Kaleidoscope Century

by Barnes, John

  So it was kind of fun to get some liberals and some right-wingers over, give them a lot of beer, and let them fight it out with four separate remote controls. They were all whooping and hollering in there, and I was out in the kitchen getting Maja and her two friends started on serving the goodies — I had them naked in heels, one each to serve dope, beer, and pills — when the shouting started to sound different, like something was going on.

  “You all got that?” I asked Maja. She nodded. I gave her breast a squeeze for luck and walked back into my living room to see if the flashchannel set was on fire or something.

  AFFC had broken into the “Meet the Candidates” forum and they had some old gray-haired dick up there looking worried. “What? What?” I said. “Where’s the show?”

  People made a “shhh” sound, forgetting whose flashchannel set this was. Then I heard what he was saying.

  “The fourth major coup in Moscow in the last decade took on a more sinister turn as related coups occurred in Belgrade and Tirana, and German authorities moved to contain anti-government rioting in the former East Germany — “

  Someone had clicked up all four inset screens; two of them showed tanks rumbling through streets, one with rocks and bottles ringing off it. Another showed some city — somebody said he thought it was Tallinn — with the scary guys in black with shades marching around looking intimidating. The fourth showed President Kennedy looking worried and answering questions. “Depth it to Kennedy,” I said, “maybe he can explain things.”

  “He can’t even explain his check stubs,” somebody muttered, but then the inset screen zoomed up, leaving the main screen — the one that showed the newscaster — running in the upper left corner.

  “We don’t know about that,” Kennedy was saying. In the wide-angle screen you could see it was a press conference. “Right now all we can say is that everything looks bad. We’re in constant touch with our NATO allies about this, most especially our newest NATO members, Finland, Latvia, and the CEU. We think whatever’s going on, there’s a lot that needs to be explained, and we call on all sides to remain calm and not to try to exploit any opportunities.”

  One of the reporters in one of the inset screens put his hand up, and his voice came through the main channel. “Mr. President, what can you tell us about the uprisings in Berlin, London, and Rome?”

  “I can tell you that they started hours before word of the coups d’etat in Moscow, Sofia, Belgrade, Bucharest, and Tirana had reached anyone in the West. We’re proceeding on the assumption that they are not coincidental.”

  “And if they’re not, Mr. President, then what — “

  “I’m sorry, there’s another hand up and I’m not taking follow-ups — “

  The black woman who stood up was subcaptioned “People of Color Alliance Radio,” and the room groaned, but then they all applauded when her question was, “That’s all right, Mr. President, I’ll ask the same question. If the uprisings are not coincidence, what are you prepared to do about it?”

  “Let me just say this. We have clear evidence that trouble was about to break out in Helsinki and Prague this morning, but fortunately our intelligence service was able to alert local police and matters are in hand. It’s now becoming clear that there were large underground organizations in place. We’d have to assume, I think, that if it turns out mat those organizations are linked to Moscow, to the uprisings in the West, and to the assassination of Prince Regent Edward and several Cabinet ministers this morning, we will move hard and fast, because this looks like the first few shots of a war. If that’s what anybody has in mind, well, it’s a war they’ll get. And I call on those who may oppose us to think again. We’ve been prepared to fight in Europe for more than fifty years now, and we’re as ready as ever. I call on those behind the coups, the rioting, and the senseless violence, to think again and back off. Because we will not be frightened. You know my father once said he was a Berliner; I say now, I am a citizen of Europe — and I mean of Riga, and Helsinki, and Prague — and we’ll fight for every inch of ground.”

  “Fuck, here it goes,” someone said. Others were babbling about what might have happened in Prague that morning, and did anyone know anything?

  “Hold it,” I said, “I’ll talk to somebody I know in Base Security that can fill me in. After that I gotta call family in the States. And then if we don’t all have to run off to get blown up, let’s at least make this a party to remember — ‘cause it’s gonna be the last one.”

