Ambient (32 page)

"He was so grateful to me at the time I coulda took the Wash ington Monument if 1'da wanted it. I figured there'd be somethin'
in those files worth havin'."

I supposed there was, somewhere in there, but I hadn't found
it. The second and third files seemed filled with the most bizarre
collections of material I'd ever seen.

"You could look for hours through those things without gettin'
tired," said the Old Man. "Like goin' through the phone book
on a rainy afternoon."

One folder told of the last years and Pacific burial place of
Amelia Earhart. A small yellow envelope contained the original
formula for Coca-Cola. A sonargram gave the approximate dimensions of a Loch Ness inhabitant, species unknown. A heavy
file dated 1971 concerned an unapproved patent for a pill that
converted water into a gasoline-like fluid; in the same file were
unapproved patents for the same type of product, dated 1954,
1932, 1919, and 1905. I glanced over the labels on a clutch of
vid cassettes.

"Greed?" I read aloud, "Reels 1 through 42.

"By way of Mussolini," said the Old Man. "Found in Albania. "

In the rear of each drawer was a collector's farrago-in one, a
photo of the building in which Judge Crater served as the cornerstone, a picture of the Chicago house where Martin Bormann
died, and a rough stone sphere. It was a broken geode; pulling
the split halves apart, I saw a shiny steel nail embedded in the
amethyst within, as if Godness had accidentally dropped it while
sorting things out at the start.

"What junk," I said, closing that drawer, opening another,
taking something out.

"Troublesome junk, at least," said the Old Man, yawning.
"Troubled some people."

I'd come across a file marked LONG ISLAND. I opened it,
and read.

"You look a little peaked there, O'Malley," I heard him say
after several minutes. "You musta found one of the good ones."

It was a lengthy report from the User Unfriendly Division of
the Chemical Intolerance Department of the Pentagon. A preliminary text discussed the accident itself and how easily it could
have been avoided; a subsequent passage described how, through
recombinant techniques, the antiradiation pills had been developed-how before they were given out it had been discovered
that unpredictable side effects were certain to occur. It was decided to distribute the pills anyway and discover what the side
effects might be, so it might be decided whether they would prove
useful in military action.

"And that's why darkies were born," the Old Man laughed,
slapping me on the back. As I read he'd crept up behind me and
had been reading along over my shoulder.

"Is it in here?" I said, replacing the file.

"Not anymore," he said, smiling. "Hasn't been for a long,
long time."

"So you're the only one who knows what it is?"

"Well, now," he said, his grin becoming even more mischievous, "I wouldn't have said so a minute ago."

To find yourself wishing that either the world might end or that
you might, and that it wouldn't matter which so long as it happened soon, is a feeling that I hate to even admit that I had. Even
at the worst of times I had had it so much better than so many.
To take my lot and to have stayed satisfied should have been
enough for me, but it wasn't, and I'm not sure I'll ever figure out
why; it seems just one of those things. If a choice is made for
you, live with it; if a choice remains, take it. By those expressions I so often made my way. But at that point I felt almost ready
to welcome my choices being decided for me-almost.

"It's a nasty, nasty thing, O'Malley," said the Old Man, closing the drawer. "You don't want any part of it."

And I still did-

"Fact remains, O'Malley, you've done a hell of a lot to help
me out, but we're just gonna have to tie up a few loose ends
before everything's set aright again. I've got to admit that I think
you're lyin' about one thing, though, and that makes me feel a
little better-"

"You're going to take the chance that I am lying?"

"I didn't say that," he said. Jimmy walked over to where we
stood; from my eye's corner I only glanced at him. "There's a
lot of things I'm gonna hafta think about, O'Malley. I'd hate to
have to lose a valuable worker like you. We might be able to
work somethin' out yet."

"I'd certainly hope so," I said.

"We better do some thinkin' about it, though. Jimmy? See that
O'Malley's not disturbed."

Jimmy moved fast, lifting his arms around my neck, jerking
me back so quickly that I hadn't a chance to resist, even if I'd
tried. I never felt the pain until I reawoke.

When I awoke I felt as if my windpipe had been
crushed. After I coughed, spitting up blood from
some region down below, it seemed less sore, as
if it had only needed realignment. As I regained
consciousness fully, I found myself lying on a
rickety cot; my feet hung over the end, feeling cold, as if the
circulation had been cut off for a prolonged time. With difficulty
I managed to sit up; my bones ground against themselves as if
they were being rubbed over stones. My eyes adjusted to the dim
light, and came unglued.

"How're you feelin'?" a voice asked; the Old Man spoke.

"Terrible," I said, feeling giddy when I shifted my head. With
my hands I discovered that someone had been gracious enough
to wrap a fresh bandage around my brow. "Where are we?"

"The Tombs," he said. The old part, I estimated, to judge
from the cracks in the walls, the crumbling plaster, and the hospital-green paint. "You were out so sound for a while there I
started gettin' worried. Thought Jimmy mighta shown excessive
zeal in his application. You're doin' all right now, though?"

"What time is it?"

"Nighttime. Feelin' well enough to go for a little walk?"

Avalon sat on another cot, across the small room. She now wore a baggy jumpsuit, as if preparing for maneuvers. She was
staring at me now, as if to give an impression of concern.

"Walk where?"

"I'd like you to meet somebody," he said. "I've been thinkin'
about what to do with you. I think I've come to a decision'll just
about please everybody."

