The Praxis

by Walter Jon Williams

  “Thank you,” she said. But she knew that once she was with Caro, it wouldn’t be long before Caro would grow bored with her, or impatient, or angry. Whatever she was going to do, it would have to be soon.

  “I don’t know how often Lamey’s going to send for me,” she said. “But I hope it’s not on your birthday. I’d like you and I to celebrate that together.”

  The scowl on Caro’s face was immediate, and predictable. “Birthday? My birthday was last winter.” The scowl deepened. “That was the last time Sergei and I were together.”

  “Birthday?” Gredel said, in her Earth accent. “I meant Earthday.” And when Caro’s scowl began to look dangerous, she added quickly, “Your birthday in Earth years. I do the math, see, it’s a kind of game. And your Earthday is next week—you’ll be fifteen.” Gredel smiled. “The same age as me. I turned fifteen Earth years just before I met you.”

  It wasn’t true, not exactly—Caro’s Earthday was in three months—but Gredel knew that Caro would never do the math, might not even know how to do it.

  There was so much Caro didn’t know. That knowledge brought a savage pleasure to Gredel’s mind. Caro didn’t know anything, didn’t even know that her best friend hated her. Caro didn’t know that she had stolen her money and her identity only an hour ago, and could do it again whenever she wanted.

  The days went by, and were even pleasurable in a strange, disconnected way. Gredel thought she finally understood what it was like to be Caro, to have nothing that attached her to anything, to have long hours to fill and nothing to fill them with but whatever impulse drifted into her mind. Gredel felt that way herself—mentally, at least, she was cutting her own ties free, all of them, floating free of everything she’d known.

  To save herself trouble, Gredel went out of her way to please Caro, and Caro responded. Her mood was sunny, and she laughed and joked, and dressed Gredel like a doll, as she always had. Behind her own pleasing mask, Gredel despised Caro for being so easily manipulated. You’re so stupid, she thought.

  But pleasing Caro brought trouble of its own, because when Lamey’s boy called for Gredel, she was standing in the rain, in a Torminel neighborhood, trying to buy Caro a cartridge of endorphin analog—with Lamey’s businesses in eclipse, she could no longer get the stuff from Panda.

  When Gredel finally connected with her ride and got to the place where Lamey was hiding—he was back in the Terran Fabs, at least—he’d been waiting for hours, and his patience was gone. He got her alone in the bedroom and slapped her around for a while, telling her it was her fault, that she had to be where he could find her when he needed her.

  Gredel lay on her back on the bed, letting him do what he wanted, and she thought, This is going to be my whole life if I don’t get out of here. She looked at the pistol Lamey had waiting on the bedside table for whoever he thought might kick down the door, and she thought about grabbing the pistol and blowing Lamey’s brains out. Or her own brains. Or just walking into the street with the pistol and blowing out brains at random.

  No, she thought. Stick to the plan.

  Lamey gave her five hundred zeniths afterward. Maybe that was an apology.

  Sitting in the car later, with her bruised cheek swelling and the money crumpled in her hand and Lamey’s slime still drooling down her thigh, she thought about calling the Legion of Diligence and letting them know where Lamey was hiding. But instead she told the boy to take her to a pharmacy near Caro’s place.

  She found a box of plasters that would soak up the bruises and took it to the drug counter in the back. The older woman behind the counter looked at her face with knowing sympathy. “Anything else, honey?”

  “Yes,” Gredel said. “Two vials of Phenyldorphin-Zed.”

  She was required to sign the Narcotics Book for the endorphin analog, and the name she scrawled was Sula.

  Caro was outraged by Gredel’s bruises. “Lamey comes round here again, I’ll kick him in the balls!” she said. “I’ll hit him with a chair!”

  “Forget about it,” Gredel said wearily. She didn’t want demonstrations of loyalty from Caro right now. Her feelings were confused enough: she didn’t want to start having to like Caro all over again.

  Caro pulled Gredel into the bedroom and cleaned her face, then she cut the plasters to fit Gredel’s bruises and applied them. Next day, when the plasters were removed, the bruises had mostly disappeared, leaving some faint discoloration easily covered with cosmetic. Gredel’s whole face hurt, though, and so did her ribs and her solar plexus where Lamey had hit her.