  Everyone applauded. I gave a holler: “Maja, bring on the goodies!” and when the three girls came out of the kitchen with the stuff, that was more than enough distraction.

  I picked up the phone in the bedroom and dialed a number I had memorized years ago, but never used. “Who is this?” the man’s voice at the other end said.

  “Hi mom,” I said. An easy-to-remember password that you could let people overhear.

  “Tomorrow night, go to your regular work period. ‘Eagle’ is on unless you hear a cancel from us. Acknowledge.”

  “Sure, mom,” I said. “Tomorrow night unless I hear from you.”

  The man hung up.

  We had no operation code-named Eagle, and no message I received over that line was actually an order. The line was intended to be overheard, and to put them off my track.

  “Tomorrow night” was the phrase that meant that I could expect arrest at any time; I was to destroy any evidence, do whatever harm I could quickly, and get myself under cover, to one of the safe spots we had pre-arranged. Mostly just filler to confuse the NATO counterintelligence guys; probably there were a hundred more references to “Eagle” scattered through Organization channels.

  I dialed another number. “Hiya, Linda. It’s me, Josh.”

  “Oh, hi,” she said, her voice getting warm and friendly, “I can’t talk right now, things are crazy, and I can’t tell you anything about it — “

  “That’s okay, Hot Ass,” I said — figuring I’d at least get something embarrassing into her files; she giggled — “I’ve had the news on, and I know. I just wanted to make sure I had clearance onto the base — I’d rather come in and work, where I’ll be underground in a bunker surrounded by guards, than sit in a wood-frame building in a city where fighting could start any minute. Can you clear me onto the base for that? I’d have been coming in tomorrow, anyway.”

  “Sure, no problem. Anything else?”

  “Just two. One, you might want to have counterintelligence come down and talk to me, I’ve got something for them. And two, I’m crazy about you.”

  “You’re sweet. Okay, get here as soon as you can, and I’ll have someone go down and interview you at your post. That’ll give the officers more time to figure out where to use the extra hand, anyway.”

  “You’re an angel, Linda. And you’ve got the tits to prove it.”

  She gave another shriek and giggle, said, “Oh, you,” and hung up.

  I’d been fucking Linda, and then relaying everything she said about life on the base to an Organization drop. She’d never let anything slip that seemed valuable to me, but I wasn’t an analyst. For all I knew what I was getting from her was vital.

  I had gotten her drunk enough to compromise herself a couple of times at parties — I had a great shot of her topless, dancing in front of several men — and I’d been commended for maintaining such a good contact.

  The two possibilities were that she was unaware, and merely a bad security officer that I was taking advantage of, or that she was counterintelligence herself, and they were on to me. What I had just done was to put them (with luck) off the track no matter what. They might think I’d decided to turn myself in, they might think I was coming in early to get started on whatever “Eagle” was, or they might think nothing at all. In any case, they’d be waiting for me at the base rather than sending a car out to get me.

  Back in the living room, everyone was getting high and drunk as fast as they could, except for a couple of nerds and straight arrows who were jus
t leaving, heading back for the base, like they might miss the war or something. I saw those guys out the door as quickly as I could — they would have spoiled what I had in mind next — and then turned back to my other guests. “It’s what it sounds like,” I said. “According to my inside contact, fucking war for sure. Already starting down in the Balkans, and both sides are moving forces up to the line around Michalovce and Krosno. Lots of violence in the city here. Linda said on your way back, you’re authorized to shoot if any civilian does anything even a little bit weird.”

  “How often you been inside that contact, Josh?” somebody shouted.

  “Jesus, why do you care? With Linda there’s plenty for everybody,” I said. That brought a roar of laughter. “The deal is, the way I see it, probably nothing moves till tomorrow night, and they don’t want to make the situation worse by moving too fast, if there’s any chance the Sovs might back down. So we probably won’t be called up till close to regular time. But that’s all diplomatic bullshit, and nobody thinks it will work. There’s a fucking war on as of tomorrow. So — might as well make this a fucking party, hunh?”