"Just about?"

"Nothin's perfect, O'Malley. Can you make it?"

I stood, slowly and painfully. My throat felt as if it had been
sandblasted. Avalon stood up as well.

"What sort of decision?"

"Now, now," he said. "You'll have to start gettin' used to
things first. And you are a curious sort. Let me show you a few
things'll really perk your interest. Come on."

"Goodbye, Avalon," I said, wondering what response I might
receive.

"She's comin' with us most of the way. Come on, let's go."

"Who am I going to meet?"

"Alice. "

On several occasions I'd been to the Tombs, certifying that
problematics had been properly delivered as requested by Dryco,
but on none of those visits had I ever gone beyond the first floor
offices. So near as I could make out, we were on a higher flooras we stepped from the room we passed a small window, and I
caught a fast glimpse of the darkness outside. Not far from the
room to which I'd been delivered, just beyond the Pepsi machines in the hall, was the area where-this is just a guess, these
spaces are usually recognizable-the police brought those meant
for immediate disposal. It was a long room papered with soundproofed matting; the matting's fiber escaped through the thousands of pockmarks spotting its surface. In the floor were innumerable holes for drainage, as if for an autopsy table.

It was a quiet night; apparently no one put in overtime on this
floor. Several rooms we passed, their doors ajar, appeared to be awaiting new transients; some were empty, some were furnished
comfortably, as if for a lounge. One looked to have been, at first
glance, set up as some rudimentary terrarium; a row of pots lined
the bottom of the wall facing out, and in them were planted tall,
long-armed cacti, aligned crosslike as if ready for someone to be
fastened upon them.

We walked and walked, reaching a wider, brighter hall, somewhere deep in the new building. The hall we trod there stretched
seemingly for miles of whiteness and indirect light. We turned
once, turned again. In none of those walls were doors or windows, signs or directions. The Old Man led us as if by memory.
Besides the clap of our footsteps I heard only the satisfied drone
of machines at play. At last we reached the end of the hall; a
small vestibule led directly off the main passage, just before.

"Stay in there, hon," the Old Man said to Avalon. "Just make
yourself comfy."

"Why can't I go in there with you two?" she asked.

"Nothin' in there you wanta see. Come on now, we'll be finished soon."

She went in, sitting down in the chair that was provided within.
There was a small slot in the wall facing us; into it the Old Man
slipped a green card. A panel slid open; a yellow strobe flashed
over his face-examining his retinas, I supposed. The panel slid
shut. Nothing happened.

"Goddamn thing never works right," he said, sounding disgusted. He leaned against the wall, rubbing his shoulder against
it several times. A door opened; we went inside.

"Here's where we take problem children, O'Malley. Let's see
the teacher. "

The room was ellipsoid, fifteen feet high, nearly a hundred feet
across. Closed doors, knobless and handleless, lined the wall but
for a small section near the entranceway through which we passed;
there, a window in the wall looked upon Avalon, sitting in that
tiny room.

"Can she see us?" I asked. The Old Man shook his head. In
the room's center was a large corporate blue mainframe square,
five feet high, thirty feet long on each side. On top, near the edge
facing us, was a small terminal panel attached to a plasma monitor screen. Just below the keyboard was the legend, NIHIL OB-
STAT ALIENUM PUTO.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Wonderland," laughed the Old Man. "Far as we want to
go.

"So where's-"

"Don't be so damn impatient," he said. "AO, Alice.
QL789851 ATM. "

The monitor blipped; the screen came aglow with pale blue
light.

"I was busy," it said.

"No need to be grumpy, Alice," said the Old Man.

"Perhaps no need but much desire," said Alice. "How are
you, Seamus?"

The computer's voice chimed, sounding unlike any machine
voice that I'd ever heard: it was a woman's voice, a husky alto,
with theatrical phrasing and diction sharp as ice; the tone nearly
so cold-of human coldness, and not of machine's.

"I'm-all right."

"That's surprising," she-it-said.

"That I'm all right?"

"That you'd lie about it."

"How you doin', Alice?" asked the Old Man, sounding as if
he'd run into an old buddy in the street. "O'Malley works for
my son, you know."

"Worked," corrected Alice. "Muddying the innocent as ever,
I see. Have you regrets, Seamus?"

"Perhaps for reasons you're not expecting-" I began to say.

"I expect no reasons, Seamus," she said. "Nor do I want any.
If you have regrets I should be curious as to what they are, but wish no justifications for them. That I should even know them
isn't essential.''

I wasn't sure what to say in response.

"Isn't she somethin'?" he said, rocking on his heels.

"Please feel no fright at my presence, Seamus," she said. "My
intentions are no less honorable than yours. "

"She was designed to be a number twelve," he said, frowning. "She must be in the three digits by now. Six years in production. In operation five years. We needed an overseer we could
trust, Susie thought. So we took a buncha teams of Al boys from
IBM and Cray, brought over some Japs, drug out one geniusnut-who'd been livin' out in the Wisconsin woods. They'd all
been workin' along these lines for years. We got 'em all together
to make it a little more streamlined. They worked a spell and
came up with Alice. If her mainframe was the old size, she'd be
big as the whole state, I'd bet. Whole floor below us is her Freon
unit. Alice thinks so fast she'd go screwy otherwise. Keep her
ass cool and her mind works like a trap. Just like a woman-"