by Jeter, K W
Adder sat motionless in the chair. A strange mixture of emotions had rapidly surged through his facial muscles while he had listened to Jing, but had now melted away, leaving only a blank mask. “Control,” he whispered.
“Control,” Jing echoed. “That’s right. He’s been in control all along. That’s why I asked you to give up. Out of fear for you, not Mox. Do you think I rescued you, bleeding in that alley, just so you could kill yourself on him?” Another tear plummeted down one cheek. “It could never be like it was before,” she said slowly. “But stay here with me. You could be a real doctor even. This could be your life—as it is mine. There are so many people you could be needed, wanted by.”
His eyes grew wider with her last words, then he burst into raging vehemence. “All my life,” he shouted, a drop of saliva flying, omenlike, onto her cowl, his rigid neck muscles causing his head to quiver, “I’ve wanted everyone in the whole world to want me, to need me, to come begging up to me, loving me, worshipping me! And I almost. Had it.” His voice grew lower and hollower, as if some final message were being dragged out. “And I wanted it, just so—just so that if I had it, somehow I could tell everyone at the same time, L.A., Orange County, the whole world, to go fuck themselves.”
He lapsed into silence, as if spent, then smiled grimly, his eyes lost in some interior vision. He shook his head. “No thanks,” he said finally. “I’m going to ram it through.” He got to his feet, looking down at her cowled head. “I’m better armed now—no illusions.”
Long after the door clicked shut behind him, she sat at the table, inert.
Mary was waiting for Limmit outside the meeting room. All right, he thought wearily. Lay it on me. Just till Adder’s done talking with that spook.
“You’re back,” she said calmly. Her eyes looked into him with their steady gaze.
“Since a couple of hours ago.”
“You look tired.”
Limmit kneaded the back of his neck. True enough, he thought. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll endure.”
“Without me. Without anybody. Except Dr. Adder.”
“Shit,” said Limmit. “Is that all you’ve got to tell me? I suppose you were expecting me to come back from the sewers clean and pure and dedicated to the revolution? I’m real fuckin’ sorry, then.”
She sighed and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what I expected. Except for you to probably die down there, never make it back. I hoped though that you’d realize finally Adder was dead.”
“Except he wasn’t.” There was no satisfaction in the words. “He’s alive.”
“And you’re working for him again. The lucky fan who gets to be right up close to him. Do things for him. His little functionary.” Her face darkened with scorn. “How nice that he gave you your old job back. Just like on the Interface.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not that way now. I’m helping Adder with his plan against Mox—for my own reasons.” Echoing Adder’s words. “After that, it’s over between him and me.”
“Oh, E. Allen,” she said mournfully. “God, I wish I could believe that. But he’s sucked so many others dry, consumed them. It’ll be the same way with you. I can’t protect you forever.”
“Don’t, then,” he snapped, his own anger flaring. “Did I ever ask you to? Do you have to wait until I just tell you to fuck off, before I get any slack from you?” The emotion subsided, leaving him feeling more drained than before. “I’m sorry. It’s just that whatever this plan of Adder’s is, it’s important to me. I can’t even think about us until it’s over, one way or another.”
“Did you really think,” she said softly, “that I was only concerned about us?”
“Don’t tell me,” said Limmit exhaustedly. “The revolution.” “Yes, damn it. Sure, Azusa and the others who were in there are a bunch of phony chickenshits—so what? Can’t you see we’ve got a chance at last to really accomplish something? To do more than just wipe out one man like Mox? Isn’t there anything more important to you than your own fucked-up innards, something you’d sacrifice yourself for?”
“So that’s what’s important to you,” he said. “Fine. Go give your life to the ghost of Lenin; it’s okay with me. Christ, you talk about being sucked dry. At least my vampires are on this side of the grave.”
“Fuck you,” she said with a contemptuous gesture, “if you can’t tell any difference.” She turned and strode away, her boots striking hollow on the concrete floor.
