by J Battle
‘I’m sure you do, Ben. But there is an order of business that we need to deal with first, before we consider any new suggestions.’ Dart seemed to be comparing the finish of the nails on his index fingers.
‘If you let me explain my plan…’
‘First things first, Ben,’ Dart interrupted him. ‘You really should listen to our concerns.’
Ben stared at his lieutenant for a long moment, as if he was considering his response to this impertinence. Then he pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
‘I see. I assume you’re talking about the explosion.’ Masters flicked his eyes around the room; trying to gauge the support Dart might have. He wasn't worried about the Bobs of course, but he was concerned at the smile on Deed's face.
‘And the shooting of Rees,’ replied Dart as he leaned forward. 'That and the explosion constitute a systematic attack on you.’
‘Thanks for the concern.’
‘Of course we are concerned for your safety; that goes without saying. But the attacks affect us, and we have to put the wellbeing of this little project we are running ahead of anything else. And that includes you; you must see that.’
‘It is not your place to use words like ‘must‘ with me, sonny.’
‘Yet I have. Perhaps your opinion would be of use now, Deed.’ Darts eyes held those of his boss.
‘I think Dart’s meaning is abundantly clear, Ben. You are putting us all at risk.’
‘I assume you have a solution.’ Masters turned his head to give him the benefit of his stony stare.
‘We can’t ignore these attacks, but we don’t have the resources to find out who is behind them, and we have to ensure your safety.’ He glanced at Dart for support; he received a barely perceptible nod. ‘If you are no longer a target, then neither are we.’ Deed held firm under the full power of Masters’ glare.
The Bobs shrank a little in their chairs, in case they were noticed.
‘What are you suggesting?’ Ben's voice left a chill in the room.
‘We’ve talked many times about relocating to a planet not subject to the obtrusive controls of AI’s; where we would be allowed to ply our trade without their interference. We think this would be a good time for you to check out some of the more suitable planets.’
‘You want me to leave Earth?’
‘These days that is not as hard as it used to be.’
‘If I leave Earth, what’s to stop this guy from following me?’
Deed smiled. ‘Dart has a plan.’
Chapter 9 - Then Strange
If Dart and Deed had listened to the plan Masters was about to propose before they’d got all het up about their own solutions, things might have gone better for all involved.
In a world where illegal trade in cash was difficult, where diamonds were marked and recorded at source, where legal drugs were so effective, harmless and cheap that there was no market for the old faithfuls, and where weapons turned stool-pigeon on their users, it was hard to make a dishonest buck. Masters believed that he had found a way.
The gil-weed grows on the planet Greenhaven; a most unusual, almost habitable planet in that it orbits two stars. Its year is the equivalent of twelve Earth years; made up of four seasons, each lasting three years. Two seasons are roasting hot, when the planet is exposed to the full power of both suns, and the other two are temperate, when part of the energy from one sun is blocked by the mass of the other.
During the temperate seasons, the gil-weed flourishes and can be found across the whole of the equatorial zone. When the hot seasons arrive, the leaves of the weed turn to ash and all that is left is the root, hidden deep underground. If you dig up the root and crush it using the appropriate equipment, you can extract a tiny amount of gil-juice; gramme for gramme the most expensive commodity in the known universe.
Gil-juice doesn’t taste nice, or give you a high. It won’t make you good-looking or witty. It won’t turn you into the lover you always knew you’d be, or dull your wife's sharp tongue.
What it will do is super-charge your immune system, enabling your body to fight off any disease known to man, and slow down the effects of aging. One dose can add twenty healthy, productive years to your life; if you can afford to pay for it.
Masters had a contact on Greenhaven, and had used all of the gang’s remaining funds to buy up a case of gil-juice. Sold to the right people, it would have made the gang a fortune.
He would have told them all about it, if they’d let him; and he did try.
When he was forced to listen to Dart’s cunning plan however, a plan all of his own began to develop deep inside his convoluted mind.
**********
Strange was sitting in my chair when I got to my office, a little later than usual the next day. He was looking out of the window at the old Beetham Tower and seemed to take no notice of my arrival. I paused for the moment at the door, trying to decide what my reaction should be to this unwarranted intrusion. Of course, I knew exactly who he was. My first impulse was to storm in and throw him out but, even sitting down, he was so physically imposing that I could see he wasn’t going anywhere he didn’t want to go.
In the end I walked over to the chair on the other side of the desk and sat down. To show that I wasn’t discomfited, and in an impressive show of masculine bravado, I put my foot on the desk. Just the one foot. My father, bless his confused soul, always told me to keep one foot on the ground at all times. It may be a reference to Victorian courtship rituals, or snooker.
Strange still hadn’t noticed my arrival, so I coughed. It was only a small cough; nothing over-dramatic, but it served its purpose. Slowly he swivelled his head on his long neck and brought his full attention to bear on my insignificant person.
‘Chandler,’ he seemed to sigh; his voice so soft.
‘Strange,’ I replied, with the same air of worldly ennui, with maybe a touch of mockery thrown in.
