The Chromosome Game (25 page)

‘But you will ask?’

‘Yes.’

*

Trell said, ‘You’re going to tell me what went on, Kendip — and you can dump that sour attitude right now.’

‘What … ? You talking about … about Eagle?’

‘Look, Kendip. I accept that in all probability you had no direct part in it. But I want to know.’

‘Get with it, Jewboy. Who the hell cares what you think?’

‘You do.’

‘You … You don’t mind being called Jewboy?’

‘If that is what I am, no.’

‘Trell, I wish …’

‘Yes?’

‘How do I know what to say to you?’

‘Don’t you mean, How do you know who’s going to win?’

Kendip burst out, ‘You’re just like Sladey, you torment me!’

‘You’re torturing yourself.’

‘Maybe.’

‘What were they planning there, down in the ravine?’

‘Trell, I didn’t do it! Believe me!’

‘I wasn’t asking you that. What are they planning, Kendip?’

Trell watched him, watched that insane FlipFlop of a mind trying to resolve conflicts, click-to-click, click-to-click … a totally irresolute, agonised mind.

Then, for a moment, the switch held. Kendip said, ‘Trell there’s a bomb in everything, understand? It’s never what it seems!’

‘Go on.’

And Kendip just couldn’t. His brain jammed.

Then the switch flew the other way. The sneer replaced the tremor. The voice became hot metal. ‘Yes. Jewboy! Guess if certain people are sub-human they can’t know it. Seems I know more about Jews than you do.’

‘You know more about what’s about to happen around here than I do right now.’

‘I have powerful friends.’

‘Then I hope for your sake they remain your friends.’

‘Sure. That’s why I don’t fraternise with the Yids.’

*

Inside ZD-One that evening they were just standing around …
they
— the Unknown and the Unpredictable.

A silence settled throughout the Recreation Area as Trell and Kelda walked through. Shifty eyes glanced away, abruptly finding a clock to look at, a painting to study, a hologram to punch-up on the button, you watched it float in space, a nurse in uniform (they’d never seen a nurse in uniform), a lifesize Richard Nixon, mouthing and trying to smile with sagging lips, or a President Carter, beaming and reassuring and looking old/young and as unreal as he once had in the flesh.

Eyes. Not all of them looked away. Mendra and Milem, they didn’t look away, but Mendra was unconsciously running a caressing hand along her own thigh, providing it with reassurance. Milem caught sight of this act and his expression changed — hard and yet helpless at the same time.

Scorda didn’t look away.

Sladey wasn’t present.

Kendip looked ashamed and guilty and frightened and pale. His eyes seemed to be questioning Kelda’s, as if he thought she, an Aryan, might forgive an atrocity which a Jew would not.

Handem, Gendabrig, Flek. Had they slain Eagle’s horse?

Krand, always waiting at the ready, never pushing to the fore.

Beside him, Eagle’s customary chair. Empty.

Sakini and Inikas, knock-out sizzlers in duplicate, miniatures with vital-statistics more breath-taking every day, entered from the far end, swinging their tennis racquets this time. Pincered by hypnotising briefs, skilfully cut shorter than even the manufacturers would have thought feasible without catastrophe at the seams … the twins almost incited Mary Whitehouse’s hologram into fusing her lasers. Hallow thought that if their belts were any tighter the twins would come in half. He missed a vital move on the chessboard. But the Japanese Delights more than made up for it. Barely brushing him as they passed, they made their joint affirmation clear. Hallow’s face, pallid at the best of times, went a whiter shade of pale.

Cass seemed alarmed at Hallow’s blanched complexion. ‘What’s the problem?’

Hallow gave a guilty start and tried to focus on the chessboard. He said ‘My, ar, bishop seems, ar, vulnerable.’

Cass said expressionlessly, ‘I should have problems like that’ — and made ready with his rook.

But Hallow was torn. Cass’ courage was almost too much for him.

For Cass had a real problem. His peril did not stem from the foreknowledge of superthrill.

