The Chromosome Game (26 page)

There was no trace of guilt when the answer bounced back. On the logic of his decision, Nembrak was sincere. ‘We let
them
do
our
work, Trell.
They
have the co-ordinates of the dump where the supplies are.
We
need the supplies for the whole community. So they go fetch ’em, out of loving-kindness, generosity and social-conscience.’

‘Fiendish,’ said Kelda, appreciatively.

‘Thank you. I didn’t think it too bad myself. I had to change the design of their boat, though. Sladey’s hydro-dynamics leave something to be desired. His idea of a motor-launch was so unseaworthy it would have sunk before he’d dragged it off the shingle. It did occur to me to leave it full of holes — would have been kind of fun to gaze through a telescope and watch the first ripple of Mediterranean crack the thing up and render unto the sharks the best lunch they’ve seen for centuries. The temptation was unbearable.’

Trell said, ‘I’m glad you held out, though. We’re the ones in need of the meal. I love sharks but they can wait.’

Nembrak said, ‘We don’t have to keep them waiting too long … Mind, I’m an amateur fiend: the professionals, like Scorda, Flek, that mob … They’ve put in some real dedicated work against you two.’

‘We did get rather a cool reception topsides,’ said Trell.

‘You would. Sladey asked some earnest questions in company with our esteemed computer, and came out better than Goebbels.’

‘Who’s Goebbels?’

‘Sladey with eyebrows. We did some research on the Controller’s happy memories — all in core-store and healthy as using plutonium-oxide for talcum powder. Don’t waste your time on it … you can have a happier time in a plague-pit. But the propaganda has been a roaring success with Sladey’s courageous admirers … Didn’t you know? — You’re responsible for the lousy soil we found as soon as we first came ashore. The pathetic harvest prospects are all your fault. You brought the drought before we berthed, the rains that diluted the topsoil before we arrived, the fishes that suffered, first from too little water, then so much they were washed out to sea. You name it, you did it — retroactively … angered the gods. Sladey’s terrific on superstition.
They
fell for it.’

Trell said, ‘I think I can just understand why it worked.’

Nembrak leaned forward, spat out the words. ‘Just don’t forgive it! Listen. You both sweated blood for that mob. No leadership could have been better. Why in hell you think we worked so hard at General Motors? I’ll tell you what most of those sheep are — that’s in case you don’t know already: they’re people with No Excuse. Believe me. They’re leftovers from a rotten civilisation and they have the same rotten standards. You know it; I know it. Why pretend?’

Nembrak rose, fighting tears. ‘You two have the mandate of General Motors, not a doubt about that … Have we covered the business in hand? We have some work to do here, and also some loving to do … in our own particular way.’

Kelda said, getting up, ‘It’s obviously a very healthy way, Nembrak!’

‘Bananas! It’s a
productive
way … That’s what counts with General Motors. I’d best show you out. There’s a lot of gear to fall over. Don’t want to get landed with a huge insurance claim. Detroit can’t stand the strain on the balance sheet.’

Kelda said, ‘Give my love to the others.’

‘No time for that. Want to see what they’ve got up to that I’m missing. Very inventive, you know, around this factory. Must keep up with Research & Development. See us soon. We’ve fixed up a phone to the ship. It’ll be working tomorrow. The phone your end is located in Teaching Cubicle E.’

Nembrak kissed Kelda on the cheek and shut the factory door on them.

Kelda said, ‘You know where he’s really gone? — to cry his eyes out.’

‘Why are people like that so utterly merciless with themselves, Kelda?’

Kelda said, ‘I know what God would say.’

‘What would God say?’

Her face was contorted. ‘To make up for those who don’t give a damn! He’s right! They don’t give a damn!’

‘My information is that God came to much the same conclusion.’

Zero

A stray crow, somewhat dishevelled and aerodynamically a bit forlorn, alights on one of the crumbling towers of Carross and folds its unimposing wings as tightly as possible against the icy wind.

It doesn’t know it, but Evolution is in fact phasing it out, gradually and unobtrusively, so as not to upset the dwindling remainder of the species. The crows are still laying eggs and occasionally these even hatch; but it is really only a gesture on nature’s part, a consolation prize for dullards. Only through modifying their diet have the crows updated themselves. In adaptation they lag pathetically behind the hawks, the thrushes, the swallows and, in particular, the gulls. Now they must quietly pay the price.

Futureworld demands a more sanguine strain; one that transcends difficulty, faces endurance, adjusts promptly to change. Unlike the vulture, which is certainly on the way out, and about time too, the crow is neither corrupt nor obese from gluttony. Nature will give it a better deal than the grim demise reserved for nature’s cultural slob of all time.

The Top Brass of the universe — so recently equipped with the new Stellascopes — watch the crow as it scans, bleary-eyed, the newly-ploughed terrain below Carross.

What’s in it for the crow? Are those the tips of buds showing through the topsoil? — and if so, might the common worm be shovelling around, waiting to be eaten? — playing its part in the overall balance of the biosphere and thereby making things ecologically convenient for disconsolate crows?