He allowed his eyes to drift down my body to my foot, propped awkwardly on the desk. Remembering that my boots were overdue some repair work, I slipped the foot casually to the floor.
‘Mrs. Masters told me you’d be coming. I thought you might have made an appointment.’ I hate silences; I always feel that I have to fill them with words.
He considered those words for what seemed an awfully long time, then he smiled. It wasn’t a warm, entertained smile; it didn’t fill me with joy to see it. It was more like the smile a cartoon cat might give when the mouse is finally trapped, and there is no chance of rescue by the domestic dog.
‘Yes, Mrs. Masters told you I was coming. I let myself in, as it was so early. I knew you wouldn’t…mind.’ He paused slightly before the last word, as if he wanted to be sure no other word was more suitable. Or maybe it was his way of suggesting that my feelings were less than relevant.
‘Mind? Why would I mind?’ A little too quickly, if you ask me.
‘Mrs. Masters has asked me to accompany you and provide any assistance you might...require.’
Then he stood up, and it seemed to me that he took an age to stop rising. I also stood up, in a rugged masculine sort of way. I’m quite tall myself, but he was a good head taller. His custom made suit did little to hide the width of his shoulders, or the length of his arms.
He held out one hand. I didn’t want to take it, because I knew it was going to hurt. Eventually, I did, and it did.
‘Take my card. Call me when you are ready to go.’
I took the small silver card.
‘I’ll see myself out.’
I felt an urgent need to sit as he left; my legs refusing to support me any longer.
I listened for the creak of my front door as he left. It didn’t come. After some time trying to think of an alternative, I gathered my courage and followed him to the outer office. It was empty.
I gripped the handle on the door and pulled it towards me; it creaked.
Maybe I was so disturbed by his presence that I just hadn’t heard the door. I went back to my own chair and sat
down, trying not to think about how warm it felt. I didn’t want to travel off-world, and I certainly didn’t want to travel off-world with him. If ten minutes in his company did this to me, what would ten days do?
'I didn't like him. He almost caught me sitting in your chair. I only just made it to the bathroom in time.' Just a head and one shoulder were visible in the bathroom doorway.
'You sit in my chair?'
'Only when you're not here. It's quite comfy,' replied Sam.
'Aren't you frightened of the AI's getting you? There's lots of electrical stuff here.'
'I switch the electric off and I use these to reduce my core body temperature.' He opened his jacket to show me the icepacks strapped to its insides.
I had to ask; this was a new one.
'Why do you need to reduce your core body temperature?'
'Their infrared sensors are set to recognise human body temperatures of 98.6 degrees; anything lower isn't registered. At my current core temperature of 97.2, I'm effectively invisible.'
'Then come out and sit on my couch.'
I checked my watch; Julie was due sometime in the next three hours, so I put the coffee machine to work. As I did, I tried to find some alternative; a way to avoid the unpleasantness that was heading my way.
It came to me as a fully formed thought, though clutching at straws was how Julie described it when I spoke to her over a coffee a little later.
I didn’t know enough about Johnson; the second man who’d walked out of the building after Masters. What if he was important? What if he could provide the answers I needed, without the need for accompanied travel?
I know; even I could see it was a long shot; but I always bet on long shots; it’s my thing.
I would have ran it past Sam, if he hadn’t been fast asleep on my couch, with snoring that was so loud he was certain to attract the attention of all the AI's who were after him.
I fired up the computers and set the search protocols to concentrate on the building and also to find out what info was available about Johnson. Within only a few minutes, I tracked Masters’ exit from the squirtbooth and entry into the building, three days before his final departure for pastures new. But there was no sign of the other man entering the building. Not over that three day period, and not in the three weeks before. Lots of other people came and went; not one of them was of a similar stature.
Two men left the building, when only one entered it. How did that happen, and what did it mean for me?
It might not be the answer I was looking for; but perhaps it was the question.
Chapter 10 - Then an intimate porcine moment.
James Joseph Johnson was thirty-seven years old, nearly two metres tall, and heavy. He was married to Mary, and he worked for an insurance company, taking three holidays abroad each year; mostly to Greece, but occasionally to the west coast of the US. With Fool’s Squirt technology making travel quick and cheap, this was not unusual. In fact there was nothing unusual about the guy; discounting his size, he was your mister average to a T.
Except; he was missing. He wife had reported his disappearance to the police two days before Masters had squirted to OK, and he had left for JD.
Now, I don’t usually tout for business; it’s not my style. Still, there might be answers and a payment in it for me, so I called her.
‘Hello Mrs. Johnson…’ Her phone’s voice recognition facility detected that I was a stranger and switched me to her answer machine, where I heard the announcement, ‘this is a recorded message; Mr. & Mrs. Johnson are not interested in receiving unsolicited telephonic communications, requests or offers. If you…’
I hung up. I was going to be referred to some sort of email inbox which would probably never be accessed.
I checked for her email accounts, but they were all routed through a Ham/Spam server that would block emails from unknown addresses.
