“Yes, Sam.”
“Give me an opinion.”
“It’s nice.”
“It is nice,” agreed the OCO agent, touching the hand with the forefinger of his real hand, stroking it briefly. “This particular prosthetic device is the one I attach when I’m doing an interrogation. Do you know what an interrogation is?”
The naked girl nodded. “Yes, Sam.”
“Tell me then, sweet, make conversation. What is an interrogation?”
“When you ask somebody questions.”
“That’s right, good,” he said. “This particular hand can administer fairly persuasive electric shocks. So that if I were to replace my present hand with this one and then touch you in certain places, you’d find it extremely painful. So painful, sweet, that you’d scream and cry and then you’d beg me to let you tell me every single damn thing you knew. Would you like me to give you a demonstration of how it works?”
“No, Sam.”
“No?” He carefully arranged the hand on the bed, in line with the eight other electronic hands that were already on display there. “What sort of whore are you? They told me you were the sort of whore who’d do anything. Isn’t that true, sweet? If I wanted to caress you with this particular hand of mine, wouldn’t you go along? Would you make me call up your pimp and ask for my money back?”
“I’d go along, Sam.”
“That’s better.” He reached into the second case for another of his hands to show her. “Actually, sweet, all I want to do right now is give you a look. You are enjoying this display, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Sam.”
“Yes, Sam, what?”
“Yes, Sam, I’m enjoying it.”
“Very much?”
“Yes, very much.”
“Good, because it isn’t enough that I have a good time with the whore I hire for the night. No, I want my whore for the night to have a good time, too.”
“I am.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m having a good time.”
“Why are you shivering then?”
“Well, it’s a little chilly here in your bedroom.”
“Is it? I happen to like it this way. Don’t you?”
“Yes, Sam.”
“Now this hand here has a lazgun built it,” he explained, holding it up. “It looks, however, like just a regular everyday hand. It resembles, in fact, the hand I lost in the line of duty seven years ago. But there’s a lazgun built into this finger. I can use this hand to kill anyone I want. It always surprises them, they never expect it. Because it looks so much like a real hand. It would surprise you, wouldn’t it?”
“No, Sam.”
“It wouldn’t surprise you, sweet? Why wouldn’t it surprise you?”
“Because you just showed it to me and I’d be expecting it,” the naked girl answered.
“You’re absolutely right. I did spoil the surprise by—”
The vidphone over in the alcove buzzed.
“That’s my emergency line,” said Trinity, placing the hand on the bed. “Will you excuse me?”
“Yes, I’ll excuse you.”
“That’s very thoughtful and I appreciate it.” He hurried barefooted over to the phone. “Yes?”
“Lord, Sam, put something on,” suggested Myra Ettinger. “Seeing that wealth of red fuzz that covers your squatty body makes one—”
“You’re no pastoral sunset yourself, sweet, even when fully clothed. Why are you bothering me?”
“I have something to tell you.”
The redheaded government agent said, “You happen to be intruding on my recreation time.”
“Nevertheless, pay attention,” said the Mechanix executive.
“Jake Cardigan left Greater Los Angeles an hour ago and, according to my sources, he’s headed for Topeka Complex.”
“Coming here, huh?” Trinity made a faint whistling sound. “That son of a bitch is smarter than I thought.”
“Or you’re dumber.”
Trinity said, “Thanks for alerting me, sweet.”
“It might be a good idea to meet him when he lands and—”
“Naw, I don’t operate that obviously. You should know by now that I’m inclined toward subtlety.”
“Seeing you standing there in your undies misled me.”
Trinity smiled. “Cardigan will be checking in with contacts in Farmland. He’ll be checking in with people who can provide information and assistance. What I have to do is arrange some surprises for Cardigan, possibly making use of one of his cronies or informants.”
“Why not simply grab him and—”
“Good bye, Myra.” The agent hung up and walked, slowly, back toward the bed. “Go home, sweet.”
“Okay, Sam.”
“This ought to make you sad. Does it make you sad that you won’t be spending the night with me?”
