Quizein brought in tiny cups of highly spiced soup, which we drank hot. Ruffian Jack coughed and reached into his brocaded coat for a plastic flask.
Manies belted down his soup. “Now,” said the younger Manies, “I propose today’s topic: The Truth!”
“Hear, hear!” said the company.
“I heard a true story once,” said Jack with a hiccup.
“Quiet, Jack.” The elder Manies looked around, beaming. “As you know, I’ve been preparing this presentation for some time. Now I know—and don’t try to deny it—I know that some of you have an unhealthy skepticism concerning my Chemical Analogue Theory of the Body Politic.”
“Aw, for Law’s sake, Manies!” cried Jack. “Can’t we postpone this till the second course, at least? If we gotta keep our mouths shut, we might as well have something in ’em.”
“Really, Jack! These outbursts will cease or the New Cabal will have your shares declared forfeit.” There was a derisive outburst of spirited hooting from the guests, especially the Alien, who caught on slowly but went on hooting long after all the other guests had stopped.
Both Manies waited tolerantly until the Alien grew tired and the second course had been served. “First,” said Manies, “we must deal with the thorny problem of the existence of the Old Cabal. Put simply, our problem is this. How could one deal with an entity, or purported number of entities, who were universally acknowledged to exist, but could not be seen, touched, heard, smelled, or tasted?”
“There is only one such Entity,” Anne said.
Manies smiled. “I think we can rule out theological implications for the time being. Here is our one solid piece of evidence: the destruction of the Chairman’s Building, and the attempted assassination of Moses Moses. It is from this single piece of evidence—an occurrence three hundred years ago—that the vast mythology of the Cabal grew. Who was responsible for the Fox Day bomb? A long-neglected mystery. Many possibilities suggest themselves. A conspiracy is one. Perhaps it was a conspiracy, rather than, say, a suicide attempt by a deranged government official. But conspiracies are not long-lived. They dissolve once they have served their purpose. There may have been a Cabal once. Three hundred years ago. But does it still exist? It gives no evidence of persistence. I move that we dismiss the idea entirely!”
“But who rules Reverie, then? Who’s been running things all this time?” I said.
“Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter,” Manies said. He touched his bracelet. “Chalkwhistle, run the diagram, please.”
An immense beaded network appeared on the tapescreen behind the two Moneys Manies and their wife. It was torus-shaped, and made of millions of varicolored beads.
“Thanks to your excellent camera work, Arthur, we were able to reconstruct this and thus prevent a tragic loss to science,” said the elder Manies sententiously. “This, of course, is the Crossbow Body, that marvelous, mystic construct that defies the laws of determinism. Naturally, due to the ticklish situation vis-a-vis the Academy, this information must not leave this room.” Both Manies looked us over, jutting out their lower jaws with identical determined expressions. “Very well. Chalkwhistle, run the second diagram, if you would be so good. Ah yes, now we see it.”
An identical diagram—I would swear it was the same one—flashed onto the screen. “Thanks to the splendid help of the Reformed Board and the help of certain very cooperative computer technicians, We, Richer Money Manies, have constructed this Chemical Analogue of the entire population of Reverie! It includes social, economic, and personal dominance factors. A remarkable resemblance, wouldn’t you say? And the implications are unescapable! Reverie has been running herself! Reverie has been plotting her own historical evolution, just as the Crossbow Body fulfills the evolution of life on this planet! I should have reached this conclusion long ago, but my assumption that a Cabal existed had completely warped my calculations! Here, Chalkwhistle, run that pitiful tissue of errors that was my first reconstruction—mind you, friends, you must promise not to laugh. Ah, there it is. A wretched thing, isn’t it? A mere circular tangle of beads! But remove the assumption of the Cabal, thusly … and you see that our social structure now has twenty-three specific gaps, corresponding exactly to the twenty-three storage gaps in the Crossbow Body! Friends, this is more than coincidence. I rest my case.”
“You expect us to believe that?” I demanded.
“Arti, you are welcome to check the figures yourself. I warn you, however, that it will take you at least one hundred and eighty years to learn the mathematics. It took me two hundred, and I had the help of skilled tutors.”
