planet.

  Zayeddi had already heard about other benefits of Skyship, such as how the reduction of CO2 in the atmosphere resulted in the benefit of a slightly cooler climate, reducing the greenhouse effect that had been causing so much damage. Already the polar icecaps were either not melting, or were regenerating, and ocean levels were hardly rising at all any more, and appeared to be about to stop rising completely. On a periodic basis, Skyship even mined water vapors from cloud formations and shipped the water down to technicians on the surface of the planet, who used it to recharge aquifers, and irrigate dry areas. The mining of water vapors had the added benefit of reducing the monsoon deluges that were so destructive in some territories, but this had to be done with utmost care, to avoid creating droughts.

  It amazed him not only to be on Skyship, but to go out in the ingenious skymining machines that were so integral to its operations. And he was learning so much!

  As soon as he completed his training, Yürgen could return to AmEarth and speak with more authority about the good work Billy Jeeling was doing. Sonya Orr had told the class that they would be assigned to public-relations teams on the planet, traveling to trouble spots and improving the image of the Master of Skyship. When Zayeddi graduated, he would not only have his
passionate loyalty toward the great man, but he would have a lot of technical information as well, facts to counter anything the lying detractors might say. Their words were like filthy pollution, and he vowed to clean them up.

  CHAPTER 14

  All evidence points to Jeeling hiding something significant about his past, much more serious than we’ve ever imagined. He might even have murdered someone to get where he is today. Your task is to turn over rocks and see what scurries out, so that we can expose him.

  —Instruction to one of General Moore’s operatives

  As a child, and later when he grew up and made choices about his education and career path, Rand Baker had never intended to be a saboteur. It had never been a class he took, had not been on any list of possible futures. He’d never dreamed of doing this. Yet now, as he disembarked from the shuttle with twenty-five other PR recruits, he thought back on the series of events that had brought him to this place in the sky over AmEarth, and to this place in his life.

  He was a bit taller than average, with a look of nobility to him—in the bone structure and in the way he carried himself. His hair was wavy and sandy-brown, and the eyes hazel. He was so good-looking, in fact, that women often approached him and tried to strike up a conversation. But he wasn’t interested in them. He wasn’t interested in men, either. Baker was decidedly asexual, and had been that way from an early age. When his friends were growing up and maturing sexually, he hadn’t felt any interest in any aspect of that. By the time he was seventeen, he came to the opinion that it was not his purpose in life to breed, or to have any form of sexual activity. He didn’t want to waste his time with such pursuits, such shallow and base entertainments. Life was too short for nonsense. Instead, he wanted to do something really important with the time allotted to him, and each decision he made advanced him toward that goal.