“Yes, Sam,” answered the naked girl, getting up from the bed, “it makes me sad.”
Shifting in the chair in the vidphone alcove of his hotel suite, Jake made another call on the tap-proof phone. It was a little after 11 P.M. and he’d been in Topeka Complex for over an hour. This was his fifth call.
“Hello?” The screen remained blank.
“I’m trying to reach Joe Chatman.”
“Jake! What the hell are you doing in Farmland?” A heavyset black man showed on the screen. He didn’t have any legs and was seated in a chromeplated wheelchair.
Jake let out a breath. “Joe, I hadn’t heard that—”
“Happened while you were away.”
“How?”
“I still, you know, got my vidwall show on the Underground Network,” Chatman said. “Year ago—thirteen months actually—I was doing another of my muckraking series. This one was about some possible links between local Tek cartels and our major business giant in these parts, the revered Farmboy Industries. The bastards used one of those kamikaze androids on me, a simulacrum of my sister. I was really stupid and—Oh, shit, Jake, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He turned away from the screen for a few seconds. “In a way, Beth was stupid, too. To have fallen in love with me in the first place and then to have accepted that android dupe of me as—”
“No, I don’t think she was,” said Chatman. “They can really catch you off guard. My sister, you know, had been real sick and when I saw her coming toward me in that supermall and looking so poorly, you know, I rushed up and put my arms around her.”
“You survived, though.”
“Part of me survived anyway. That was only because that particular kamikaze didn’t work quite right and only part of the explosive charge went off.”
“I was going to ask for some help on a case, but maybe you—”
“There’s still enough of me left to do you some favors,” Chatman assured him. “You helped me lots of times back when I was doing my show out in Greater LA. I hear you’re working for Bascom at Cosmos now. Is this a job for them?”
“Yeah, we’ve been hired to find Alicia Bower. She’s the Mechanix heiress and has been missing for—”
“I already heard a rumor about that,” cut in his friend. “You think she’s around here someplace?”
“Supposedly she had a breakdown a year or so back. She did some time in the Mentor Psych Centre,” said Jake. “I don’t know if she was taken there again, but I do know that Sam Trinity of the OCO was in Greater Los Angeles the day she disappeared and at the same place she was supposed to be. It’s possible, for some reason I don’t yet know, that he brought her here.”
“Trinity is a true-blue bastard,” warned Chatman. “If you’re planning to go up against him, you know, you’ll have to be damn careful.”
“Right now, Joe, I’m looking for a way to find out what’s going on inside the Centre.”
Leaning back, Chatman closed his eyes for several seconds, fingertips drumming on the arms of his wheelchair. “I been thinking about doing a series on that place.”
“Is somethi
ng wrong going on there?”
“That could be, you know,” answered Chatman. “I do have a contact. Maybe, I’m not absolutely sure, you know, but possibly I can arrange for you two to get together. That might help you find out some of what you want—with some scuttlebutt left over for me to use on a broadcast.”
“Can you set up a meeting?”
“This person has to be, you know, extremely careful,” his friend said. “Still, Jake, I can probably arrange something for tomorrow. You stand by and I’ll get back in touch.”
Jake grinned. “I appreciate this.”
“I’ll be talking to you tomorrow then. And, you know, I surely didn’t mean to imply that your ladyfriend was—”
“I know. Good night, Joe.”
Jake made three more calls before turning in.
17
THE PHONE AWAKENED JAKE at a few minutes before 6 A.M. He rolled out of his bed, grabbed up his trousers and hurried over to answer it. “Yeah?”
“Is Jake Cardigan there?” inquired the blonde, freckled woman on the phonescreen.
“I’m Cardigan.”
“Unblank, so I can get a look at you.”
“Soon as I get my pants on.”
“I was told your phone is tap-proof.”
“Yep, it is.”
“So is mine. I’m Dr. Sharon Harker,” she told him. “Are you interested in information about the Mentor setup?”
