FOURTEEN
Roger Bracken stood to one side of the room and some distance frome the rest of the prisoners. He was partiall;y screened from them by a large potted palm, but he could see them clearly. It was the way he wanted it, for he was in no mood to speak to anyone at the moment. He had a terrible headache and his stomach was queasy.
What a fool he’d been to drink so much, he thought ruefully. What’s more ne needed to piss badly, but unfortunately the restrooms were at the far end of a hall, and to get there, he’d have to run the gauntl of the Primagnons. The events of the evening had sobered him and now he was left with one hell of a hangover. There was another feeling gnawing at the the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with his queasiness. It was the distinct canker of fear. Alone with his thoughts, he went over again all the mind-boggling events of the evening. In the past he’d always been resourceful. At the moment his often devious mind was working overtime to come up with a plan to turn the whole affair to his advantage, but so far he’d come up with nothing. He really couldn’t make too many plans, not when he didn’t know what he was up against
He looked over at the prisoners. His friends. Friends?--well acquaintances. There had never been that many friends in his political life. John Shipley had once ben his friend” That was long ago. Now the old man was dead. Bracken wasn't even certain what had killed the senate leader. He knew the old man had a history of heart trouble, so it would be correct to assume the evening had been too much for him.
He also watched the wives and lady friends in the group. Earlier they’d all looked so elegant, sleek and sophisticated. Some had even looked beautiful, But look at them now. B edraggled masses of humanity. their elegant coiffures were unkempt; with the stray ends falling over their faces, which were pale and drawn. It had been a long hard night and perhaps he should feel sorry they had been forced to live through such a time of terror. Perhaps soon they were to be subjected something even more horrible.
The make-up of the patrician ladies was smeared and faded. Many had gone into hysterics when the first shock wave hit. Consequently, their eye-shadow and mascara had run down to blend with the puffy skin under their eyes, giving them a haunted, cadaverous look. Even the glamourous ex-movie star resembled a slattern.
Bracken suddenly felt very alone. Hiswife had left him a couple of years ago for another man. He pulled himself up with the idea he didn’t really care, since he didn’t need her any longer. In reality, she'd been another necessity in his climb to success. He actually despised women. He felt they were only on earth to be used. Most of the time they only got in his way, gave bad advice and talked too much. He was lonely some of the time, but he was his own man and preferred it that way.
Bracken caught sight of Kirk Miller. The younger man looked distraught. The physicist constantly glanced around the room as he paced back and forth. He resemble a caged tiger who only wanted to escape and take his mate with him.
Jim Paulson, the newsman, stood very still with his arms folded across his chest. He was glaring bast the Primagnons at the door through which that redhead he’d come with had disappeared.
A whole cacophony of emotions marched through Bracken’s mind and body as he watched the group standing only a few feet way. All the time however, there was the awful gnawing at the pit of his stomach.
He glanced through the palm fronds to see two Primagnons approaching his hiding place. He shrank farther back into the shelter of the plant. The two were dressed in the now familiar uniform. One carried a weapon: the other had several stripes on his sleeve, Bracken assumed he was of higher rank. Yet they didn’t appear to be conscious of any rank distinction as they talked together like good friends.
The one with the weapon appeared to be concerned. They were close enough to Bracken so he could h ear clearly what they were saying.
“What’s going to happen to all these people?” the concerned one whispered to his friend.
“By our orders, those who don’t compute will have to be eliminated,” replied his superior.
“Oh? That’s too bad,” replied the other with genuine regret.
“Your’re right, but they all know too much. The mission is our primary objective and if word getsout before we’re ready...”
“Shhh!” cautioned the other as he looked in the direction of the larger body of prisoners. Most of them were staring at the two as if they could read their intentions. The men stopped talking and moved on.
“Eliminated?!
Bracken had overheard only part of the conversation. His mind translated to word to Killed and his conscience was jarred by guilt which flooded his brain with memories of his past deeds. If someone were to be but to death, surely he was a prime prospect for execution. His public record was relatively pure, but these Primagnons apparently had ways to search behind his glib facade. They must know about the past deeds of Senator Roger Bracken. His mind recoiled from imagined agonies.
Unexpectedly, the Usher entered the room, and the sound of his entry jerked Bracken’s head around with such a jolt he felt a sharp pain. His eyes watched the approaching Usher and his associates. Sally Merriwhether was with them, along with a few others who had been taken earlier. Why were they being brought back? were they the ones who had computed or those being returned for elimination? The Usher spoke and Brackens taut nerves jumped at the sound. Vaguely Bracken watched Sally return to the arms of a grateful Jim Paulson. Under other circumstances the reunion would have been touching, but now, all the prisoners was concern for themselves.