I can’t tell, said Limmit to himself. Maybe you’re right—there is something wrong with me. I wish, he thought suddenly and fervently, that there was some way I could have told her to wait for me until this was all over. But this part seems finished anyway. He propped one foot up beside the door to the meeting room, waiting for Adder to emerge.
“I think before we go any further,” said Limmit, “you’d better let me in on your plan.”
Adder paused on the stairway’s second-floor landing. The two of them had been heading back to where the blind girl Melia was waiting. “You’ve got a point,” he said. “There’s not much longer to go, anyway. In an hour or so, the plan will be on its inexorable progress. So you’d better know now.”
Limmit watched in silence as Adder reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small black leatherette case, like a wallet. Adder zipped it open and spread it between his hands, displaying it to Limmit. In the landing’s thin light it was hard to make out the contents, but Limmit could see several small vials and a syringe. “What is it?” he asked.
“I didn’t go straight from here to where I waited for you,” said Adder. “I sneaked over onto the Interface—it’s not hard, no one’s guarding it or anything. I fetched this out of my old office. It’s the ADR.”
“What the hell good is that?” asked Limmit incredulously. Jesus, he thought, maybe Adder didn’t come out of all this in one piece.
“With this,” said Adder, stroking the vials with one finger, “I can get right into Mox’s own mind. As I did before. Only not to observe and find out, oh no. I can use it as a weapon, the way Lester Gass did sometimes—to crush an enemy. To reach right inside his innermost being and grapple with him on that great psychic/symbolic meeting ground.” A strange, fervent tone had crept into his voice.
“Nice trick,” said Limmit drily, “but you’re here in Rattown and Mox is there in Orange County. Forget that? Or were you planning a commando raid on his headquarters? Strap him down and shoot him and yourself full of this stuff, I suppose.” Composedly, Adder closed the case and replaced it in his pocket. “That’s hardly necessary,” he said, the fervidness temporarily dissipated. “You see, I’ve got a direct line from here straight into Mox’s skull. That’s what Melia discovered in the computer banks, what she showed me. Mox isn't alive; he’s on tape there in the computers. After the Interface raid, he had his entire mentality recorded that way. There was no risk—nothing new; they’ve been doing that kind of thing for years.”
“I know,” said Limmit dazedly. Like Lars Kyrie, he thought. “Only Mox had special autonomous personality circuits built in. The others on tape are without control—they’re just turned on or off whenever they’re wanted. Mox, however, still functions just as when he was alive; only a few members of the GPC exec board know that he’s really only several hundred miles of magnetic oxide inside their computers. The broadcast image everyone sees on their TVs is only computer graphics, a completely convincing animated cartoon.”
“Yes,” said Limmit faintly. “I’ve heard of that.”
Adder observed critically the other’s paling face for a moment, then continued. “Dosed with the ADR, Melia and I can go back up the TV cable and plug into Mox’s mind. Both of us together will be enough to pull Mox into the visions. Since he’s been under it before, the mental state the drug produces is still there, programmed into his unconscious. Melia will serve as the pipeline and key into him for me; once there, I’ll take on Mox while she stands aside.”
“But then what do you need me
for?”
“While Melia and I are under the ADR, we’ll both be helpless, unconscious here in Rattown. You’re to help us find a safe hiding place and be ready to protect us from the Siege Front’s triggermen. For several hours.”
“And that’s all?”
“Don’t worry,” said Adder with a tight smile. He started up the stairs again. “It’ll be enough. Perhaps more than you’d care for.”
The room’s oppressive miasma of filth seemed to have dissipated slightly since the last time Limmit had been in it. The old woman as well was nowhere to be seen. Limmit had half expected to find her corpse on the floor, growing furry with dust.
“The old woman must’ve split after I left,” said Adder, as if hearing Limmit’s thoughts. “That must be how she, Mother Endure, knew I was walking again. The old bag ran and told her.”
The only occupant of the room was the young girl, sitting patiently on the couch, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She was unaware of the two men’s entrance. To Limmit she looked to be about fifteen or sixteen; he noticed that she had been washed, degrimed from when he had seen her before, and her thin brown hair combed. Her skin had the slightly pink look of one who has recently had old layers of dirt removed at last. Adder must have done that, thought Limmit. Washed her— she’s almost pretty now. And not said anything about doing it.
