Traitor to the Living

by Philip José Farmer

  Jack PhiIIips, looking relieved: "I have to sell some soap now. We'll continue after this commercial."

  The viewers were disappointed. Phillips announced that Dr. Orenstein had received an emergency call and would not be present. What the emergency was, Phillips did not say.

  Two days later, Mrs. Webster announced over a local talk show that she agreed with Dr. Orenstein. MEDIUM had weakened the "wall." She was finding it far easier to make contact with the spirit world.

  Bob Jaspers, another guest, a stand-up comic, added that he hoped not. It would mean that we'd all be haunted, night and day. And he thought he'd gotten rid of his mother-in-law.

  The papers and the TV news were full of reports of riots all over the world.

  The president of the United States undoubtedly thought that this was a poor time to release the official report. But pressure was too strong. Three days after Orenstein's appearance, newsmen were given the three-thousand-page document.

  The same day, the Vatican issued its official opinion of MEDIUM.

  Summarized, the federal committee report stated that there was no doubt that MEDIUM had been the means for communicating with the dead. There was no fakery about it. Forty-five interviewees had been identified from voiceprints or personal details which no charlatan could have known.

  Extracts from interviews with the Etruscan, Menie Athlan, Louis XIV of France, Hamilcar Barca (the father of Hannibal), and Pericles of ancient Athens were included in the report. The linguistic specialists on the committee affirmed their genuineness. It would be impossible for any modern, no matter how learned, to have imitated the language well enough to have posed as these ancients.

  It was true little had been known of Punic and Etruscan, but much about these had been learned from Menie and Barca. No scholar could have built up a grammar and vocabulary, so self-consistent, from the scanty knowledge previously available. Nor could any scholar have provided such intimate details of ancient Carthaginian, Latin, and Etruscan culture and history.

  The same day that the report came out, Dr. Orenstein spoke over a New York City radio station. He had been denied any more time on TV but had found a willing sponsor in the owner of the broadcasting company.

  Orenstein's charges were grave. The commission's re port was not complete. Lengthy sections had been suppressed by the president. He must have known that he could not keep them quiet forever, but he did not want to be responsible for their publication.

  The committee had located and interviewed Jesus and Joseph Smith. Jesus had been considerably surprised and disgusted to find that the gentiles were worshipping him as a god. His teachings had been intended for the Jews only.

  Joseph Smith had confessed that the famous tablets of gold on which the Book of Mormon had been inscribed had never existed. He did insist, however, that he had penned them while God Himself dictated them. The tablets were a pious fraud, it was true, but God had ordered him to tell people that he had found the tablets so that the true religion would be accepted more quickly.

  Dr. Orenstein was shot and killed by two men as he stepped out of the station. A ricocheting 9mm. bullet also killed a ten-year-old girl on her way home from school.

  The two murderers fled in a car, went through a red light at sixty kilometers per hour, and smashed into a truck. Forty thousand people attended their funerals, and a subscription of eighty thousand was raised to support their survivors. Income tax reduced this to twenty thousand.

  The statement of the Vatican was ingenious and disprovable.

  If the sembs did exist, as evidence indicated, then they were also duplicates, as the evidence indicated. They were not truly the souls of the dead. They were "electromagnetic shadows." God, for His mysterious reasons, had allowed them to come into being. But they were not spirits in heaven, purgatory, or hell. The faithful could be reassured of that.

  The Vatican report mentioned Carfax's theory that they might be alien sentients posing as the dead, doubtless for some evil purpose. This theory, the Vatican said, could be valid. Whatever the truth, it would be good if MEDIUM were shut down permanently. And Roman Catholics were forbidden to use it.

  The encyclical of the Pope concerning this subject would be forthcoming sometime in the next year.

  "Then it'll be a matter of dogma, not discipline," Carfax told Patricia. "I wonder what'll happen when they locate Moses and Mohammed? What rationalizations will we hear then?"

  "According to you, they're not rationalizations," she said. "Or have you changed your mind?"

  "Not yet. But I'm weakening."