He had his pants tugged all the way on. He touched the key that allowed her to see him. “I am, yes.”
“You look pretty much like the pictures I was shown,” decided Dr. Harker after a few seconds. “Older, of course.”
He grinned. “When you get through reflecting on the ravages of time,” he suggested, “tell me who’s been talking to you about me.
She shook her head. “Somebody who ... No, Sean, Mama’s on the phone now. Play with your skycar.”
A yellowhaired boy of about three showed up beside her. He was clad in crimson pajamas, carrying a toy skycar and frowning deeply. “Want breakfast,” he told his mother.
“In just a very few minutes, dear,” she promised. “As soon as I finish my call.”
“Is that Beepaw?” he asked, staring directly at Jake.
“No, it’s only a friend of mine.”
“Can I talk to Beepaw?”
“We’ll call Grandpa later. You go play in your room.”
“Bye, Beepaw.” The little boy wandered out of range.
“Excuse me,” she said, smiling at Jake. “Listen, I have some information that’ll be helpful to you.”
“You selling?”
“No.” An angry expression touched her freckled face. “No, I’m simply interested in seeing that—well, I’m sorry if this sounds youthful and naive. I believe, though, that something wrong is going on there and that action should be taken. Maybe you’re the one who can fix things.”
“Do you work at Mentor?”
“Don’t pick that up, Sean,” she called. “No, I’m an executive with Sunnyland Medical Equipment. I make frequent visits to Mentor, however, in the line of work. Could you possibly meet me this morning? I’d like to talk to you where nobody can interrupt or disturb us.”
“This has to do with Alicia Bower?”
“Yes, obviously, or otherwise, Mr. Cardigan, I wouldn’t be bothering you,” said Dr. Harker. “Do you know where the Prairie is?”
“That’s Farmboy Industries’ biggest facility in these parts, isn’t it?”
“Right, two hundred acres of buildings devoted to the manufacture of synthetic food.” Her nose wrinkled. “I have to do business with them, too, and I’ll be calling there this morning. A block south of the Prairie you’ll find a nice little place called the Grange Cafe. If you can meet me there in an hour, I can tell you things that should help you with the case you’re working on.”
“Is Alicia at Mentor?”
“One hour.” The screen went blank.
“Okay, one hour.” Jake put on the rest of his clothes.
The grange cafe was wedged midblock in a row of narrow shops. The chill, grey block was empty of people as Jake approached the meeting place on foot.
He found the plastiglass front wall of the little restaurant blanked. A signscreen on the door told him: TEMPORARILY CLOSED. WILL REOPEN SOON.
Frowning, Jake glanced around the early morning street. Sharon Harker was nowhere in sight.
From where he stood he could see the tops of the Prairie’s towers and domes. This agricultural complex turned out nearly half of Farmboy’s synthetic wheat and oats. Thin wisps of pale blue smoke were snaking up from its many filtered smokestacks.
Jake, thrusting his fists into his jacket pockets, walked toward the nearest corner. All the shops had blanked walls and many of them displayed signs announcing they weren’t opening today.
“You there, sir.”
Coming at him from around the corner was a large gunmetal robot with Street Patrol lettered large across the front of him.
“Yeah?”
“ID packet, please.”
“Why?”
“Routine, sir.”
“You’ll need a better reason than that.”
The big bot said, “We’d like to know what you’re doing in this area.”
Nodding back in the direction of the restaurant, he said, “I was planning to have breakfast at the Grange, but it appears to be shut tight. Can you suggest another spot where—”
“The best thing for you to do, sir, is hightail it clean out of this ... Hold on. Looks like it’s too late.”
A distant rumbling had become audible. It sounded as though quite a few heavy vehicles were roaring this way.
Over at the Prairie, huge panels began sliding open in the nearest domes. Rising up out of the complex came silvery skyvans, each with the familiar Farmboy logo—a farmer’s strawhat with a crossed knife and fork beneath it—emblazoned on its underside. By the time a full two dozen of the flying vans had taken to the air, heavy landtrucks were growling into view along the street.