Now came the big question; was it worth it? If I couldn’t ring her, or email her, I’d have to visit her in person; and that’s not the sort of thing I’m comfortable with. I knew her address, and where she worked, and I could work out what time she finished. Glancing at the time displays on my screens, digital on one, clock-face on the other, I could see that there was a good chance she’d be home. She only lived five miles from my office, so I could be there in half an hour or so. I don’t use squirtbooths, but I do have my bike; it gets me wherever I want to go without any kind of change to my molecular structure; a feature they don't make enough of a deal about, in my opinion.
I have to say that I never really addressed that big question. I just left my seat and reached for my coat. Did I really want to know what had happened to her husband, or was I just desperately trying to avoid taking a trip with Strange? I think we all know the answer to that one.
‘I’m just popping out,’ I called to Julie.
She looked up from her five hundred piece jigsaw puzzle; it depicted a white ship on a stormy sea and there were rather too many blue pieces for my liking.
‘What?’ She’s normally much more eloquent. I’m aware that I’m not painting an attractive picture of my sister; I’m sure that will all be fixed for me before the book goes to publication by my trusty narrative facilitator. (No, it won’t. N.F.) ‘I’m going out, to visit a client.’
‘What? But, you don’t visit... Who is it, anyway?’
‘You don’t know her. She’s going to be a new client.’
‘But…’
I left her but-butting away, like an un-serviced motor-boat and made my way down the narrow stairs to the tiny yard where I keep my bike.
The road was quiet, with just a few small vans ferrying stuff about and one or two taxis. These days, most people don’t use private transportation. It’s either the squirtbooths or, if it’s a short journey, but too far to walk, then you hail a taxi. They are all automatic, so you no longer run the risk of being trapped in a confined space with a chatty taxi-driver.
She lived in an apartment block in Salford Quays; built during the spasm of apartment building that was rampant around the turn of the century. The block, like most of its neighbours, was a little run down and had failed to match the expectations of its architects and the original wide-eyed and excited vendees.
I rang the bell next to the Johnson name-card. Immediately a speaker burst into life.
‘This is a recorded message; Mr. & Mrs. Johnson are not interested in receiving unsolicited visits, communications, requests or offers. If you…’
I stepped back off the step and looked up at the resolutely closed door. Now what?
For once, my luck was in because, just then, the outer door swung open and an old lady popped her head out.
‘You’re late,’ she said, looking me up and down. ‘Come on inside, you’re letting the cold in.’
I could have defended myself by saying that it was she who was holding the door open, and, strictly speaking, it was the heat that was being let out as hot air expands and..., but where would that have got me?
I followed her inside into the moldy-smelling reception area, and then down a long, poorly lit corridor. She stopped at number five; another bit of luck there, as Mrs. Johnson lived in number six. She pulled the door open and stepped back to allow me to enter, and prevent me from going where I wanted to go.
I shrugged; I could help her with whatever she wanted, and then go on to Mrs. Johnson. How hard could that be? She probably just wanted help opening a jar.
‘Where’s your bag?’ she asked, as I passed her.
I patted my coat. ’I’ve everything I need here.’
‘Really?’
I smiled winningly and carried on inside. It was a large, tidy room with big, pale, comfy furniture, a three-metre TV and a full-wall window. The other walls were virtually covered in pictures of a very tanned individual, with gym-enhanced abs and somewhat greasy hair.
I couldn’t help placing two fingers against my own stomach and tensing my stomach muscles. There was definitely some movement there, but how
many sit-ups and crunches would you have to do to get abs like that? And who has the time? Those lost cats and dogs don’t find themselves.
I turned to the lady and asked her who the guy was.
‘That's Peter, of course. He was very big in my day, though I was far too young first time around. But I was there for his comeback. Such a shame that media-hungry person got her hands on him.’
'Who...'
'We don't mention her name, not after... well, you know.'
I smiled and nodded.
‘What seems to be the problem, Mrs…?’
‘Didn’t they tell you?’
‘They never tell me anything. They just tell me where to go and expect me to work it out for myself. You can’t get the staff these days.’
She stared at me for moment and I thought I’d gone too far.
‘In fact,’ I said, thinking fast, ’if you don’t mind, I’m going to go outside and give them a piece of my mind. You don’t want to hear the language I’m going to use.’
‘Now you’re here, you might as well take a look at it.’
‘I really think I should…’
‘You might as well take a look at it, now you’re here.’
She was tiny and frail, and I could have pushed her over with one finger and made my escape, but she had that no-nonsense look in her eyes that always throws me.
‘Where...?’
‘In there, of course.’
She pointed to the bedroom, and that got me really worried.
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘He’s in there.’
I really did not want to get involved with any silver swingers; it's a policy of mine.
‘Who?’
‘Why, Benji, of course.’ She smiled then and made me think of my gran, and her inedible cakes, and visible underwear.
‘After you,’ I tried, thinking I could still make a run for it.
‘No, you first. He‘s waiting for you.’