by Dave Swavely
When Ni and San left to escort Korcz to his room and secure it, I asked Terrey what the other important item was.
“Oh,” he said. “You wanted me to get the results of those AIMS tests directly to you, so the double wouldn’t see them. Here they are.” He transferred a file to my netkit.
“Did you look at them?” I asked.
“None of my business, mate,” he said with a wink, then hung up.
I opened the file, found Tara’s name among the other high-level staff that had been tested, and stared at her results for a while. Then I called Jon in his room and talked to him on the screen. Even though it was disconcerting again to be looking at my own face, this was another conversation I wanted to have in this way. I also wanted to be reminded that I could easily be in the same situation as he.
“I have the results of Tara’s AIMS test,” I said.
“And…?” he said. This was a big deal for him, not only because he would have to live with giving her the disease, but it would mean that he had not been cured by the Makeover I.S. injections.
“She has full-blown Acquired Immune Mutation Syndrome,” I said. “Skipped the dormant stage. Mistargeted somatic hypermutation has already resulted in a diffusion of B-cell lymphomas throughout her body, and caused other irregularities at the cellular level. Her organs and vascular system are now slowly eating themselves alive, while the beautiful body we both enjoyed so much will soon be covered in blotches of thick hair and puss-filled boils. Those gorgeous ice blue eyes are already bulging out like an insect’s from the pressure on her brain. You’ve seen the pictures of AIMS victims—I don’t think I need to elaborate any further.”
“My God,” he croaked, swallowing vigorously. “Can’t she be treated, with all the money your company has?”
“Too late,” I said, shaking my head. I let it settle in for a few moments, then added, “How does that make you feel?”
“Terrible,” he said. “And worse because it’s probably what will happen to me, too. I guess I deserve it, with what I did to her.”
“Now you’re talking,” I said. If he expected or wanted any sympathy from me, he didn’t show it. But I continued anyway. “And don’t think you’ll get enough money from us to buy a cure. No bank account in the world would survive the criminal charges and wrongful death lawsuits you are facing.”
“I understand,” he said with his head bowed.
“How bad do you feel?”
“I feel as bad as I could feel!” he shouted as he looked up at me.
“Good.”
“I feel bad enough to go back to Exit right now,” he said, bowing his head again.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “’Cause I was just messing with you.”
“What?” He looked up at me again.
“Tara’s test came back negative, she’s fine. Which means you’re probably clean now, too.”
“Then why the hell did you say all that to me?” he yelled.
“Because that is exactly what could have happened, very easily. The fact that it didn’t happen doesn’t change how bad you should feel about it. You need help, man. You can’t go farther down this destructive path, even if you were born that way, and definitely not because some really bad things happened to you. Then everyone would have an excuse, to one degree or another.”
The ideas that were coming out of my mouth sounded familiar, and I realized that many of them, even down to the “path” metaphor, were in the holos I had been watching with Angelee and Chris. But I wasn’t prepared for what he said next.
“You’re right, actually. And to tell you the truth, I was just as bad before my wife and kids died—it’s just that I kept it inside. The reason I know so much about that opportunity idea is because it applies to me, too. Before I lost my family, I didn’t have the opportunity to act on my desires, but in my mind I was still lusting after almost every woman I saw, even some of my students, I’m sorry to say. I would even think about them, or porn, when I was with my wife. You said the word, man—excuse. My loss was just an excuse to do what I really wanted to do before that.” He started to choke up and cry. “Oh man, I am so—”
The last couple words were obscured by his sobs, but I could tell what he was saying.
“What should I do?” he asked, when he had gathered himself somewhat.
“Be really sorry,” I said.
“I am really sorry. What else can I do?”
This was the part I was unprepared for. I had just wanted to heap loads of guilt on him for what he had done, as much for my own revenge as for his repentance.
“Maybe find one good woman, and pour yourself into her.” This was all I could think of, from Saul’s advice and from my own experience. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you think about it some more? I’ve got some other things to do right now.”
“Do you think that Stephenson’s dream about you dying could actually be about me?” he asked.
“No, like Terrey said, you won’t be traveling on any bridges tomorrow.”
“But I mean later in my life,” he said. “I could survive all this, and be cured of my AIMS, and still die at any time.”
Wow, I thought, I had no idea this talk would give him such a big dose of humility.
“That’s true of all of us, isn’t it?” I said. “So I wouldn’t worry about it. At least, no more than … the rest of us should. Right?”
I didn’t like the feelings I was having myself now, so I hung up on him and looked at my to-do list, hoping for something to take my mind off such topics. The next item was the number for Ian Charles, the man that Saul’s ghost had recommended that I talk to. I was willing to call it at the time because I was thinking that the ghost had given it to me in the context of the political issues I faced with the kaleidocide, and was suggesting that I hire this man to help with those. It turned out that this recommendation was also about philosophical questions, but as luck or fate would have it, it ended up being my final step toward getting the political ones answered as well.
