Stark (42 page)
209: COUNCIL OF WAR
M
r Culboon and Chrissy were very relieved to see their friends again. It had been both a wearisome and a frightening wait in the parched desert with the temperature some five degrees hotter than usual. The physical discomfort had been complemented by a fair degree of the mental kind. It is a strange and disconcerting experience to sit in what should have been the still of the desert while Hades appears to be under construction not far away. They were very relieved that whatever happened next, at least the waiting was over. After the initial greetings, Mr Culboon noticed that not the whole party was present.
‘Where’s Rachel?’ he asked. ‘She’s gone over to them, man, and for kind of a depressing reason,’ answered Walter. ‘Who is them?’ asked Chrissy, eager to discover at last the nature of the beast she had been stalking.
And so between them Walter, CD and Mrs Culboon explained all that they had learnt. Chrissy was completely astonished by their extraordinary story; it far outdistanced any of the possible scenarios that she had conjured up herself to explain what was going on. In comparison to trying to recreate the story of the Ark, the idea of holding the world to nuclear ransom seemed fairly mild.
‘You are saying that they are convinced that there is no hope for the world. It really is dying?’ asked Chrissy. ‘Yeah, and they’re splitting man. The rats are leaving the sinking ship,’ said Walter.
‘Well we have to try and stop them!’ Chrissy replied.
‘Oh yeah, how?’ enquired Walter, ‘and also for that matter, why? Who gives a fuck? Let them go. If I have to die I don’t need pigs like that at the funeral.’
‘And what about Rachel?’ snapped CD who died a little every time he thought of Rachel’s decision. ‘Is she a pig?’
‘She had a chance, she made her choice,’ said Walter. ‘I have no problem with that. Personally I wouldn’t have decided to go. Like, for me, eternity with a bunch of bread- heads would not be a viable option.’
210: THE GREEN EYED MONSTER
C
D was at the end of his emotional tether, suddenly he found himself so hemmed in by unhappiness that it left him gasping for breath. He lit a cigarette without even trying to look cool. He was too far gone even to manage to construct some romantic fantasy out of the character of betrayed friends. An emotion had burrowed its way into his stomach and his soul, an emotion of such intensity that no matter how many times it washed over him, he remained surprised at its strength. He had become a jealous guy.
On the trip back to the cave, CD had tried to persuade himself that the anger and frustration, and deep deep sickness that he felt to his stomach, were to do with whom Rachel had chosen. He told himself that it was the fact that it was Moorcock that really hurt, the fact that she had defected to the very world which she and he had been trying to fight. This, he tried to believe, was the root of his despair, and an understandable and righteous root it would have been.
But it was not the case, this was not why CD felt the way he did. He would have felt the same way if Rachel had opted to go with St Francis of Assisi or the Mahatma Gandhi. CD was not seething over some betrayed principle. He was not sinking into chasmic despair because of the discovery that Rachel had feet of clay. He was in the state he was in through pure, unadulterated jealousy. He was discovering that beyond love, beyond unrequited love, perhaps beyond any other passion known to humanity, deep deep in the depths of the turgid, clinging, swamplike pit of despair that lies dormant, within every soul, lurks jealousy. Jealousy, that most demeaning and debilitating of emotions. Jealousy, which doubles the strength of the love upon which it is based but whilst doubling it, warps and perverts it, demeans it, until it is no longer recognizable as the thing of beauty it once was and nothing is left of love but lies, doubts and bitter self-loathing. Jealous love is no more like true love than Mr Hyde was like Dr Jekyll or a stagnant swamp is like a freshwater lake. CD could not be said to be feeling his best.
211: WHAT NEXT?
S
till, if CD was feeling down, at least it kept him from dwelling on the imminent death of the earth, which was the cheerful subject that the others were mulling over.
‘I still don’t believe their story,’ said Mr Culboon. ‘The world ain’t dying. I reckon they’re fixing to kill it, I still reckon they’re going to nuke the world and make us all slaves.’
‘Oh shut up, you old fool,’ said Mrs Culboon. ‘You weren’t there. I heard it from Rachel. They’re fixing to go all right and damn soon.’
‘Well for God’s sake we have to do something then!’ shouted Chrissy. ‘I mean we’re still alive aren’t we? The world isn’t dead yet is it? What are we going to do?’
‘Well, personally I was thinking of selling my pad,’ said Walter, ‘scoring the best grade shit I can and smoking my way to hell.’
‘Nice,’ said Zimmerman. But Chrissy did not think so.