“Then where did Professor Angeluce fit in?”
“Angeluce,” said Manies, “was merely a shrewd and unscrupulous manipulator. He had guessed the truth about the Cabal, and used our own mythos against us. His long-range goal was to annihilate the Mass and all traces of the Crossbow Body, thus liquidating the anti-Determinist evidence. I assume that he meant to use orbital lasers to fry the Mass. He meant to turn the greatest triumph of Reverid technology against us. He knew we Reverids would never freely agree to such a massive assault on our planetary ecosystem, so he concluded that he would have to force us by taking over our government. When Moses Moses reappeared, he realized that he would soon have a very serious rival, and took steps to eliminate him—steps that soon got completely out of hand.”
“That’s very interesting,” I said. “I have an alternate theory, though.”
Manies stared. “Wonderful,” he said at last. “Let’s hear it, by all means.”
“Very well,” I said. “Imagine a very old, very powerful, and very intelligent man, a member of an organization, not a Cabal exactly, but a loose alliance of the very old whose age and experience give them a piercing insight into human affairs. Imagine this man in a position of power, not crushing, overwhelming power, but behind-the-scenes control. It is not a lust for power and fame that motivates him. He is far beyond that. He is merely bored enough, and skilled enough, to enjoy playing the ultimate dominance game. Suddenly, two rivals present themselves. He uses the first rival to neutralize the second, then gives the first enough rope to hang himself. He operates with incredible, even self-destructive subtlety. When the fracas is over, he returns to his old position, and his old power, merely changing names and symbols to protect himself.”
Both Manies looked shocked, then deeply pained. “Kid,” said the older one pleadingly. “These suspicions are truly beneath you. Why, they’re like Rominuald Tanglin’s last days. Ah, I know what bothers you—stalwart freedom fighter that you are—how tactless of me not to mention this first of all. This is the deepest, most vital secret of them all—the existence of the New Cabal. I can tell that you dislike the sound of that title. Well, these people are the members of the Cabal. All of them. Your best friends. Oh, that’s certainly not what we’ve told the public. They believe that we, Money Manies, are only the front man for a new group of conspirators, who have overthrown the old group and instituted a similar despotic rule. It is vital that they believe that. You remember those helical gaps in the structure? They would be filled if a true Cabal existed. We must not be allowed to plot our own destiny. The Crossbow Body does that for us. We are guided by the deepest forces inherent in life itself. A great new age beckons to us Reverids—salvation by a mighty force that transcends intelligence. If people began making plans to govern themselves—to resist the will of the Body—there might be another social upheaval like the one caused by Professor Angeluce. No one wants that. That’s our secret power, we members of the Cabal—we do nothing. We will allow every man and woman and neuter to go their own ways in peace, to express themselves freely, beholden to no man.”
I got up from my chair. “Crap, Manies. These are young people. They can’t see through your subtleties. I’m not sure how you’ll do it, but you’ll arrange things to suit yourselves. You Cabalists always have.”
Manies sat up and said with dignity, “My friends are young. Money Manies is the friend of
all young people. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Don’t get me wrong, old patron mine. I’m not your enemy. Rule Reverie if you want to. Play your games. Keep your last toe hold on life. If I were as old and wretched and desperate as you, I might do the same thing. Your pursuits don’t concern me, as long as you don’t cross me. There’s only one thing I want you to tell me—an old score I have to settle. Where is Instant Death?”
Manies looked gravely concerned. Even Chill Factor and Ice Lady made sour faces. “He’s left Telset,” Manies said. “His gang has been dissolved. I know about the customs of blood feud, Tanglin, but you’ll have to content yourself with that. Instant Death could have fought us to the bitter end, but he deserted Angeluce as soon as your tapes were shown and he learned the truth. We’ve granted him amnesty. We can’t allow you to murder him. By his own lights, he was doing his duty to his government.”
I pulled my nunchuck. It felt oddly slick in my hands; my palms were sweating. “Don’t make me angry, Manies,” I said. “You disposed of Angeluce easily enough, but I saw that welcoming crowd on the docks. I’m not without power of my own, and I learned enough from Old Dad to know how to use it if I have to. Make things easy for yourselves, and tell me where he is. Don’t force me to take drastic steps.”