  Everyone whooped.

  “Maja!” I said. “Come here, babe. Set down the tray.”

  She looked nervous, but she probably felt safer coming to me than she would have trying to get away, especially since she was naked. “I figure,” I said, “we’re all out of here in a day and nobody’s going to come looking for us, so we might as well have some fun.” I grabbed Maja by her shoulders and pushed her forward onto all fours. She cried out in fear and I slapped her butt, clutching her head under my arm. “Quiet, piggy. We’re going to all get some pork.”

  The place roared with laughter. Maja tried to stand up. I shoved her ass back down, swinging her around so that her bare bottom was toward the crowd. “Now who wants some?”

  One of Maja’s girlfriends tried to break for the door, and two men tackled her, spilling the tray she was carrying everywhere, forcing her to the floor. One of them, shouting “Pig, pig, pig,” grabbed a beer bottle and shoved it into the girl’s ass, making her shriek; already another man was kneeling behind Maja and undoing his pants.

  That got it started; the third girl was pulled down onto the floor, crying “Ne! ne! ne!,” her heavy breasts shaking as she struggled against the men holding her wrists. She started screaming when two big men pulled her legs apart. I heard my coffee table go crunch as someone climbed over it to get at Maja, and thought, well, fuck it, I’m not packing the furniture, anyway, and it’ll all be gone soon.

  In the other corner they dragged the girl up onto her knees by the hair, the bottle still protruding from her ass, and the men were lining up; one of them was forcing her jaws open. I looked around the room with satisfaction; nobody was watching me, they were either on the women, or watching the others. Left to themselves they’d probably kill one or two of the girls before they were done, but they weren’t going to get that much time. I slipped off into the bedroom again, dialed 158 (the equivalent of 911), spoke my address into the phone several times, and then let the phone dangle over the edge of the bed. The screaming in the background ought to get the cops here in a hurry.

  The way the men were whooping rhythmically told me they were doing something to one of the women, probably Maja to judge from the steady sobbing and the oinking noises they were making at her. I didn’t bother to look out; my bedroom window opened on the alley, and all I needed was my jacket from the closet.

  There had been rumblings and rumors all summer, and the last week had been a pretty tense one, so I had my basic “evacuation system” ready to go: a nice, powerful charge in a metal Macintosh case. I opened the slot I had cut in the box, slipped in the single folder that held everything incriminating, and set the detonator for fifteen minutes or whenever someone touched the box, whichever came first. With luck the Czech cops would be in the middle of busting the place when the bomb went off. Make some chaos. Good deal. Get going.

  I turned to my closet and slipped on my heavy leather jacket, though it was a warm day outside. Inside pocket: already packed and zipped with all the documents I had to have. Left front pocket: Czech papers for false i.d. Open jewel box on dresser, get out key, Boy Scout knife, and book of matches, zip into right front pocket. Touch pocket once for luck. Check watch, forty-two seconds, better than any rehearsal. I stepped out me window to the alley.

  Fifteen minutes later, sitting on a bench in a public park,

  I had been hearing sirens for about ten minutes. The distant explosion came right on time, and if the timer had run all the way out, they hadn’t been very hot on my trail. If they had been, they’d have conducted a real search, and set the bomb off earlier.

  “Do you know what the sirens are about?” an old guy asked me, in Czech.

  I said, “American soldiers raping Czech girls. All over the city. This is how they help us. This is their ‘democracy.’ “

  The old man’s eyes gleamed crazily. “It was better in the old days. Vanya was a better friend.” (Vanya: diminutive of Ivan, equivalent of “Johnny,” nickname for Russians anywhere in Eastern Europe.)