‘Look, these people must know something, they must know a hell of a lot if they’ve made the decision they have. Maybe they know something that could help!’ Chrissy almost pleaded.
‘Listen, Chrissy, it’s exactly what they do know that’s made them make the decision they have. I mean, these guys have everything, they’re not likely to give it up unless they have no choice. I mean that’s why Rachel made the decision she did,’ said Walter. Chrissy was astonished at his fatalism but of course she had not heard what he had heard, and she wasn’t a hippy…
‘It can’t be too late,’ she continued. ‘Nobody’s even tried to stop the rot yet. But I’ll tell you something, if the world knew that men like nice old Slampacker’s hamburgers were doing this terrible thing, then they might wake up. We might still be able to patch things up on earth. This whole terrible plan could be the very motivation people need to get their act together!’
‘I think Chrissy has a point,’ said Mrs Culboon, ‘and also there’s another thing. If that bastard Moorcock is right, and it really is the very end of everything. And what goes up in those rockets really is going to be all that’s left of the human race…Well I reckon I’d die easier if I thought some decent folks were watching down on us from on high, instead of a bunch of men, selfish, grasping…‘ she was, for once, lost for words ‘…I’ll tell you one thing, I bet no black people have tickets on that flight at present.’
But she had struck a chord. CD spoke up, he was anxious that they should decide to do something, he could not stand just sitting around feeling the way he did. His guts were so heavy he felt that he was in danger of sinking into the ground.
‘Mrs Culboon’s right,’ he said, ‘I mean if we could stop them, I don’t know, get them arrested or something…then somebody else could escape instead…’
‘Like who?’ asked Mr Culboon. ‘Well, I don’t know, they could have a competition. Artists or something, I don’t know…’
‘Man all you’ll see is another set of fat cats standing in line,’ said Zimmerman cynically. ‘Politicians, soldiers, all that shit.’
‘I’m telling you, the thing to do is to stop the thing altogether,’ pleaded Chrissy, ‘…use it as a shrine, a monument, something to galvanize the human race into action…Christ even if we all have to go back to living in shacks and being penniless there must be a way to stop the rot.’
‘What do you mean, go back?’ asked Mrs Culboon, her humour returning. ‘Besides that,’ added Chrissy, ‘if anything is to be done to save the world we may actually need these people.’
‘Oh yeah, like a freak needs a drug squad,’ said Zimmerman. ‘I mean, shit Chrissy, these people have fucked absolutely everything right up. What the hell do we need them for?’
‘Look,’ said Chrissy, trying to martial her thoughts and not to sound patronizing, ‘it is possible, in fact it is pretty likely, that only those who have the power to destroy things so effectively have the power to create…The way the world is run, the way things get done, are incredibly complex…The means of production are owned by individuals; the raw materials of change are owned by individuals…’
‘Oh come on man,’ interjected Walter, ‘don’t give me any of that commie shit, like that’s all the same trip man you know? Like two sides of the same coin, ‘if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao, you ain’t gonna make it with anyone anyhow’,’ he said, quoting from the classics.
‘Listen meat-head,’ said Chrissy, whose long wait had not improved her temper, ‘it’s got nothing to do with commie shit, I’m a Roosevelt Democrat like my daddy before me, OK? I am talking economics,’ she continued. ‘If these bastards actually think that time is so short for the earth that they’re leaving, well then hell, time must be that short, right?…’
‘Now I reckon we’d better listen to this here Yanky woman, yes I do,’ said Mrs Culboon. ‘After all, we got to do something that’s for sure, and I guess she’s thinking a whole lot clearer than the rest of us sun-fried bunch of no hopers. Ain’t that right, Mr Culboon?’
‘You speak for yourself, woman,’ replied Mr Culboon. ‘I’m as sharp today as I ever was.’
‘Which is sharp as shit I reckon, old man,’ replied Mrs Culboon, ‘and that’s blunt. Go on, Chrissy. What’s the plan?’
‘I don’t have a plan, godammit, I just know,’ said Chrissy, ‘that these people represent a workable economic structure within which things get done. A structure which, in an emergency, could react quickly. It may be a shithouse structure but it’s there, it’s in place, it’s controlled and it takes orders. Now, if every damn boss in the world high-tails it, there will be complete economic chaos…’
‘As opposed to what we have now,’ interjected Walter, cynically.