Hallow murmured to Kelda as she reached him: ‘Can I have a word in private?’

She answered, ‘Cubicle E. In two minutes.’

Cass, who knew what this was about, couldn’t quite hold his rook steady. ‘Check,’ he said.

Kelda and Trell moved on.

Helen, as if her skin were black only because she mourned, crossed to where Krand was sitting but wouldn’t take Eagle’s chair. She glanced at Kelda in silent tribute to its absent owner. Helen took Krand’s hand and led him over to Milem. He’d had a terrible row with Mendra, who, upon this move, looked both remorseful and helpless.

Milem was remembering something Eagle had said about her narcissism. Now, it was as if Eagle’s death meant that Mendra and Milem were deprived of an interpreter.

The other faces in there were those of social voyeurs watching a fascinating power game. They, the undistinguished, thought they would not be greatly affected by a change of leadership. It was rather gripping to watch the Drama, though. What the hell? — That’s politics. Exceptions were Frume and his clique … barely more than names to Trell; but the gods of the universe had been warned about them by the videotape engineer. Just through looking at the monitors he could determine the sly indecisiveness. Yes, these few among the silent majority might well mourn the passing of Eagle. Why not?

But although they dreaded a Sladey government they were too timid to acknowledge Trek’s smile.

It might get them into some kind of trouble.

In the Cubicle Kelda came straight to the point with Hallow.

‘I do know the problem: Cass is almost out of Insulin. Trell plans to strip down some of the auto-nurses. He thinks there may be a few ampules inside them.’

Hallow said, ‘What are the chances with General Motors? Are they going to —’

‘— They’re working flat out, trying to produce the stuff.’

‘It’s got to be soon, Kelda.
Soon
. For Christ sakes —’

‘— Hallow, I can’t absolutely promise … I’m seeing them tonight, about something else. I’ll mention it again.’

‘Kelda, tell me this: What the hell was the point of having Insulin on ZD-One at all? — unless there was enough for a lifetime? It’s so damn cruel.’

Kelda said, ‘Downright sadistic, but that’s the score.’

‘Kelda?’

‘Yes?’

‘Cass and me both … We’re with you and Trell.’

‘Thanks. I guessed that.’

‘And the twins are.’

Kelda smiled slightly as she left the cubicle. ‘You and those twins!’

*

Unless you were excessively tactless or just plain crazy, you did not just breeze into General Motors unannounced. There was a ritual to observe and it was unheard of to disregard it.

Hanging on a hook by the door of the tin hut was an enormous frying pan — manufactured especially by General Motors; and near it, graffiti from a spray gun, was the legend
Bang
and
Wait
. Usually there was a lengthy delay and tonight was no exception. But neither Trell nor Kelda felt like grinning into the darkness as they stood there.

Nothing was the same.

Eagle was gone, and with him the pride of Nembrak. Now there was to be a dumb show.

Kelda said, ‘Do you think Nembrak will be able to keep up the act?’

Trell said, ‘He will if we do.’

‘We must.’

‘Yes.’

At last the door swung open and Nembrak let them in. He said, ‘I’ve been expecting you …’ — the flash of an embarrassed smile, ‘ … not tonight particularly, I mean. But I knew you’d be around. Do you want the others in on this?’

Kelda said, ‘We came to talk with you.’

‘Okay.’ Nembrak, leaping with agility over a mass of obstacles in his path, led the way to Customer Relations — a claustrophobic cubbyhole heated by electricity swiped from the ship. The heater, like all General Motors’ products, blazoned the company logo and made the room stifling. It looked robust.

Nembrak was only fractionally over-eager to demonstrate his own vivaciousness. Few would have detected the terrible crevasse of remorse. Like metal-fatigue, it would have lurked undetected by those whose attention hadn’t been drawn to the latent havoc wrought by stress. Nembrak betrayed hesitancy only once. He seemed confused about who should sit where, then tripped when he tried to arrange the seats. He recovered after a quick gulp from a carton on his desk, exhaling as if in routine appreciation of its contents. ‘Own distillery,’ he confided. ‘Not a word to Customs & Excise … Want some?’