  And so the days passed. There were great storms outside their motel room walls and some small storms inside. Gordon irritated Patricia with his habit of mumbling to himself and his fondness for garlic bread. She angered him because she left her clothes lying around and preferred hamburgers to steak and would eat no green foods and thought the president, a hard-nosed conservative, was a great man. Nor did they agree on their TV shows. She liked to watch the game shows and comedy series, but she was bored by anything suggesting the serious. He loved Shakespeare but he also loved Westerns, and she yawned loudly and sighed when he insisted on watching them.

  These issues were trifles to which both could adjust themselves under less crowded circumstances, but they might be indicative of deeper and unreconcilable differences.

  Three times, he got a report from Fortune and Thomdyke. Their agent in Bonanza Circus had been unable to determine whether or not Western and Mifflon were living in the Megistus complex. The company had a ten-story building with apartments for its employees and guests, but Reynolds, the F&T agent, had not been able to get past the entrance gate. He had bribed a U.S. mail clerk to check on Megistus's incoming mail. No letters for either Western or Mifflon had gone through. This might mean that they were communicating only via phone or sending their mail through the Megistus planes.

  Carfax did know, however, that Western was not at the Beveriy-Wilshire headquarters. A newspaper man had ascertained that.

  Reynolds's second call was to report his findings at the Bonanza Circus Power Company. Megistus was using no more electricity than was to bs expected. This was negative evidence, since MEDIUM could be drawing power from the embu.

  On the fifth day. Carfax got a call from Reynolds at 13:20, just after he and Patricia had come back from lunch.

  "I'm being shadowed. Carfax. My nosing around has caught somebody's attention. I've tagged two men since yesterday, and somebody's been through my room. So what's the next step? You want me to stay here or pull out?"

  "Better pull out," Carfax said. "There isn't much more you can do there, and those guys might play rough. The stakes are pretty high."

  Carfax wished that he had gone himself. It would have been much less expensive, and he could have kept himself busy. But if Western was there, it wouldn't do for him to find out that Carfax was sniffing around. It would have been too easy to grab him right there and whisk him into the walls of Megistus.

  On the other hand, would Western do anything but keep an eye on him? He must know that Mimon had told Mrs. Webster about the repossession insurance. Yet Mrs. Webster had received no threats or been attacked. Western must feel very secure, and he had reason to be so. Mifflon would just deny anything she said.

  He was stymied. There was little he could do until Mimon himself came out of hiding.

  He was impatient and tense during dinner. Even the movie they saw afterward, a powerful and frightening science-fiction drama based on Lem's Solaris, could not keep his mind off Mifflon. On entering their room, he saw a light flashing at the base of the phone. He called the desk clerk, who told him he was to phone a number in Bonanza City. Three minutes later, he turned to Patricia with a big smile.

  "I owe a flight controller two hundred dollars. He just told me Mifflon and his secretary are about to leave for the Santa Susana airport."

  15.

  At this time, 13:25, the Santa Susana airport lobby was almost deserted. Gordon and Patricia Car
fax sat in the lobby and drank coffee and waited. At 13:50, they saw the lights of a plane circling in the distance. At 14:00, the two-jet monoplane taxied toward the hangar where Mifflon stored it. Gordon checked its number against that given him by the controller. It was Mifflon's.

  Gordon threw his half-full cup into the disposal vent and said, "Mifflon will go to the tower to check out. But his secretary may come here to wait for him."

  "And then what?"

  "She doesn't know us. I'll try to strike up a conversation ... here she comes."

  A tall woman with a more than ample bosom, very narrow waist, too-wide hips, and long good-looking legs entered. Her gray ban- was piled in a high many-ringed coiffure, but she wore no makeup except for false eyelashes. She looked every bit of her fifty-five years, but she must have been a striking beauty when young. She made straight for the coffee canteen with a long hip-swinging stride that made Carfax wonder if she had once been a stripper. Passing Carfax, she left behind a cloud of sandalwood.

  Carfax waited until she was reaching for her cup before speaking.

  "Mrs. Bronski?"

  She jumped, gasped, and sloshed part of the coffee out of the cup. "For God's sakes! You startled me so!"

  "Sorry," he said. He showed her an I.D. card, a left over from his L.A. residency. "Mr. Western phoned me and told me to escort you two home."

  Her face cleared and then she frowned again. "Oh, but he didn't say anything to us about you, Mr. Childe."

