Behold a Dark Mirror (3 page)

He rummaged in the kitchen, annoyed at the constant necessity of eating.  His food was nondescript;  he didn't care.  Later, he sank in his recliner for his nightly ceremony of music appreciation.  He took a grain at random from his music library and dropped it in the projector, then dimmed the lights.

A steady drumbeat flooded the room and thumped on his chest:  rhythmic patterns from ancient popular songs.  A band of four with several dancers appeared over his thighs;  oops, he was watching a stage show from the wrong angle.  Knob twisting brought the stage to eye level.

The music was hard to appreciate, but the show was interesting.  The dancers twirled as Nero rocked the recliner, looking forward to the mail that he would open soon.  When the music stopped and the images faded, he reached for the old-fashioned lamp next to his chair and turned the dimmer up.

The cone of yellow light shone brighter against the rest of the now-dark room:  Another glacial night had fallen.  He grabbed the envelope, tore the wrapper and pulled the optical card.  The unmarked slice of coated polymer made him pucker his lips.  It carried no serial number, no ID, no brand, no tax stamp...  The card was illegal.

He inserted it into the reader, which clicked.  The screen lit up, but stayed blank:  Nero's bootleg letter was a voice-only recording.

"History is poised on your shoulders, my friend.  I truly mean that the freedom of mankind will depend on what you decide after hearing what I have to say," a woman's voice announced.

CHAPTER 3

He was indeed a criminal, Jenus realized, looking in horror at the finger.  The phone rang.  Jenus paused to recompose himself.

The phone kept ringing.  He answered, disabling the video.

"Hello?"

"Hi Jenus.  Why's the video off?"

"Oh, Janet, sure...  Hi dear.  Oh, yes, I disabled it, I was...  I'm taking a shower." 
We had a date tonight, I forgot!  What time is it?  8:15 PM, not too late, I can still invent something.
  "My, I’ve wasted our reservations, I'm terribly sorry, I got caught up in some urgent stuff with the la...    With my lawyer about...  About taxes, yes, about taxes.  He told me he needed to see me at once, so I went, and didn't realize how late I stayed."

"I believe I'll forgive you, then.  You sound so strange–is it serious?  If a lawyer works on Saturday I imagine so.  Are you in trouble?"

"Well, yes and no." 
Trouble–can I tell you about this trouble, honeybunch?
  "In fact I am worried, but not too much.  Nothing too serious." 
Good cover, but won't hold
.  "But that's shop stuff, let it not ruin the rest of the evening.  What can we still do tonight?  What about, say, dinner and a night club?" 
Maybe I should tell her everything.  Maybe not, why get her into this?  But if I don't and she finds out, I'm history.

"Would you rather stay at home and cuddle, and talk?"

Yes, yes, precisely—but too dangerous.
  "I don't think so, Jaya." 
And I don't want you in this mess altogether.  Ah–did I think that?
  "I need some fun action.  Let's drop shop talk for now."

"Sure, if you want.  Dinner and club is fine."

"Can you arrange something for, ah, say, nine o'clock?"

"Any preference?"

"You pick.  I'll get you at 8:55, your place."

"What about dinner
at
a night club?  Corinne was telling me about a new hangout she liked.  It sounded interesting."

"Corinne?  That'll be something, then.  I'll be there soon.  Bye now."

"Bye-bye," she said, and hung up.

Clean the kitchen.  Destroy that–that thing.  Put all papers in a safe place–where?  Shower.  Get dressed:  what should I wear?

*

Oh-eight fifty-seven PM, said his watch:  He was on time.  The entrance door to Janet's apartment was solid oak with brass decorations;  it advertised a steel core to discourage burglars. 
How often do people expose themselves in the objects around them?
  Jenus thought.

He rang the doorbell.  Janet opened the door, flashing a smile from ear to ear.  As Jenus stepped in, the door swung behind him and locked shut with a resolute metallic snap.

"Jenus, I'm so happy you're here–let me look at you.  How wonderful:  Slacks, polo, and a blazer are perfect.  Let me put back what I'd picked from your closet, you know, just in case."

Janet wore a tailored fatigue, custom cut, made from soft military-green material.  Her black hair hung loose below her shoulders, framing the white skin of her long neck and face in a Gothic shroud.  The sharp lines of her jaws built an exciting contrast with her well-shaped nose and cheekbones and bewitching mellow stare.  She was very pretty, but that was not as important as how she moved or walked or looked at you, the same way an uncoiling king cobra carries more meaning than its appearance.

Janet turned away and disappeared into her bedroom. 
I dressed well,
Jenus thought,
that's a good start.
  Any recommendation of Corinne's was a wild card.  He sniffed, relishing the fragrance of
Enchantment
, a perfume she’d had him mix for her and they’d named together.  She always wore it on their dates.