  Caro brought her breakfast from the café and hovered around her until Gredel wanted to shriek.

  If you want to help, she thought at Caro, take your appointment to the academy and get us both out of here.

  But Caro didn’t answer the mental command. And her solicitude faded by afternoon, when she opened the day’s first bottle. It was vodka flavored with bison grass, which explained the strange fusil-oil overtones Gredel had scented on Caro’s skin the last few days. By mid-afternoon Caro had consumed most of the bottle and fallen asleep on the couch.

  Gredel felt a small, chill triumph. It was good to be reminded why she hated her friend.

  The next day was Caro’s phony Earthday. Last chance, Gredel thought at her. Last chance to mention the academy.

  But the word never passed Caro’s lips.

  “I want to pay you back for everything you’ve done,” Gredel said. “Your Earthday is on me.” She put her arm around Caro. “I’ve got everything planned,” she said.

  They started at Godfrey’s for the full treatment—massage, facial, hair, the lot. Then lunch at a brass-railed bistro south of the arcades, bubbling grilled cheese on rare vash roast and crusty bread, with a salad of marinated dedger flowers. To Caro’s surprise, Gredel called for a bottle of wine, and poured some of it into her own glass.

  “You’re drinking,” Caro said, delighted. “What’s got into you?”

  “I want to toast your Earthday,” Gredel said.

  Being drunk might make it easier, she thought.

  Gredel kept refilling Caro’s glass while sipping at her own, then took Caro to the arcades. She bought her a summer dress of silk patterned with rhompé birds and jennifer flowers, a jacket shimmering with gold and green sequins—matching Caro’s hair and eyes—and two pairs of shoes. She bought outfits for herself as well.

  After taking their treasures to Caro’s place, where Caro had a few shots of the bison vodka, they went to dinner at one of Caro’s exclusive dining clubs. Caro hadn’t been thrown out of this club yet, but the maitre d’ was on guard and sat them well away from everyone else. Caro ordered cocktails and two bottles of wine and after-dinner drinks. Gredel’s head spun even after the careful sips she’d been taking; she couldn’t imagine what Caro must be feeling. Caro needed a jolt of benzedrine to get to the dance club Gredel had put next on the agenda, though she had no trouble keeping her feet once she got there.

  After dancing awhile, Gredel said she was tired, and they brushed off the male admirers they’d collected and took a taxi home.

  Gredel showered while Caro headed for the bison vodka again. The benzedrine had given her a lot of energy, which she put into finishing the bottle. Gredel changed into the silk lounging suit Caro had bought her on their first day together, and put the two vials of endorphin analog into a pocket.

  Caro was on the couch, where Gredel had left her. Her eyes were bright, but when she spoke to Gredel, her words were slurred.

  “I have one more present,” Gredel said. She reached into her pocket and held out the two vials. “I think this is a kind you like. I really wasn’t sure.”

  Caro laughed. “You take care of me all day, and now you help me to sleep!” She reached over and put her arms around Gredel. “You’re my best sister, Earthgirl.” In Caro’s embrace, Gredel could smell bison grass and sweat and perfume all mingled, and she tried to keep a firm grip on her hatred even as her heart turned over in her chest.

 
; Caro unloaded her med injector, put in one of the vials of Phenyldorphin-Zed and used it right away. Her eyelids fluttered as the endorphin flooded her brain. “Oh nice,” she murmured. “Such a good sister.” She gave herself another dose a few minutes later. She spoke a few soft words but her voice kept floating away. She gave herself a third dose and fell asleep, her golden hair falling across her face as she lay on the pillow.

  Gredel took the injector from Caro’s limp fingers. She reached out and brushed the hair from Caro’s face.

  “Want some more?” she asked. “Want some more, Sister Caro?”

  Caro gave a little indistinct murmur. Her lips curled up in a smile. When Gredel fired another dose into her carotid, the smile broadened, and she shrugged herself into the sofa pillows like a happy puppy.