  "Mr. Western called me a little while ago and said he'd decided you needed a bodyguard."

  "And did he say why?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

  "You don't ask Mr. Western why."

  "The least the son of a bitch could have done, he could have radioed us you were coming."

  If he learned nothing else, he thought, he had at least ascertained that they had been with Western.

  "I'll introduce you to my colleague, Mrs. Childe," he said. He wanted to keep her busy until Mifflon showed up so she wouldn't start asking too many questions. He also hoped that she would not ask to see Patricia's identification.

  "You have a beautiful wife," Mrs. Bronski said. "Isn't she young looking?"

  "I'm a cradle robber," he said. He stopped before Patricia, who looked up from her chair. "Honey, this is Mrs. Bronski, Mr. Mifflon's secretary."

  Mrs. Bronski sat down beside Patricia and said, "Are you sure Mr. Western didn't say anything about why we'd need you? I wonder what happened? Everything seemed all right when we left. Robert was in fine shape, but I suppose ..."

  Carfax waited for several seconds and then said, "Suppose what, Mrs. Bronski?"

  "Nothing at all."

  "Maybe Mr. Western was afraid that some fanatic might find out Mr. Mifflon was a client," Carfax said.

  "There's been so much violence lately, especially since Orenstein was killed."

  "That's probably it," she said. "But who would've found out? It's been very hush-hush."

  "There are a lot of people spying on Mr. Western. The feds, the newsmen, the crackpots."

  Footsteps sounded around the corner, and a tall chubby man of about thirty-five came around the corner.

  Carfax recognized him from photographs supplied by Fortune and Thomdyke. He switched on the recorder he carried in his coat pocket.

  Mifflon stopped suddenly, looking quickly from the Carfaxes to Mrs. Bronski. He gripped his briefcase as if he thought it might be taken away from him.

  "What is it, Mrs. Bronski?"

  She rose, smiling, and said, "Mr. Western's bodyguards, Mr. Mifflon. He sent them in case there was any trouble."

  Mifflon looked alarmed. "Trouble? What trouble? Western said everything was fine."

  Carfax advanced, holding out his hand. "I'm Mr. Childe, and this is my wife, my partner in my agency. I'm sorry to disturb you like this, Mr. Mifflon, but Mr. Western roused us out of bed to meet you here. All he said was that he wanted to make sure you got home safely, and we should stay with you until he discharges us. I don't think there's much to worry about, but, as I was telling Mrs. Bronski, there has been a lot of killing lately. The country's in a turmoil. But then you know that."

  "Yeah," Mifflon said, as if it was news to him.

  "Well, it's too late to call Western. He'll be in bed. But I'll phone him first thing in the morning. If he knows something, I want to know it, too."

  "Do you have any luggage?" Carfax said. "I'll pick it up for you."

  "It'll be shipped in later," Mifflon said. "The house should have everything I'll need. Right, Mrs. Bronski?" "Right," she said and added, after a pause, "as if you didn't know that, Mr. Mifflon."

  Carfax watched him curiously. Mifflon was supposed to be a very shy person with a tendency to stutter when he was with strangers. This man had a brisk confident air and spoke smoothly.

  Carfax had ridden up on the MT because it was faster than taking a car, and he had wanted to arrive ahead of Mifflon. He had, however, rented a car to drive them back to North Pacific Palisades. He led them out to the Zagreus, saw Mifflon and Bronski into the back seat, and got behind the wheel. Patricia sat beside him.

  "You know how to get there?" Mifflon said.

  "No, sir," Carfax said. "I have the address, of course."

  There was a pause. Carfax, watching him in the overhead mirror, saw him nudge Mrs. Bronski with his elbow.

  "Oh, I'll tell you," she said.

  Carfax didn't listen. He knew the route, and he was thinking that Mifflon, or whoever was in Mifflon's body, did not know. And Patricia, judging from her stiff posture, understood and was scared. He did not blame her. He felt a little dissociated from reality. So it was true.

  They drew up before the gate of the estate ninety-five minutes later. Mifflon spoke to the servant over the box, and the gates swung open. Carfax drove up the driveway, stopping before the big house. A black man dressed in pajamas and a robe came out to greet Mifflon. He looked strangely at the Carfaxes but only nodded when introduced. Gordon hoped that he would not remember his voice.