Adder walked over to the couch, picked up her right hand, and laid it on the flashglove. Her face still looked straight into the vacant middle of the room, but lifted into a smile. Her closed eyelids made her appear as if she were dreaming; the expression hit Limmit like a blow. She loves him, he thought with sudden certainty. And why not? First man she’s talked to in a dozen years.
He glanced up at Adder’s face. There was no corresponding trace of emotion. He doesn’t even know, thought Limmit. He felt a wave of pity for the young girl. The cold son-of-a-bitch— he washed her like he was sterilizing a scalpel.
“She’s seeing you through my eyes,” said Adder. “She already knows who you are. I’ve told her all about the plan. Say hello to her—she’ll hear you, through me.”
Limmit looked straight into Adder’s warmthless eyes. “Hello, Melia.”
After a second, Adder spoke. “She says hello. I’m afraid she’s not very interested in you, for some reason. Perhaps being isolated all this time damaged her sociability.”
You schmuck, thought Limmit. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Right,” said Adder, not noticing Limmit’s tone. “We don’t have much time. Especially not here—we’ve got to find a hiding place fast.”
“I know one that might do,” said Limmit. “I hid out there for a day after the Raid, until Mary Gorgon found me and took me to that other room. Just inside the slums. A big empty warehouse or something, but with a lot of smaller offices and rooms above.”
“Sounds all right. There’s several rifles, with stocks of ammunition, in the other room here. They must have belonged to Melia’s father—they’re oiled and sealed in hermetic cases like only a psychotic would do. Take what you can; use the best.” Adder pulled the girl up from the couch.
Through the door Adder had indicated Limmit found the weapons, standing upright in dusty, glass-doored containers like coffins. He pulled one open, hearing the short rush of air into the vacuum, and extracted a rifle identical to the one he had used as a kid back in the army. Just like old times, he thought, weighing its remembered heft in his hands. I’m still traveling in circles. He stored several boxes of rounds in his jacket and headed out the door.
“Perfect,” pronounced Dr. Adder, surveying the empty warehouse. A group of office-cubicles looked out over the warehouse’s floor from a height of twelve feet or more, connected by a common walkway with guardrail. Anyone entering the building from the ground would have to cross the entire floor over to the stairs on one side; the only entrance from the office elevation or above opened onto the far end of the connecting corridor. Both aspects in full view of someone standing guard outside the cubicle into which he and Limmit had dragged the two cots. A clear shot, said Adder to himself. I almost wish I’d be here to take advantage of it.
A muted babble of unfamiliar voices jerked him around from his position at the guardrail. Inside the cubicle, Limmit had finished connecting to the cable outlet one of the small portable televisions they had found, and switched it on. One of the TV families was giggling through its miniaturized life-cycle on the screen. Adder relaxed, seeing the tiny phosphor-dot figures. Shitfire, he thought. Take hold. Nothing to lose sphincter control over yet—not even what Jing/Mother Endure told you.
He walked into the cubicle and picked up one of Melia’s hands, placing it on the flashglove. Her face broke into its dreaming smile again as the thin fingers curved around the metal surface. Through the weapon’s electronic network he “saw” the feminine image she projected. Ready? he asked the image.
Yes, she replied, the image blushing like a young bride. If you are.
“Here,” said Adder, tossing a roll of white surgical tape to Limmit. He gently pushed Melia down supine on the cot.
Limmit wordlessly brought the small television over and placed it on the floor beside her. With the surgical tape he bound her hand and forearm to the set, looping the tape completely around the set and across the figures on the screen. Adder lay down on the other cot, placed alongside Melia; Limmit quickly and efficiently took her free hand and placed it on the flashglove’s cool surface, then bound it similarly with the tape. “There,” he said, straightening up from the task. “Off into the wild gray yonder.”