‘Listen buster,’ said Chrissy — who had never said buster before in her life. ‘What we have now is a controlled slump, a cycle dip, it just means poor people starve, that’s all, it ain’t anarchy…Now if most of the damn bosses suddenly disappear at once it could be months, maybe years, before new chains of command emerge within their empires. There will be power struggles, court-room battles. For a while at least it will be almost impossible to shift money about, utilize assets, mobilize equipment, make a decision!!…Don’t you see? I understand money, nothing will get done! And it’s those few months that may mean life or death for the earth. We have to stop them leaving and force them to help save the world.’
‘If it ain’t dead already, lady,’ said Zimmerman.
‘OK that’s it, fuck you,’ said Chrissy getting up. ‘I don’t know about you lazy bastards but back in New York City where I come from we like to put up a fight,’ she added, lapsing briefly into parochial xenophobia. ‘You don’t lie down till you’re dead, and even then you bite their damn ankles. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m going to do something. See you, hippies, I’m going to save the world. You Culboons coming, CD?’
CD wasn’t actually listening but the Culboons were about to agree when Walter interjected.
‘Hey hey hey, Lady. You like…well…you certainly know how to hurt a guy, you know?’
‘Yeah,’ added Zimmerman. ‘Just because we’re indulging in a moment’s negative vibe does not mean that we are off the team, it’s just a ying and yang thing, OK, balance, that’s all.’
‘So you’re prepared to try and do something then?’ asked Chrissy rather suspiciously. ‘Of course we are, man,’ said Walter. ‘Hey listen. I have to tell you something. Ego is a bad thing, and pride comes before a fall, but I have to tell you man, that while you have spent your life tapping out shit about bread for the papers, me and Zimm here have saved a couple of two hundred ton whales, right?’
‘And what’s more, it spoke to us,’ added Zimm, ‘and told us of its life beneath the deep, within the whale nation.’
‘Yeah, well, that was Zimm’s interpretation,’ said Walter, ‘and as such it was valid, but some other people on the team thought they were just going eep eep eeeep.’
The brief schism over, discussion recommenced on the problem at hand.
‘OK Chrissy,’ said Walter, ‘like what do you suggest? These cats have had us hiding out and running every time we so much as breathe. Man they chased you all around the world. You’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for crazy Zimm. By the looks of it, they’re fixing to split real soon. What do you suggest we do? How in fuck, man, do we stop them blasting off, so’s we can like use them and their fat cat bread- head corporation to tell the world that it’s dying?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Chrissy quietly.
There was a pause.
212: THE RATS GATHER AROUND THE LIFE BOAT
T
he count-down had begun. There were no objections. The consensus was that if the foul deed had to be done, then it would be better if it were done quickly. The terminal, global decline was now visibly apparent everywhere. From the alternately parched and steaming earth, to the gloomy haze of pollution that hung high above them; a haze that made the intense heat dirty and sticky, like wearing a filthy old wool blanket in the blazing sun. The Leper Ships floated on the suffocated sea, the dolphins struggled in the nylon nets. The maple forests withered where they stood, the iguanas felt the rumble of the dozers. The sewage slid out of the sludge ships and the salt bubbled up through the ground. Durf’s talk of TT O in the food chain was not really necessary to convince the terrified old men. Each day as their factories belched out poison, they lived in abject fear at the possibility of an avalanche factor developing and scuppering the whole thing. Every day that they hesitated, something could go wrong…
Besides the imminent possibility of Stark being thwarted by a natural phenomenon, the other reason for immediate departure was that with everything now ready, things could only go wrong in human terms. Discovery, government intervention, mass rioting, theft, played heavily upon Durf’s mind. The majority of the security had been laid off along with the construction workers. Obviously Durf had had no desire for there to be a large group of heavily armed men around, at the point at which it became clear what was going on. The prospect of a couple of hundred gun-toting thugs, trying to force their way onto the absolute last train out of the ghost town, did not attract him. However, it had meant that Durf was forced to take the calculated risk that the last few days the Consortium spent on earth would be comparatively unprotected. Even a mob from Bullens Creek would probably be capable of ruining everything.
The news that Tyron had lost the captives and been discovered hours later trussed and bound along with his security chief, had been a shock. Sly had asserted that there was absolutely nothing these people could do in practical terms (except destroy helicopters). None the less, it was most disquieting.
Anyway, all things considered, no one had debated the fact that it was time to move, and the count-down had begun even before Zimm had commandeered the helicopter.
The far-flung and disparate members of the Stark Conspiracy — people who wielded such huge power and influence on their societies — were simply told to get up, take one piece of hand luggage, collect their partners and leave their entire lives for ever.