  The servant, Yohana, led them into a huge room which looked like the lobby of a hotel. Gordon and Patricia, with their nightcases, were conducted to the second story up a broad staircase and down a long hall to a room near the end. When the door was shut. Carfax said, "Well, so far so good! But when he calls Western in the morning, we'd better move out fast. I hope he doesn't try to stop us."

  "What'll we do if he does?" Patricia said.

  Carfax opened his nightcase and took out a 7.92 mm. revolver. "I'd hate to use this, but I will. I don't think Mifflon, or whoever he is, would hesitate to shoot us. The stakes are too high."

  "Shouldn't we sneak out later?" she said. "What's the use of staying until morning?"

  "He might not call Western at once. The longer we're here, the more we might find out."

  He looked at her sharply. "Are you getting cold feet? I told you I should tackle this myself."

  "Only my toes are cold, but they are about twenty below zero," she said. "Don't worry. I won't let you down. I'm frightened, but I'm glad I didn't stay home. It's a hundred times better than being cooped up in that room and bored to death."

  "Thanks," he said, "but I know what you mean. Going into action is like being released from prison. O.K. Let's go down for the nightcap."

  Mifflon and Mrs. Bronski were waiting for them in the library-study, a large room with walls lined with shelves of books, a big teakwood desk, leather-covered chairs and sofas, and a giant fireplace. Mifflon was in pajamas and a robe; Bronski was wearing a negligee and a thin light-scarlet, yellow-piped robe. Both had drinks in their hands. Mifflon looked as if he was surprised that they were still in their day clothes.

  "I thought I'd check out the grounds first," Carfax said.

  "Good idea. What's your desire?" Mifflon waved his hand at the bar, which seemed to have about every liquor in the world.

  Carfax went to the bar and looked at the bottles. When he found a brandy that had not been opened, he sai
d, "Pat and I'll take this."

  He had no intention of drinking from a bottle which might have been doped.

  "There's much better stuff there," Mifflon said.

  "This is fine," Carfax said. "It's better than I'm used to."

  Mifflon shrugged and opened the bottle while Carfax watched him closely. He handed the glasses to the two, and then he lifted his Scotch in a toast. "Here's to immortality."

  Minion drank and then laughed loudly. Mrs. Bronski frowned.

  Carfax said, "What's the joke?"

  "I'm just happy to be alive," Mifflon said. "To be able to breathe, to eat and drink, to walk, to make love."

  "I would imagine anybody'd feel that way after talking to those poor creatures," Carfax said. "But in the long run it's depressing, isn't it? I mean, you know that sooner or later you'll be one of them. Forever. A thing of energy whirling around other things, locked in a cold dance in a cold universe. It's nothing to look forward to."

  Mifflon sipped his drink and then said, slowly, "It's only a stage, a temporary stopping off. I'm a member of the Pancosmic Church of the Embu-Clanst, you know, and we believe that the embu is just a sort of purgatory."

  "No, I didn't know that," Carfax said. He had to pretend an almost total lack of knowledge about Mifflon.

  "It's a comfortable religion, no doubt of that."

  He was trying to think of something to ask Mifflon which his briefing might not have covered. He would have liked to ask him if he intended to visit Mrs. Webster again. But how could he explain how he knew about Mifflon's attendance at her seances?

  "I don't have the money to use MEDIUM," he said.

  "But I did go to a human medium once, a Mrs. Webster. My sister thinks she's great, and she talked me into going with her. Webster tried to summon our mother, and something did appear, something so thin you could see right through it. And we heard a sort of whispering. But that was all. I didn't go back; Webster isn't cheap, though her fees don't come near Western's, of course."

  Mifflon stared hard at Carfax and then smiled. "Oh, I was her client for a long time," he said. "She's a very nice woman, a beautiful woman for her age. And she's no fraud. I mean, she's sincere, and she does have certain undeniable powers. Western says that some mediums can open a brief channel to the embu. But it's all so uncertain and so unscientific, and the results are seldom worth the effort and the money. I have no intention of going back to her. Or, for that matter, back to MEDIUM. I'm not interested in the dead any more."