“Not yet,” said Adder from his horizontal position. He pulled out the black case and extended it to Limmit. “Know how to use a hypodermic?”
“Sure,” said Limmit, zipping it open. “Extensive practice on chickens, as a matter of fact.” He extracted the syringe and plunged it through the sealing membrane of one of the vials. He pulled up the plunger until the colorless liquid reached the indicated point. More than enough here, he thought. All the vials are full—could send a whole fuckin’ army into Mox’s electronic head. But not me, he decided. Not on your life.
“Her first,” said Adder. “Then me.”
Limmit located the vein in the crook of the girl’s arm strapped to the flashglove. He observed silently the young girl’s rapt, eyes-closed expression, watching for a reaction as he depressed the plunger. There was none. He refilled the syringe and repeated the sequence into Adder’s flesh arm.
“Should only be a few minutes,” said Adder. Already it seemed as if whatever animated him from inside was speaking from a slowly increasing distance, the voice fading hollow. The eyes glanced over at the television; through the strips of tape he could see that whatever program had been on had just ended, the credits crawling by on the screen. “Hey,” said Adder, grinning faintly miles away. “Just thought of something. It’s time for Mox’s nightly broadcast. Melia showed me that there’s no outside control over him on that, or the graphics. If he doesn’t switch his broadcast off himself, this whole thing might show up on all the TVs tied into the cable, everywhere ...” The voice faded away, then surged back with a visible effort from him. “What a comeback. You won’t want to miss it—” The eyes closed.
Right, Limmit said sourly to himself. Your TV debut, back from the grave. He picked up the other portable television and carried it out, trailing the cord plugged into the cable outlet, to the chair he had positioned by the guardrail. He suddenly noticed how full his bladder was—the canned juices and fruit they had found here and made a meal of had worked their way through his kidneys already. Just nervous, he decided. I’d better take a piss before I get any more so.
He stood up and looked around. I’ve never yet, he thought, found a urinal in L.A. that really works. Probably why the streets smell like that. Screw it, he decided, stepping over to the guardrail and unzipping his fly.
What a hero, he thought contemptuously as the first drops emerged. Good for nothing except standing guard over
L.A.’s leading mutilation artist, zonked unconscious on his eponymous drug in his climactic bid for glory. Watching for enemies who aren’t even going to come looking, most likely. I should have attacked Mox’s headquarters myself when I was in Orange County, with my own piddly knife—better for my self-esteem than this, at least. Ah, Limmit, you cowardly prick, he mused bitterly, staring into the distance as the golden stream arced downward into the semidarkness.
“Hey, you fuckhead!” screamed an outraged voice from the floor. “What’s the big idea, pissing all over me?”
His flow shut off in alarm; Limmit grabbed the rail and peered down. Below, one of Rattown’s crazies looked up from beneath his dripping hair, his mouth dropping open as if recognizing Limmit from a description. He stood transfixed for a moment, then scrabbled for a small, antennaed box clipped to his belt.
Walkie-talkies, thought Limmit, then absurdly: Christ, they’re well organized. Move! something screamed inside him, and he snatched up the rifle propped against the chair. It was still unloaded yet; he pulled out a clip from his jacket and fumbled it sideways, upside down, and backward before at last jamming it into the rifle’s feed connection.
The crazy below had the walkie-talkie already raised to his face before Limmit’s first shot tore it and most of the fingers of one hand away. The Rattowner collapsed to his knees, moaning in pain and shock.
Limmit slung the rifle over his shoulder by its strap, climbed over the guardrail, and hung from the edge of the walkway before dropping down to the floor. He landed painfully on his feet, then his ass. He unslung the rifle and scrambled over to the wounded man. He placed the rifle’s muzzle beneath his chin. “All right,” Limmit said crisply, jabbing him in the throat, “who knows you’re here? Tell me and I won’t blow your head off.” “Nobody,” gasped the Rattowner. His eyes rolled, dazed. “We already searched this area. I just snuck away to do myself up, honest.” His undamaged hand opened, displaying several small capsules. Their red coloring had smeared off in the sweat of his hands.