There were at least ten of the big trucks, and marching alongside, between and in front of them were hundreds of men and women. All of them were clad in tan coveralls. Considerable flashing lightsigns were to be seen, held aloft by the marchers—Farmboy UNFAIR! Work HAZARDS Must Stop! A Harvest of Shame!
“It’s the strike, sir,” warned the robot. “You’d better get on out of their way before—”
“C’mon, join us.” A large black man grabbed Jake by the arm as he came tramping by.
“It’s no doubt a good cause,” said Jake and he was dragged into and became part of the marching crowd. “But it’s not my cause.”
“Here, carry this.” A heavyset blonde woman thrust the staff of a lightsign into his hands.
The sign was blinking the message—INHUMAN Working Conditions! We’re NOT Bots!
The skyvans from the Prairie were hovering overhead. From loudspeakers mounted near the logo came a booming metallic voice. It echoed and bounced all around the strikers. “This is a wildcat strike. The Board of Directors of your Farmhands Union, Local #1343, does not sanction your actions. Disperse at once or face the consequences.”
“We’re coming in!” shouted the marching strikers.
“Discontinue and scatter. At once.”
Thirty seconds later the barrels of stuncannons started protruding from the bellies of the hovering vans. The guns fired down randomly. A lean, bearded man in front of Jake was struck by one of the sizzling beams. He took two jerking steps ahead, clenched his fists, went slamming down on his knees. He started to topple to the left, right into the path of a rolling truck.
Dropping his sign, Jake leaped and caught the man by the collar of his coveralls. He yanked him clear of off the big truck.
Hefting the unconscious worker over his shoulder, Jake started to push his way through the moving crowd. “Hey, let me get him over to the sidewalk.”
Another random beam struck a girl a few feet fro
m Jake. Gagging, she tried to reach for her throat. Then she collapsed, falling right into Jake.
There was no room to dodge and he tripped over her. He fell, dropping the man he was trying to carry to safety.
He landed on elbows and knees, smacking the street hard. Someone stepped on his back, someone else kicked his shoulder.
Jake, a little groggy, was pushing himself up when someone yelled, “Gas!”
Jake never saw the stuff, but for about the next thirty seconds he was aware of a harsh, insinuating peppery scent.
Then he went suddenly and completely to sleep.
18
IT WAS ALWAYS SUNNY noontime on New Hollywood. The streets on the orbiting satellite were wide and lined with tall, simulated palm trees, the buildings were mostly white with bright red tile roofs. There seemed to be low green hills beyond the city, and off to the west was a glimpse of placid blue ocean.
The robot driver of the landbus was wearing a yellow and green checkered sportcoat. “And on our left, ladies and gentlemen, is the Holographic Hollywood Star Museum, containing lifelike images of over one hundred movie and vidwall stars from the past three centuries.”
“We have to see that, too, Inez,” said the excited fat man seated just behind Gomez.
“I was afraid we would, Lloyd.”
The robot driver continued, “Coming up on our right, ladies and gentlemen, you’ll note the Stunt Palace with its FX Annex. Every hour of the day you can witness and enjoy pulsepounding, nervewracking stunts and special effects being re-created before your very eyes.”
“Not before my eyes,” stated Inez.
“C’mon, we came here to enjoy it all,” pleaded Lloyd.
“Next, ladies and gentlemen, is the Cowboy Heaven Museum. Then, for the more mature visitor to New Hollywood, you’ll find Sunset Strippers. It is, as most of you no doubt know, one of the most popular brothels on or off the Earth. Here you’ll encounter for your pleasure android replicas of all your favorite actors and actresses of today and, for a surprisingly nominal fee, you may do with them as you will.”
“We’ll skip that one, Lloyd.”
The bus halted, in front of a five-story stucco and red tile structure. “Here’s the New Hollywood Hotel, ladies and gentlemen,” announced the driver. “To all who are getting off here, have a great vacation and thanks for traveling with the Tinsel Town Bus Co.”
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