41
EARS TO HEAR
A woman answered my call, on audio only, and sent it to another room when I asked for Ian Charles. My display said the net room was in Branson, Missouri.
“This is Ian,” a voice said, also on audio. But when I explained who I was, he promptly switched to video, presumably because he wanted to have the full experience when talking to someone he had seen on the news. He was sitting at a desk with many rows of real books on shelves behind him—something you didn’t see too often now that virtual or “veel” books were the more common choice for readers. Lynn would like this guy, was my first thought.
My second thought was that many other women had probably liked him, because he was still noticeably attractive, even though he seemed to be well into his sixties. He had big eyes, a chiseled jawline, and a lot of dark hair left, which was nicely highlighted with streaks of white. Possibly some near-eastern ancestry.
“I knew your predecessor,” he said right away, in a deep, rich “radio voice” that was also impressive.
“That’s why I’m calling,” I said. “He told me I should call you … before he died.” I added the last part because I didn’t want to take the time to explain the ghost. Plus it was technically accurate—Saul had programmed it that way while he was still living, and the reason for this call was to find out why.
“I have to say that’s a big surprise to me,” the man said. “Did he say why?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. What was your connection with BASS?”
“Nothing official,” he said. “I suppose you could say that, in a way, I was Mrs. Rabin’s pastor. She was too, um, visible or public of a person to attend a church regularly, but she listened to my teaching online and came to me for counsel on a few occasions.”
It was only then that I realized that Saul’s ghost had given me this man’s number because of the metaphysical issues that had come up in our conversation. I may be a bit slow on the uptake sometim
es, but I eventually get it.
“But you knew Saul, too,” I said.
“Yes, my connection with his wife led to some dinners with both of them, and lunch a few times with just him, and some calls and emails. I think she was hoping that I would convert him, which of course no one but God can do.”
“Saul mentioned something about possibly hiring you,” I said, remembering that part of the conversation. “Do you know why that would be?”
“There was some talk of bringing me on as some kind of chaplain at BASS—probably Kathryn’s idea. But that was before our falling out, and it never happened.”
“Falling out?” I asked, and my first thought here was that this man may have had an affair with Saul’s wife. He had used her first name, and the clergy has always been notorious for sex scandals.
“I said some things that Saul didn’t like,” he said. “Or maybe that he couldn’t allow to be said in the city, by someone that close to him.”
“Are you saying that he didn’t only keep you out of BASS, but he kicked you out of the city?”
“If you want to put it that way, yes. That’s the long and short of it.”
“He kicked you out of the city for disagreeing with him?” I asked, and Charles shrugged as if to say More or less. “What’s an example?”
“Oh, there were many things, but I suppose one of the biggest was my opposition to the degree of authority given to the peacers as individuals, for incarceration and summary execution. I believe in the biblical law of two or three witnesses, of course, and capital punishment only in cases of murder established through a fair trial. If then.”
“The law of witnesses?” I said. I was familiar with many of the criticisms of BASS agents having a “license to kill,” but this was a new term to me.
“There has to be more than one witness, or at least corroborating evidence, for anyone to be convicted of a crime, or even treated as guilty. But the peacers were often determining by themselves whether someone was guilty, then locking them up or even using lethal force.”
And we still do, I thought.
“Lethal force is only allowed after the second offense,” I said, referring to BASS’s version of the three-strike rule.
“Right, but each offense doesn’t have to be established by the law of two or three witnesses, so the arrests could have been wrongful.”
“But three wrongful arrests for the same person?” I protested. “I couldn’t see that happening.”
“A peacer or a group of peacers could have a prejudice against a person or group of persons,” he said. “And have an easy time railroading the accused, because the peacers themselves are the legislative body.”
“But it makes for a lot less red tape, that’s for damn sure.” I wondered if it was okay to say “damn” to a reverend, because I had never talked with one before. “And we hire good people who wouldn’t do that.”
“What’s for damn sure,” he said, answering my question about swearing, “is that people in authority always expect the worst from their subjects, but believe the best about themselves. My theology says that we’re all equally broken, though in different ways, so too much power should never be given to any one person.”
I smiled. “I can see why Saul didn’t want you to be the BASS chaplain.”
“Saul Rabin dabbled in my religion, mostly because of his wife, and even professed to believe it to some degree. But though he saw the value of its laws, he never fully understood grace and mercy, and so missed the real meaning. And that was the source of his problems—it caused him to remain manipulative, trying to control too much that he should have left to God. It also led to a utilitarian philosophy where what works is more important than what’s right. I tried to tell him these things, but he didn’t have ears to hear.”
“Yet at the end of his life he suggested that I call you, and even bring you back to the Bay Area.”
“Hmmm. Maybe he was listening after all.” Now it was his turn to smile. “How about you?”