Pursuing their watching-brief from afar, the gods of the universe endure the cutback on expenditure with some distaste. Certainly to the Interrogod it seems misguided to withdraw all active support from those very few worthwhile people who somehow survive on
Kasiga
.

But stellar collisions are just plain unfunny; the havoc wrought by a gigantic rift in the Universal Sky — thought to be at least two light-years wide but estimates are still coming in — have impacted thickly inhabited planets, melting other intelligent species into extinction. You just can’t ignore it, you can’t be sentimental in these things — however much you admire the heroes and heroines of Futureworld. You gotta watch priorities: Planet Earth is not in the busted constellation.

But the gods can still accept high-priority prayers when there’s room in the computer. And some of these prayers raise a celestial eyebrow or two.

For the skeleton staff at the Hilton remains perplexed at the gloom and pessimism prevailing among the incubants. In their view (and after all, they do run things) a pretty good job has been made on the plains, turning it into land that is both arable and fertile … well, they’re disturbed and sorry at the fading faith in the minds of Futureworld’s dismayed protagonists. Why not listen to us and play your waiting game? We’d send a UFO but they’re all out on emergency calls …

However constrained in their actions, the galactian moguls take a very different view of the changes — subtle and sinister — taking place within the tortuous, Man-created pseudo-soul of the computer. They are angered indeed; and this has nothing to do with superstition — they certainly don’t go in for that.

It is now their final and immutable opinion — and this is quite unanimous throughout the constellation — that Twentieth Century Man was, to put it bluntly, a crude-minded fatso whose obsession with all things expedient damned him forever.

But the Computer is merely a device and is therefore exempt; Twentieth Century Man was a mix between the antediluvian crow and the slithy old vulture. His effort to adapt was executed second-hand — he really thought that as a substitute for his own development he could instead delegate the small matter of human progress to the computer and leave himself free for the more serious business of coming apart at the seams. And amidst the vulgarity of glittering neon he corrupted the female and used her like so much Kleenex. He wined her, dined her, signed her — then tore up the contract the moment she was shop-soiled. He drove his Buick into the future and corroded the minds of progeny he had no right to conceive; then abandoned the wreck of his automobile, leaving the debris obstructing their path. Just as the vulture collapses here in Futureworld from the weight of its goodies, so Man had his final coronary after the last fatty-degenerative supper (on the company slate) and choked on his cigars.

*

Certainly, in the view of the more senior guests at the Hilton on Star 47, Sladey-555 was no contender for a second-hand halo. Equally they felt disinclined to excuse him on the grounds that Huckman had levered him — by remote control — into being what he was. The Interrogod himself had reservations regarding the disclaimers inherent in psychiatry … You can’t blame daddy for everything. In fact it was the C-in-C Transpacial Command — in one of his frequent departures from strict procedural syntax in favour of rather ungodlike colloquialisms — who nailed it during an informal review of events as viewed from the Hilton Club Room: ‘Sladey,’ he said, ‘wouldn’t make Corporal in any regiment of mine if he could take an enemy position with a six-inch shell up his ass.’

The Interrogod commented, ‘Who are you trying to shock?’

‘Myself, probably. But I’ve drummed better people than that out of my Command and I bet the Devil himself wouldn’t know which side Sladey was on.’ He squinted sourly over the leader-page of The Celestial Times. ‘But you do know the nature of the Insurance Policy with which Sladey is now providing himself? — he … along with his sycophants and mini-whores?’

‘How can I miss it?’

Though none of the gods missed it, no mortal being outside of Sladey’s exclusive clan had an inkling of this particular issue. Significantly, Scorda-099 was not among the privileged. Sladey had always planned to jettison Scorda once he had ceased to be useful. That eventuality was now becoming imminent.

*

Sladey had summoned a gaggle of nonentity-geese to a remote section of
Kasiga
, two clear weeks ahead of the Estimated Time of Departure for the raid on Corsica. Securely locked behind renovated bulkheads, in a stuffily confined watertight compartment near the bows, he addressed the cadre of a tawdy Master Race in a Swasticated atmosphere almost ridiculous for its emulation of the Third Reich … albeit on a claustrophobic scale which did not lend grandeur to Sladey’s throttled and sibilant mode of speech: ‘It behoves us,’ he proclaimed, ‘to survive. And since this particular obligation is not made any easier by those who specialise in chaos — as you will observe, my friends — I have gone to the trouble and vast expense of creating a little cubby-hole all our own. At the drop of a hat — or any other suitable object — those now gathered here together can, and shall, reassemble in this exclusive suite if matters heat up and clog the works. You have been sworn to secrecy. Any breach of this secrecy will lead to instant Eagle-isation. So I wouldn’t advise it.

‘We have food, fresh water … even a small library. I apologise about the lack of television but normal service will be resumed as soon as possible …

‘It may never be necessary for us to make use of this hidey-hole. We may not know, we cannot tell — Hymns Ancient and Modern Number 555. However, there’s nothing like a bit of caution. Is there?’