Trell was on the point of refusing, Kelda managed to prompt him with the merest flicker of deflected eyelash. Her lips parted in an imp-smile. ‘My first,’ she said. ‘Now I’m a wanton woman.’

‘It had to happen,’ Trell said. ‘I should never have started taking her to cocktail parties.’

In silence, Nembrak poured. Then his face broke into a smile and the dummy came alive. ‘We call it gin. But when we first decanted it the stuff penetrated two inches of armour-plate.’ He plonked two cartons on the Customer Relations table. ‘What gives?’

Trell said to Kelda, ‘Let’s get the Insulin matter settled first.’

Kelda nodded, said, ‘Nembrak, Cass is absolutely panicked. Hallow just told me.’

Nembrak nodded back. ‘We
are
making headway. It’s not Insulin, something else. Do you want to know all the scientific crap?’

Kelda said, ‘Just tell us if it’ll work when you can supply.’

Nembrak said, ‘The only way of testing it is on Cass.’

‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

‘Of course. It could be lethal. Still, I tried to induce a kind of a coma in myself —’

‘— on
yourself
?’

‘Don’t panic. We tried stimulating comas in small mammals first … rabbits, badgers, everything but elephants. They lived okay, so I thought I would. As you see, I’m not dead yet.’

Trell said, ‘Evidently.’

Nembrak said, ‘Of course, not being diabetic I can’t know if it does the pancreatic bit. We didn’t succeed in finding any diabetic animals but chemically the thing makes sense. We have quite an elaborate test bench where the blood sugar process can be simulated. It’s rough and ready but the best we can do.’

Trell said, ‘When?’

Nembrak said, ‘Delivery? … At present we only have samples. In quantity we should be in production within four weeks. Will he live that long?’

Kelda said, ‘I guess he must.’

Trell said, ‘I uncorked one of the auto-nurses a couple of nights ago. The Computer wasn’t too pleased —’

‘— I’ll bet —’

‘— but I was acting on the faint hope that those things are equipped —’

‘— Insulin would not have kept that long without proper temperature control in any case.’

‘I didn’t think of that. Anyway, no dice. If Cass can’t hold out on what there is in his dispenser, that’s it.’

Nembrak said, ‘So we speed up the processing.’

‘Is that possible?’

‘Anything’s possible.’

Kelda said, ‘You’re a saint.’

Nembrak gazed down to refill his plastic carton. ‘I can prove otherwise.’ He added rapidly, ‘I mean, you ask the other kids here in GM. We live a life of iniquity, it’s delicious.’ — But he hadn’t meant that aspect of things … ‘Now. Let me fill you in. Some time back I get a visit from Sladey, our beloved 555. All smiles, he is, unctuous as engine oil. Doesn’t think us very bright, around here.’

Kelda said, ‘What does he use for brains?’

‘One day we’ll build an X-ray machine of our own, and see.’ Nembrak added, ‘The one on
Kasiga
is equipped with a safety-device against a lethal overdose. We want none of that.’

There was a grim silence.

Nembrak dispersed the spell with a gesture worthy of Toscanini. ‘He comes to us with the blueprint for some weirdo kind of a hut. Parks it on that table, right there — without even realising that what’s right ways up for him is upside down for the guy opposite … I could see it was a boat within four point seven five nanoseconds.
He
still thinks that
we
still think it’s a hut, with a crazy keel up top. We built it. They have it. Now they have an engine and they’re ready to roll.’

Kelda glanced up but couldn’t speak.

Trell said, ‘I get the message.’

Nembrak said, ‘Right. I guess it doesn’t take morse code.’

Trell gave Nembrak a totally steady look. The question simply had to be asked. There was no way out of it. ‘Why did you build the boat, Nembrak?’