The Usher called out. “Our next ten interviews will be with...” as each name was called , Bracken’s eyes grew wider with fear.
“...and the tenth name is Roger Bracken, the Senator from New York.”
At the mention of his name, Bracken flinched and moved farther back into the cover of the potted palm. He was still in plain sight, but it was the best he could do. The effort caused him to break wind loudly and many eyes turned in his direction.
“Ah, Senator,” smiled the Primagnon Usher. “Mr. Parker is most anxious to talk to you. Please come with us.” the Usher and a couple of guards approached the cringing man behind the palm.
“Please....Please don’t kill me!” he squeaked.
The Usher looked offended at the suggestion and tried to reassure the senator.
“We only want to talk to you, Senator,” he said gently.
The group was within arms length of the distraught Senator and the Usher extended a hand to help Bracken out of the tangle of fronds. Bracken stood his ground. The guards even resorted to the cattle Prods, but the Senator only danced a bit and wouldn’t move from the shelter of the palm.
Finally they took hold of him firmly by the arms and pulled him free of the greenery. His eyes rolled wildly as he continued to plead for his life. The guards were finally forced to drag him bodily toward the far end of the room,
Jim Paulson, who was watching the Senator’s performance with great interest, remarked to no one in particular.
“Remember when he ran on a platform of Brave New Leadership? There goes our brave leader.”
Those who were aware of the struggle watched the Primagnons push and pull. even at times half carry the distraught Senator bodily to the the far end of the ballroom and though the familiar door.
Inside the office, Senator Bracken cowered back from the Primagnon leader and the guards had to haul him forward to face their leader.
Bracken knelt and groveled at the Primagnons feet; sobbing for breath, crying like a small child who had been severely punished for being caught in the cookie jar. A small puddle began to form on the floor, as in his terror, the powerful Senator released the last of his dignity, and knelt in his own urine.
A human being would have been disgusted by the humiliating sight, but Primagnon Parker only smiled down at the distraught politician. The fragile complexities of the human nervous system never ceased to amaze
him. He was one of the few of his kind who had been born a Primagnon. He never lived through the pain or frustration that could torment the human soul. All he knew about suffering was what he’d learned by observation. And although he could understand and even sympathize, it was only through research, not from personal experience.
While studying the trembling man before him. Parker considered what the computers had told him about this Senator Roger Bracken. The man had real possibilities in spite of his present condition. He had several serious flaws to his character, but these would be washed away during The Change.
At last the Senator found his voice, and in a pitiful, whining sound, began to plead for his life.
“I don’t want to die, Please don’t kill me. I didn’t mean to. I don’t want to die”.
He sounded rather like a disagreeable recording with a crack in it. He blubbered and slobbered down his already disreputable stiff, white shirt front and the Primagnon leader felt a pang of impatience with the man’s cringing performance. He sighed and touched Bracken’s shoulder. Bracken shank back as he’d just felt the cold steel of the headsman’s ax as the executioner checked his mark.
“ My dear Senator Bracken, will you please try to pull yourself together? We don’t wish to harm you. You’re much too valuable and potent a leader for us to even think of eliminating you,” Parker told him in a soothing tone of voice.
One the others in the room brought the leader a tall glass of the green liquid. Parker took it and offered it to the still kneeling Senator.
“Here, drink this. It will make you feel better.”
Parker’s kindly manner somewhat softened Bracken’s terror and he looked at the glass in Parker’s hand.
“What is it?” the Senator asked with a slight hiccough.
“Just call it a mild tranquilizer,” replied the Primagnon leader.
Bracken wiped his runny nowe on the back of his tux sleeve and took the glass.
“Than...thank you,” he stammered.
He studied the green liquid for a moment before taking a tentative sip. He found it good and took another. Like those before him, Bracken found the soothing potion did a great deal to put his exposed nerve ending back in their proper place.
Parker spoke to the two attendants. “Please help the Senator. See his clothes are cleanedd and you can tidy up.”
Bracken heard the order given firmly but not harshly, and the two went to work. They helped Bracken rise, placed him in a chair and removed his trousers. While they were occupied, Parker pressed a button and another attendant dressed in coveralls entered with a device which looked something like a shop-vac. While the others removed the Senators trousers and shirt and wiped him down, the Janitor cleaned up the Senator’s mess. When he finished, there wasn’t a trace of filth left and the area was perfectly dry. Another of the Primagnons marvelous gadgets. The cleaning crew finished up by temporarily dressing the Senator in a garment similar the janitor’s coveralls. One of the attendants then took away the Senator’s soiled clothes for cleaning.
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