"Where are we going, Jaya?"  He walked toward the bar, heels clicking on the wood parquet, and picked up a glass of thin crystal, very light.  He held it in his hand while pouring soda in it, feeling the chill of the filling water through the diaphanous glass.  "Drink?"

She emerged from the hall:  "No, thanks, we're leaving."

She led his hand to put the glass down on the table, and walked with him out of the apartment through the hall to the framepost all the while rummaging through her purse.

"Where’s Corinne's hangout?  Or should I say hideout?"  Jenus said.

"Ah!  Be a good sport now.  Corinne is a gold mine of information,  she told me for a late dinner and some fun, there’s nothing better than The Clearing, and not to go there alone.  I guess this will be exciting."

"How did she find this place?"

"She told me a friend took her there, but she wouldn't say more, other than he was handsome.  Someone very important, she hinted."  Janet winked, slid her card through the framepost.  "Here, this is the number for the dispatcher."

*

At destination, humidity wrapped Jenus as soon as the airlock opened.  Thick fingers of air too sticky and too hot to breathe engulfed his lungs.  Janet, too, gasped, looking at him as if this was his fault.  Jenus absorbed his surroundings:  The paint was peeling off the building, mildew grew in patches on the walls, which were painted an offensive green;  at least there were no graffiti.  A sheen of sweat was appearing on his skin, none on Janet's, yet. 
Great makeup.

Outside, they found a vehicle-rental booth.  A bit farther away was a large masonry building with official-looking markings.  Beyond that, forest.  The sky was at dusk–or dawn?

Janet approached the booth.  She reappeared with a set of keys, and pointed to a four-wheeler.  "Do you want to drive, or shall I?"  She said.

"You know where we're going, honeybunch;  please do drive."  Jenus said, looking forward to the air conditioning.  He added, "Thanks for soothing my ego and asking." 

Janet smiled.

The electric motors purred, pulling them out of the parking lot.  His shotgun seat had an uncomfortable, annoying, and shifting pressure point under his left thigh, probably a broken spring.  After a half hour on a dirt road through rainforest, a clearing opened showing their destination under the darkening sky:  a cluster of huts, one of them very large.

They parked;  heat and humidity hit Jenus again after the coolness of the vehicle.  Music and laughter drifted off the largest hut;  smells of spiced foods wafted in the air, fighting the ever-powerful presence of
Enchantment
.

Maybe the Amazon basin
, Jenus considered.  Electric lights shone in the primitive-looking buildings;  a small painted sign announced the place as The Clearing.

Jenus took in the caliber of the machinery in the parking lot, which included a number of aircars and a few orbital hoppers.  Only an exclusive clientele traveled by aircar, and hoppers were plain unaffordable to own as a personal vehicle: had to be either part of some corporate fleet or rented for the occasion.  He wondered how much this meal would end up costing him.

Janet looked at him.  "The food is good–now I've told you all I know.  I've never been here before;  should we go on?"

Right..."
Why not?  It looks exciting."

At the door, a small man greeted them with a half smile:  "New patrons?"

"Indeed."  Jenus answered, looking around.

"Sir, ma'am:  identity documents, for both of you, please?  No records kept, of course, but we need to take precautions."  He winked.  "I am sure you understand.  As you may or may not be aware of, we have a substantial cover charge.  We accept cash also."

Janet looked at Jenus, who looked back at her and shrugged.  She offered her ID;  Jenus offered his, and his credit chip.  If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

The little man smirked and disappeared with their documents.  Shortly he returned.  "All appears in order sir," he said looking at Jenus, and nodded to Janet, "Ma'am.  I'm sure we won't disappoint you.  Tonight there's an excellent program.  The cover charge takes care of your food and drinks.  Emanuelle will be your hostess.

An elegant dark-skinned girl approached them:  "I am Emanuelle.  Please call me for anything," she said, then bowed and gave them a small gadget with a red button on it.  Emanuelle wore her dark complexion like a sophisticated piece of makeup.  Jenus thought her accent appropriately exotic;  Janet looked at her as if she was a piece of antique furniture with too much history.

"Would you like a table that is private, or a table closer to the show for this evening?"

"Private will be fine," Janet said quickly.

Emanuelle led them to a booth with a thick native hardwood table and chairs upholstered in pastel silk, not too soft nor too hard, and no loose springs:  Nero found them sincerely comfortable.  The outer wall of the hut provided a side to the booth.  Tall soundproof dividers rose behind their seats.  The fourth side opened to the center.

"A drink before dinner?"  Emanuelle offered.

"Yes, I'll have a highball, lots of ice please.  Janet?"  She nodded.  "Two then, Emanuelle."

"Sir, Madam.  I'll return immediately."  She bowed and disappeared.