*

‘Kelda. You’re shivering. I’ll turn the heat up.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘You’re wondering about that boatload of thugs. There are enough of us to handle them when they get back.’

‘And what then?’

‘An open election.’

‘We’ll lose.’

‘Then we’ll fight in Opposition.’

‘Sladey won’t buy that, Trell — Democracy.’

‘Once the incubants detect any unfair distribution of the supplies they’ll come out of their euphoria and form an electorate. Even if most of them vote for Sladey, the rest will demand representation.’

‘Yes, Trell — if they’re given the right to demand it.’

‘If it comes to demanding things they’ll certainly demand the right to survive.’

‘What’s that look mean?’

‘Kelda, not now.’

‘Give.’

‘Something Kendip said.’

‘Flipping? — or flopping?’

‘Can’t be sure. I tried to get through to him. For a short time I thought I did.’

‘And?’

‘I think it was a figure of speech.’

‘But you seem reluctant to tell me the speech.’

‘ “
There’s
a
bomb
in
everything
,
understand?
It’s
never
what
it
seems.
”. His exact words.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘That’s all. But we were discussing what those hell’s angels were planning down in the ravine.’

‘The night Eagle was murdered?’

‘That’s the night.’

‘You think Kendip … was trying to tell you something.’

‘And I should have got there by now.’

‘Trell, it could mean anything.’

‘None of it good.’

‘Check. You know I’m terrified, don’t you?’

‘And Krand is pacing. Won’t stop. Just paces endlessly, Kelda. He’ll go on doing it until those imbeciles get back in the boat. And I just can’t get rid of this feeling that Nembrak walked straight into a trap.’

‘Building it.’

‘Yes. You know what? His judgement has gone. It went when he made up his mind he’d sentenced Eagle to death.

‘There’s something … else. In the Computer.’

‘Kelda! What? … I’m not following you.’

‘There’s something we’ve overlooked, Trell. Something about Huckman. I can’t explain. Grotesque and twisted. What?’

‘Okay. Noises. Noises no one can explain.’

‘You have heard them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not Sonar this time, Trell.’

‘I know. I didn’t want to —’

‘— You didn’t want to worry me. I know. Same with me, Trell. I thought you had enough on your plate and —’

‘— Kelda. Where do the Noises come from?’

‘I’d rather not say until I’m sure.’

‘Skip that, you’re sure.’

‘Okay.’ Kelda went to the closet and took out a short length of deal.

Trell said, ‘That’s the first bit of seasoned timber I’ve ever seen.’

‘I found it buried in the rubble — the stuff we ploughed up and cleared. Trell, I used this bit of wood like —’

‘Kind of like a stethoscope.’

‘Right. Every time the Noises started, I held one end to my ear — like so — and pressed the other end against the walls.’

‘And was it the walls?’

‘No.’

‘So where do the Noises come from, Kelda?’

‘Underneath.’

‘
Underneath?
’

*

An unfamiliar buzzing sound from Cubicle E caught Trell on the hop and for a second he broke out into instant sweat. Then he realised this must be the new phone-line put in by Nembrak.

‘Can you hear me okay, Trell? I’m down in GM.’

‘Yes that’s fine.’

‘Trell … I had a thought. We have to keep the duds on our side —’

‘— silent majority —’

‘— Right. Also we want to be kind of … careful when those hoods get back from Corsica with the supplies.’

Trell thought, so far, so good. The hell with it, what were Kelda and I worrying about? Nembrak is right on the ball. ‘On the nose, Nembrak. So?’

‘So I’ve briefed that little guy Frume — he’s one of ’em, one micron from a zombie — I’ve briefed him to make sure all watertight doors and bulkheads are locked by the time that boatload of hoodlums gets back.’

‘But … why Frume?’

‘He’ll keep the other little guys on our side. Thrilled to the eyeballs that I gave him the job. Practically wearing gold braid. We need
friends
, Trell.’

‘I’m with you there. But can he be trusted?’

‘If there’s no one we can trust beyond ourselves the show folds from here to eternity. With me?’

‘Sure, Nembrak. Sure I’m with you …’

*

In the glare of the fluorescent tubes of ZD-One, Krand and Hallow nearly went flying in head-on collision.

Krand checked Hallow’s blanched lips. ‘What is it? The twins?’

‘It’s Cass. He left here on the double, stumbling he was, lurching all over the place. Then made for the passenger elevator.’

Krand said, ‘Coma. He’s been lying about the insulin. Must have run out altogether.’

Hallow didn’t move. ‘And didn’t say so.’

‘My God. Okay, we get a shot from Nembrak.’

‘It may not work. He’s only got samples, Krand.’

Krand said, ‘It has to work! Get Cass to hang on somehow!’

Krand leapt for the new hot-line. Feverishly he buzzed it, got Fulda immediately.

She said, ‘I’ll dash over with a dose.’

‘We’ll need a syringe. And we don’t know where he keeps them.’