  Gredel turned from her and reached for Caro’s portable computer console. She called up Caro’s banking files and prepared a form closing the account and transferring its contents to the account Gredel had set up. Then she prepared another message to Caro’s trust account on Spannan’s ring, instructing any further payments to be sent to the new account as well.

  “Caro,” Gredel said. “Caro, I need your thumbprint here, all right?”

  She stroked Caro awake, and managed to get her to lean over the console long enough to press her thumb, twice, to the reader. Then Gredel handed the injector to Caro and watched her give herself another dose.

  Now I’m really a criminal, she thought. She had left a trail of data that pointed straight to herself.

  But even so, she could not bring herself to completely commit to this course of action. She left herself a way out. Caro has to want it, she thought. I won’t give her any more if she says no.

  Caro sighed, settled herself more deeply into the pillows. “Would you like some more?” Gredel asked.

  “Mmm,” Caro said, and smiled.

  Gredel took the injector from her hand and gave her another dose.

  After a while she exhausted the first vial and started on the second. Before each dose, she shook Caro and asked if she wanted more. Caro would sigh, or laugh, or murmur, but never said no. Gredel triggered dose after dose.

  After the second vial was exhausted the snoring started, Caro’s breath heaving itself past the palate, the lungs pumping hard, sometimes with a kind of wrench. Gredel remembered the sound from the time Caro had given herself too much endorphin, and the memory caused her to leap from the sofa and walk very fast around the apartment, rubbing her arms to fight her sudden chill.

  The snoring went on. Gredel very much needed something to do, so she went into the kitchen and made coffee. And then the snoring stopped.

  Ice shuddered along Gredel’s nerves She went to the kitchen door and stared out into the front room at the tumbled golden hair that hung off the end of the couch. It’s over, she thought.

  Then Caro’s head rolled, and Gredel’s heart froze as she saw Caro’s hand come up and comb the hair with her fingers. There was a gurgling snort, and the snoring resumed.

  Gredel stood in the door as cold terror pulsed through her veins. But she told herself, No, it can’t be long now.

  And then, suddenly, she couldn’t stand still any longer, and walked swiftly over the apartment, straightening and tidying. The new clothes went into the closet, the shoes on their racks, the empty bottle in the trash. Wherever she went the snores pursued her. Sometimes they stopped for a few paralyzing seconds, then resumed.

  Abruptly, Gredel couldn’t bear being in the apartment. She put on a pair of shoes, went to the freight elevator and took it to the basement, where she looked for one of the motorized carts they used to move luggage and furniture. There were a great many objects in the basement, things that had been discarded or forgotten about, and Gredel found some strong dedger-fiber rope and an old compressor, a piece of solid bronzework heavy enough to anchor a fair-sized boat.

  She put these in the cart and pushed it to the elevator. As she approached Sula’s doors, she could hear Caro’s snores through the enameled steel. Gredel’s fingers trembled as she pressed codes into the lock.

  Caro was still on the couch, her breath still fighting its way past her throat. Gredel cast an urgent glance at the clock. There weren’t many hours of darkness left, and darkness was required for what happened next.

  Gredel sat at Caro’s feet and hugged a pillow to her chest and watched her breathe. Caro’s skin was pale and looked clammy. “Please,” Gredel begged under her breath. “Please die now. Please.” But Caro wouldn’t die. Her breaths grated on and on, until Gredel began to hate them with a bitter resentment. This was so typical, she thought. Caro couldn’t even die without getting it all wrong.

  Gredel looked at the wall clock, and it stared back at her like the barrel of a gun. Come dawn, she thought, the gun goes off. Or she could sit in the apartment all day with a corpse, and that was a thought she couldn’t face.

  Again Caro’s breath hung suspended, and Gredel felt her own breath cease for the long moment of suspense. Then Caro dragged in another long rattling gasp, and Gredel felt her heart sink. She knew that her tools had betrayed her. She would have to finish this herself.

  All her anger was gone by now, all hatred, all emotion except a sick weariness, a desire to get it over. The pillow was already held to her chest, a warm comfort in the room filled only with Caro’s racking, tormented snores.

  She cast one last look at Caro, thought, Please die at her one more time, but Caro didn’t respond any more than she had responded to any of Gredel’s other unexpressed wishes.