The hut was spacious, with a wide funnel-shaped circular floor higher at the outer edge than at the center.  At the center of the funnel a bright round well sank about two meters into the floor.  The flat bottom of the large well was the stage presumably;  the walls of the stage were vertical, and several doors opened into them.  Jenus could see a few patrons as dark outlines in the dim surroundings;  if the clientele of The Clearing liked a low profile, its ambiance obliged.

"Why's the stage below ground?"  Janet said.

Jenus looked at her and shrugged.  "You tell me, honeybunch..."

A showman–a fine singer–played melodic songs on a piano.  Good music, intimate lighting and setting, fascinating exotic smells mixing with
Enchantment
, the texture of fine cloth covering their seats, intricate carvings in the hardwoods fulfilled the moment.  And Janet was exquisite company.  Jenus sighed, contented.  He winked at Janet;  she winked back.  The other huts, Jenus joked to himself, must be kitchen and bathroom. 
I wonder how much is the cover charge.
  He wanted to check, but not enough.

Emanuelle returned with their drinks and introduced them to dinner;  she was a skilled hostess.  He ordered a crab soufflé with sweet pea mousse;  Janet took some strange bird on the spit with a sauce of cream and mixed berries.  The crab was buttery and spicy, with a delicate chewy texture–a match for the sweet-and-sour mousse, smooth with crunchy bits and tart enough to be distinct, but never overwhelming.  Janet appeared delighted with her food, too.  The wine turned out well:  dry, smooth, chilled, with a personality to match the formidable fare.

As they were eating, the show continued with a comedian–Jenus and Janet laughed until they cried.  Then there was a juggler.  A magician followed, and next a can-can ballet.  By then, dinner was over, including dessert:  They both had whipped marsala and sweet avocado pudding on thin crusty slivers of chocolate, which they fed to each other.  Jenus loved the creamy pudding, the texture highlighted by the bittersweet crunch of the chocolate, the woody marsala underflavor contrasting its sweetness.  It was even better when eaten off Janet's palm...

A liveried man entered the stage to announce the main attraction for the night, 'Jack and the Crocodile.'

Lights went down, spotlights shining onto the stage.  A door opened to let a young man into the limelight.  When the door closed behind him, the youngster tried to re-open it to get out, as if unaware of the audience.

A low door opened, allowing onto the stage a large crocodile, one of the few left on Earth.  Drums rolled in the background.

A crocodile killed on stage, live,
Jenus thought.  The youngster looked terrified. 
How's the kid going to kill that monster?

Janet fidgeted.

The beast slithered towards the boy, who ran away.

Jenus readjusted himself in his seat.

The reptile kept snapping his jaws at the boy, moving ever closer.  The boy kept running, dodging, apparently growing more and more tired.

Jenus turned to Janet:  "What’s going on?  Did they get the wrong man here?  Do you think the kid is in trouble or is he setting us up?"

Janet didn't respond.  She had turned even paler under her jet black hair.  The tail of the crocodile whacked the youngster on the leg.  The youngster stumbled.  The crocodile turned around, almost bit him before the boy could get up and out of reach once more, limping.

"Jenus..."  Janet whispered.

"Uh?"  Jenus cocked his head, his attention on the show.

"Jenus, I have a sick feeling," she went on a bit louder.

Jenus's attention partly shifted.  "Yeah, I can see you don't look well.  The food..."

"No, Jenus, not the food," she said.  "It's the show.  This is the wrong show, Jenus."

The kid on stage was having a harder and harder time.

"Jenus, this is the wrong show!"  Janet cried, which got Jenus's full attention.  She was hysterical.  "This is not man-kills-beast-for-fun, this is beast-eats-boy-for-hunger.  Jenus, do something!  Now!"

"No way, can't be!  You mean...?"  The light dawned on Jenus.  His jaw dropped:  "You're right," he whispered, looking at the boy, now limping only a couple of meters away from the pressing animal.  "But it can't be like that..."

Janet rose to her feet.  "If you do nothing, I'll have to do something myself."

Jenus snapped out of his trance, looked into her eyes for an instant.  He fumbled with his coat, his forearm deep under, and pulled his electrogun from the holster.  Janet's brows rose, her mouth open.

Jenus stood up.  Hiding behind the dividers, he held his breath, aimed with care and fired a burst of needles.  Janet stared at him, backing against the booth.  The rolling drums covered the soft crackle of the shots propelled by a powerful electrostatic charge.  On stage, the crocodile slowed down.

"I can't believe I did that," he said and turned to Janet:  "Now, we run."

Janet was still pale.  "I didn't know.  I didn't know, this is so sick, so sick, sick."

"Let's go before someone figures out what happened.  Quick."

The little man at the door ignored them.  He stared towards the stage, muttering "Lousy sleepy overfed sonofadinosaur."

Outside, they raced to their off-road.  Jenus took the wheel and drove back in half the time it took them to get there.  When they got to Janet's place, she had calmed down a little.