Manies blew out his cheeks. “I hardly expected this. Arthur, no doubt your analogous chemical make-up has changed. I see that we are reduced to a vulgar contest of will.” He touched his bracelets. “Chalkwhistle, would you step in for a moment? Bring the weapon.”
A few seconds passed. Anne got up and stood beside me, ignoring the plaintive attempts of her chair to persuade her to sit. Chalkwhistle came in, bearing a high-powered, oiled, and polished pistol on a small red pillow. Chalkwhistle gave me a black look. I had forgotten that I had knocked it down without warning, all those months ago.
Both the Manies pointed at the pistol. “There, you see, a deadly weapon, obviously in operating condition. We have ammunition for it, too, somewhere or other.”
“In the desk drawer,” the younger Manies said.
“Right, the desk drawer,” nodded his twin. “There, that should convince you. Obviously, we possess overwhelming might. Needless to say, through the Reformed Board, all good friends of mine, we control all the ammunition stocks in Telset. If it comes to a showdown, we possess the power. You are helpless.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” I said. “I have my own ways. I needn’t resort to violence.” I threw the nunchuck on the table with a clatter. “I can fight a social battle. Your charisma versus mine, Manies dolls.”
“Would you really go that far for the sake of empty vengeance?” said Manies with a painful smile. “Kid, I love you like a son, but if you resist the will of the Body Politic, a thunderbolt will strike you. I’ll have you assassinated.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said.
“You think I lack the will and the ruthlessness.” He sighed. “I regret that I have to make this demonstration.” The older Manies stood up. “Guests, friends, I apologize for this piece of rudeness, an unpleasantness which I would prefer that you not witness. I must ask you, as a personal favor, to turn your chairs and close your eyes. I assure you that no harm will come to Arti.”
This was the true measure of Manies’ control over them. They all did it. They did it without question or hesitation. All of them turned around, leaving only the two Manies, Annabella Manies, Anne, myself, and the Alien facing the table.
Manies gestured to the Alien. “And now, if you would.”
The Alien turned its tray around and pulled it wide open. Despite the fact that it had been cleaned, steamed, and partially eaten, I recognized the object at once. It was Professor Angeluce’s head.
The Alien closed the tray again, still chewing.
“I think you understand the depth of my conviction now,” Manies said evenly. “Friends, you may return to the table. Again, I apologize.”
“I’m leaving,” Anne said. She walked quickly from the room.
“So am I,” I said. “But I have one question for you, Alien. If I broke your head open, would it be hollow and held together with thick black fiber?”
The Alien only winked, and kept chewing.
I left the room. “Chalkwhistle will give you new cameras, and fresh tape,” Manies called out. “Send me anything you do! It’s always welcome!”
I slammed the door behind me and rejoined Anne in the hall. “It was horrible,” she said, shuddering. “But Arti—I don’t believe you should fight him. Not for vengeance. I’ve never believed in vengeance.”
“I’m swearing off blood feud,” I muttered. “I can’t live that life any more. I can’t compete with that. Oh bloody death—he had me so rattled that I walked off and left my nunchuck behind for the first time in thirty years.”
As if they were listening in, Cewaynie Wetlock appeared at the door with my nunchuck in hand. “You left this,” she said shyly. “Kid—Mr. Tanglin—I’m very sorry you argued with Mr. Manies, and I think he treated you cruelly. I know about your love for Armitrage—I edited it, remember? It’s a legend already! I don’t want to stay at some stuffy banquet. Listen. I want to show you all your tapes—what I did with them, how I handled it. I’ve seen every single tape you’ve ever done, I swear I have. I did it just like you would have. Won’t you come to my house? I have a beautiful place, it used to belong to a member of the Rump Board, before Angeluce purged her. Oh, it’s wonderful, and … well … you’re not a child any more are you? Neither am I. I want to show you all the tapes. Then we’ll make some of our own. I have a whole library of tapes. Armitrage’s too. Even the weirdest ones. If you’ll only say yes, then we could do all of the wonderful things on those tapes. Whatever you like. Or if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to. But come with me. Please?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m leaving Telset immediately.”