“Me?”
“Do you have ears to hear? The Mayor must have thought so, if he gave you my number. I’m guessing you were asking some important questions…”
When he said that, another realization hit me, which became a key step in my investigation into the mystery of the kaleidocide. I realized that Saul’s ghost had been programmed to respond in a particular way after I had asked a certain number of questions about spiritual issues. It had only told me about Charles at that point in our conversations. Soon I would put this together with the fact that Saul had been manipulative and controlling, and be able to get the answers I needed from his ghost. But at this time I was mostly impressed by the courage Ian Charles had shown by standing up to the old man at the height of his power, and the fact that he wasn’t a slave to bitterness after being unfairly persecuted.
“I’ll think about the chaplain thing,” I said to him. “But here’s an audition for you, to see what kind of counsel you give.”
I told him about the double’s polyamory, because I was curious about what he would say, and I was also hoping to get some confirmation for a plan I might want to implement if we all made it through this ordeal (which was a big “if”). I wasn’t surprised to find out that Charles thought Jon could and should change, but I was surprised when he said that change “would mean absolutely nothing, and actually be worse for the person, if he doesn’t do it in the name of Jesus Christ and for his glory.” He apologized if that was a shock to my system, because I may have only used or heard that name as a swear word (which was basically true), but that it was his job to talk about him and since this was an audition, I should know what he would do if he was a chaplain at BASS.
“I wouldn’t shove it down anyone’s throat,” Charles concluded, “but if you or others did have ears to hear…”
I asked him what he thought about the theory of a poly loving one good woman, instead of trying to go cold turkey, and he liked it—except he added that it should be a Christian woman who could help him spiritually as well as physically. He said that his wife had done that for him in many ways through the years, and he could never have made it without her.
I told Charles thanks and good-bye, and then called Jon back to say, in a very awkward fashion, that he should consider adding a “spiritual dimension” to what we had talked about before. He said he would, because he was still humble and open, but I didn’t know whether or not he understood what I was trying to say. I wasn’t sure myself, but I was glad I did what I could, because the next day Jon would definitely need to be ready to meet his Maker.
* * *
On Friday morning Terrey gathered everyone together for a meeting before our trip to Marin. He reviewed the fact that there had been four assassination attempts on Jon, at least that we were aware of: the blue-green of the assault team, the dark yellow of the sniper, the burgundy of the firebombs, and the white of the poison. He reminded us that the best hypotheses for the colors in a kaleidocide were the ones from the Tibetan Book of the Dead—which were red, yellow, blue, white, and green—or the ones corresponding to the ancient “five elements”: black, red, greenish blue, white, and yellow. Black might be mixed in with the colors to make them darker—except for the white, of course. These theories were only theories and might not be correct, but if either of them were, then my double might be out of danger already or awaiting only one more attempt, which could be associated somehow with the color black.
Since black had been the color of a traitor in several other kaleidocides, Terrey took this opportunity to explain to everyone what had happened with Korcz and why we had confined him to his room with no comm access. When they heard about the city in Poland and the call from China on his phone, no one protested this except Stephenson, who had worked with Korcz for almost a year and initially called our suspicions ridiculous. But he soon backed off a bit from his initial confidence when I asked him how well he really knew Korcz, to which he had to admit that “no one knows Korcz that well.” And he backe
d off even further when Terrey encouraged him to check the dreams he had recorded when we got back, to see if there was anything that might implicate the Russian. Stephenson said that he hadn’t noticed anything like that, but also had to admit that he hadn’t been looking for it.
Terrey put him at ease by saying that he still thought a traitor was unlikely in this scenario, because of how the team members were recruited and vetted. He thought that if there was a “black” attempt on Jon’s life, it would likely come from a single assassin, who had been biding his time and waiting for the right opportunity. He also didn’t think it was likely that such a killer could strike during the Marin trip. We would be alerting a few press outlets for some independent confirmation of the appearance, in addition to our own filming of it, but we wouldn’t do that until Jon and Lynn were ready to leave the jail. It would take a lot of luck for an assassin to be close enough to that location to strike before they were in the aeros and gone.
Finally, Terrey added that the guards at the Marin County Jail did wear black uniforms, but no one knew beforehand that they were going there, and they would be accompanied by the watchful eyes and powerful weapons of Min, Ni, and Stephenson, which would provide more than enough protection for them.
At the mention of weapons, Jon asked me if he could wear my boas again on this trip, like he had on the one to the castle. I said yes, and he said he was glad I did, because he already had put them on. He pulled my jacket aside to show me, through the room’s cameras, and I saw them on his belt next to the control box for the Atreides shield that had been built for him. Terrey made a crack about leaving the safeties on, “permanently, please,” and everyone loaded up into their aeros and flew them out through the big holo at the mouth of the hill’s hangar bay.