  “Yes,” I said. “I hear too that the Americans have been given one last leave to go out and rape and rob in the city. Some of them are shooting civilians for fun. They gave them all their pay for the year in advance because so many of them won’t be coming back. I think I may take a knife tonight and see if I can get some of that.”

  I watched him toddle off with his cane to spread the gossip. That ought to get some things going and maybe give some people ideas. Meanwhile, I needed to pass the time till dark, so I got up from the bench and took a long, wandering stroll through that beautiful city in the autumn sunlight, staying away from everyone and from all the sounds. Not hard — most people were hiding inside.

  Prague was wonderful then, just days before it was wrecked. It had missed being bombed in the two big wars of that century, and in the golden glow of an Indian summer, it was like something out of a picture book. I was there later after the bombings and the fires, when they had put a dome over it, but to me, Prague always remains the beautiful medieval “city of a hundred spires,” trees blazing with fall colors, warm with buttery sunlight. I still kind of miss it.

  3.

  Late. The shadow of my house reaches out toward the beach. No more bugs. I wonder, if I go for a walk tomorrow, if I’ll find algae floating in the water, and why the water’s not ice — it must get cold enough at night.

  I’m not sure whether my memories of the black, dark skies of Mars are projections, or whether I’ve seen it. I don’t know why I’d have been out at night. Or why I visualize an airliner with an open top, like an old twentieth-century convertible. Must have been a dream.

  After all, I was an experienced ecoprospector, I knew the back country well, and I wouldn’t have been out at night. Though pressure suits are heated and well-insulated, being out at night is not really safe: if anything goes wrong, you’re a lot harder to find in the dark, and there are a lot fewer people standing radio watch. So it must have been fairly odd circumstances that had me out at night.

  The moon I thought was Deimos has been in exactly the same position each time I’ve looked for it, so I ask the werp. It turns out that decades ago the two moons were brought into areosynchronous orbits 180° apart, so that each now hangs over a single point on the Martian surface forever, like the old comsats or the supras around Earth. I ask the werp. It says the moon I’ve been looking at is Deimos, and that Phobos is not quite visible from here — I’d need to go a couple hundred kilometers west before it would hang above the horizon.

  While I’m asking questions I find out that the water in front of me is Lake Argyre, and that I could easily walk the two kilometers over to the station — from there the maglev will take me to Red Sands City in only about an hour. Closer than I had thought.

  I’m feeling disturbed. I’ve picked up that brass key and started playing with it again. I guess part of it’s the strange way m
emories get reconstructed; I have four written notes and a couple of verbal accounts of the day I bailed in Prague. I know it was October 1999, anyway, and that fits fine with the start of the Eurowar according to a history summary I called up on the werp. In one of the documents I found an account that had been swiped off a database somewhere, the report of a surviving cop, who said three women had been gang-raped and that they were all down in the ambulance at the time the bomb went off. Three cops and six suspects killed, two cops and four suspects wounded. They were looking for me, and all of the women swore I had raped them as well. I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

  The funny thing’s I feel this urge to apologize. I want to say (to three women who have been dead for at least thirty years, even if they lived to ripe old ages) that it was nothing personal. The Organization needed a public outrage committed by American servicemen, and some dead Czech cops, to add fuel to the fire. The excuse sounds weak in my mind.

  I think about that for a while. I wonder what the women thought they were getting into. They knew they’d be waiting on drunken soldiers, stark naked, and for that matter Maja at least was planning to turn a few tricks in the course of the day. Of course that’s different, agreeing to do it. Probably I could have handed each of them a couple of hundred and told them to lie down and spread for a gang-bang, and they’d have done it — but that wouldn’t have served my purposes. It wouldn’t have gotten rioting underway, nor sent the Czech, CEU, and NATO authorities on a wild goose chase.

  But I still feel bad about it. I’ve felt bad about it in the past, too. One of the voice recordings in there seems to have been recorded when I was drunk and weepy about it. That’s where I got some of my idea of the things that were done to the women.