“Oh, but that would be tragic! Can’t you spare even a few hours? It’s night already!”
“Madame Wetlock,” said Anne with strained patience, “don’t you think you’re assuming a lot?”
“Oh Anne,” said Cewaynie Wetlock, putting her hands on her hips, “I love you like a sister, and you’re a real heroine that everyone in Telset is crazy about, but there’s a lot you don’t know about men, and especially not Reverid men, and superspecially not about the Kid. Remember, I’ve gone through all of your hours together, and I know, well, everything about the two of you. Except what happened on the beach, of course. But I know you, and I know your weird moral code. After fifty-two years of celibacy, six short months on a beach can’t have meant that much.” She looked into Anne’s face. “Nothing happened!”
“I see you have great confidence in your own appeal,” Anne said stiffly.
“Anne, you’re wonderful, and I admire you in a crazy sort of way, but you had your chance at Tanglin and you blew it! He’s a man now! He’s not a life-sized doll! I can give Arti things that you couldn’t dream of giving—”
Then Cewaynie Wetlock sagged to the floor, wheezing. The incredible had happened. Anne had struck Cewaynie Wetlock in the solar plexus with the full power of a clenched combat fist.
I looked at her, amazed. “Don’t say it,” she said hoarsely, tears coming to her eyes. “I’ve struck her. I had no right to. What do you and I really know of each other? Our little world’s been shattered now—”
“Anne,” I said, “I’m leaving Telset and I’m going back to Crossbow’s old house on the continent. I’m going to change my whole life, and I swear, if you don’t help me do it, if you don’t come with me, I’ll kill myself.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said. “I want to more than anything in this world.”
We broke out of Manies’ huge and suffocating mansion. Then we borrowed Ruffian Jack’s hydrofoil. We picked up Quade and left Telset for good.
Crossbow’s house was a shambles, but the three of us made it beautiful again. Quade is our daughter now, and she and
Anne have taught me more about love and caring than most Reverids ever bother to learn. We’ll have another daughter soon, if Anne’s delivery is normal, and the doctors assure us it will be, even as they shake their heads at the eccentricity of a natural birth.
I’m happy here. It doesn’t matter if my hair is long and curled, if I wear Tanglin’s brocades and heels instead of leather. I do what makes Anne happy. And Quade is much happier, on suppressants. It’s the only way to be a child. Just a few days ago she was playing on the beach, and when I joined her I found that she had made a little mosaic of seashells in the wet sand. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, Daddy?” she said, looking at me eye to eye from where she knelt, and as tears came to my eyes I said, “Yes, darling, it’s beautiful,” and I made a tape out of it that was a smash hit and took Telset, Jucklet, Sylvain, and Eros by storm. My new tapes, of my new life, have a vast appeal. I number my fans in the millions.
It’s peaceful here. Money Manies is vastly supportive, and money pours to us from his networks. My position is perfect for him and his Cabal, since, like Moses Moses, I am a national hero safely retired to a pedestal.
Moses Crossbow’s body has never been found. Perhaps he is waiting, like I am.
Just wait till the Kid grows up.
About the Author
Bruce Sterling is an American author and one of the founders of the cyberpunk science fiction movement. He began writing in the 1970s; his first novel, Involution Ocean, about a whaling ship in an ocean of dust, is a science fictional pastiche of Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. His other works, including his series of stories and a novel, Schismatrix, set in the Shaper/Mechanist universe, often deal with computer-based technologies and genetic engineering. His five short story collections and ten novels have earned several honors: a John W. Campbell Award, two Hugo Awards, a Hayakawa’s SF Magazine Reader’s Award, and an Arthur C. Clarke Award. Sterling has also worked as a critic and journalist, writing for Metropolis, Artforum, Icon, MIT Technology Review, Time, and Newsweek, as well as Interzone, Science Fiction Eye, Cheap Truth, and Cool Tools. He edits Beyond the Beyond, a blog hosted by Wired.
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