  Gredel suddenly lunged across the sofa, her body moving without conscious command, the movement seeming to come from pure instinct. She pressed the pillow over Caro’s face and put her weight on it.

  Please die, she thought.

  Caro hardly fought. Her body twisted on the couch and both her hands came up, but the hands didn’t fight, they just fell across Gredel’s back as if in a halfhearted embrace.

  Gredel would have felt better if Caro had fought. It would have given her hatred something to fasten on to.

  Instead, through the closeness of their bodies, she felt the urgent kick-kick-kick of Caro’s diaphragm as it tried to draw in air, the kick repeated over and over again. Fast, then slow, then fast. Caro’s feet shivered. Gredel could feel Caro’s hands trembling as they lay on her back. Tears spilled from Gredel’s eyes.

  The kicking stopped. The trembling stopped.

  Gredel leaned on the pillow awhile longer just to make sure. The pillow was wet with tears. When she finally took the pillow away, it revealed a pale, cold thing that bore no resemblance to Caro at all.

  Caro was weight now, not a person. That made what followed a lot easier.

  Handling a limp body was more difficult than Gredel had ever imagined. By the time she got it onto the cart, she was panting for breath and her eyes stung with sweat. She covered Caro with a bed sheet and she added some empty suitcases to the cart as well. She took the cart to the freight elevator, then left by the loading dock at the back of the building.

  “I am Caroline, Lady Sula,” she said aloud, rehearsing her story. “I’m moving to a new place because my lover beat me.” She would have the identification to prove her claim, and what remained of the bruises, and the suitcases plain to see alongside the covered objects that weren’t so plain.

  Gredel didn’t need to use her story. The streets were deserted as she walked downslope alongside the humming cart, down to the Iola River.

  The roads ran high above the river on either side, with ramps that descended to the darkened riverside quay below. Gredel rode the cart down the ramp to the river’s edge. This was the good part of Maranic Town, and there were no houseboats here, no beggars, no homeless, and—at this hour—no fishermen. The only encounters she feared were lovers sheltering under the bridges, but by now it was so late that even the lovers had gone to bed.

  It was as hard getting Caro off the cart as getting her on it. But when she finally went into the r
iver, tied to the compressor, the dark waters closed over her with barely a ripple. In a video drama Caro would have floated a while, poignantly, saying good-bye to the world, but there was none of that here, just the silent dark submersion and ripples that died swiftly in the current.

  Caro had never been one for protracted good-byes.

  Gredel walked alongside the cart back to the Volta. A few cars slowed to look at her, but moved on.

  In the apartment, she tried to sleep, but Caro’s scent filled the bed, and sleep was impossible there. Caro had died on the sofa, and Gredel didn’t want to go near it. She caught a few hours’ fitful rest on a chair, and then the woman called Caroline Sula rose and began her day.

  The first thing she did was send in the confirmation of her appointment to the Cheng Ho Academy.

  She packed two suitcases, took them to Maranic Port and the hovercraft ferry that would take her across the Krassow Sea to Vidalia. From there she took the express train up the Hayakh Escarpment to the Quaylah Plateau, where high altitude moderated the subtropical heat of the Equatorial Continent. The planet’s antimatter ring arced almost directly overhead.

  Paysec was a winter resort, but the snowfall wouldn’t begin until the monsoon shifted to the northeast, so she found good rates for a small apartment in Lus’trel, and took it for two months. She bought some clothes—not the extravagant garments that were sold in Maranic Town’s arcades, but practical country clothes, and boots for walking. She found a tailor, and he began to assemble the extensive wardrobe she would need for the academy.

  She didn’t want Lady Sula’s disappearance from Maranic Town to cause any official disturbance, so she sent a message to Caro’s official guardian, Jacob Biswas, telling him that she found Maranic too distracting and had come to Lus’trel in order to concentrate on her preparation for the academy. She told him she was giving up the Maranic apartment, and that he could collect anything she’d left there.

  Because she didn’t trust herself to impersonate Caro with someone who knew her well, she didn’t use video; she typed the message and sent it print only.