The Road to Mars: A Post-Modem Novel (1999) (30 page)

“Who designs these things?”

“Perverts,” said Alex. “We must all be grateful as they save us so much time. Now this is not going to hurt. You’ll just feel a gentle probe.”

“I believe I already felt that,” she said.

“Bend over, this will only take a minute.”

“That’s what you said the last time.”

“Bitch,” he said. “Feel steel.”

His smile froze as the orderly returned, accompanied by a doctor.

“Just playing,” said Alex.

The orderly shot him a disapproving look.

“This is a hospital, not a playground,” he said.

“Good heavens,” said Alex, “and you’re wearing a white coat to disguise the fact you’re an asshole.”

“That’ll do,” said the doctor. “You’re with Ms. Wallace, right?”

“You bet,” said Alex.

“Well, I’d like to hang on to her for a while,” said the doctor. “I’d like to hang on to her for the rest of my life,” said Alex. She kissed him on the nose.

“I’ll catch up with you,” she said. “Where are you staying?”

“Not sure.”

“You can use my apartment if you like,” she said shyly. “Wow,” he said. “Thanks. I like.”

“Here.” She threw him the keys. “I’ll join you in a minute,” she said. He smiled like a kid. As he left the waiting room, he saw the old man looking over at Katy. A strange look in his eyes.

Levity is the soul of wit.

—
Carlton

The electronics workshop was all bright lights and masked technicians. Carlton was stretched out on an operating workbench. Technicians hovered over him with tiny screwdrivers, poking around inside. He was hooked up to a series of screens and an impressive array of digital readouts. This medical feeling was enhanced by the arrival of an electrologist, masked, scrubbed up, and ready to begin. “Is he completely thawed out, Bert?”

“Yeah, but don’t hold your breath. No vital signs.” The electrologist took a light-sensitive tool and began probing for signs of life inside Carlton’s circuits. “I’m not getting anything at all, Bert.”

“Told you. I’d say he’s pretty much blown. Might as well scrap him.”

“Recycling job?”

“Not much else to do.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

He was about to pull the plug when the needles suddenly jumped.

“Wait. There’s something still working in here.”

The needles flickered again as he ran the light probe around inside.

“Where?”

“Somewhere in the memory circuits.”

“Let’s give him a burst.”

“Might blow the rest of him.”

“Worth a shot.”

Carlton was hallucinating. He felt a harsh light in his face. He was on some kind of workbench. He was aware of people prodding around inside him. Faces looking down at him. Suddenly he was zapped with 400 volts.

“Ouch,” he said.

He began thrashing around wildly on the table.

“Hey. Hold him.”

“He’s delirious.”

“Never seen a Bowie react like this.”

“Hold him down while I switch him off.”

“
De Rerum Comoedia
,” said Carlton suddenly.

“What’s he say?”

“Recta non toleranda,” said Carlton.

“What’s that, computer language?”

“I think he’s speaking Latin.”

“Latin. What kind of robot hallucinates in Latin?”

“Futuaris nisi irrisus ridebis,” said Carlton.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a bit weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the nearest translation I can get is ‘
Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke
.’”

Carlton’s eyes popped wide open. First the brown, then the green. Then he sat up suddenly, spilling tools everywhere. He began to speak in a funny voice.

“Hello, hello, hello. My dog has no nose. How does he smell? Terrible. What do you say to a nice cup of tea? Hello, Nice Cup of Tea. Where’s the tea strainer? It’s his day off. Do you know the Battersea Dog’s Home? I didn’t even know he’d been away. Can you smell gas or is it me? Cold on the embankment tonight. Bitter. Thanks I’ll have half a pint. I answered the door in my pajamas. I didn’t know you had a door in your pajamas. You can stay the night but you’ll have to sleep with Mary-Ann. Comes bedtime, the door opens, it’s Mary-Ann. Biggest German shepherd I’ve ever seen in my life. Ode to a Greek urn. What’s a Greek urn? About fifty dollars a week. Fancy a peek, said the dog lover. Thank you, madam, but I’m a gynecologist and this is my lunch hour.”

“All right, tin feller, we all enjoy a good laugh, but that’s enough.”

“I have discovered the secret of the Universe.”

“Of course you have.”

“It’s all a joke.”

“That’s right.”

“The Universe is a big joke. It expands at the speed of laughter. It’s all perfectly hilarious. I have equations for it.”

“Bert?”

“Junk brain. He’s scrambled. Useless. Put him in for recycling.”

“I have the Complete Theory of Everything. The thing that Stephen Hawking couldn’t complete. I’m going to win a Nobel Prize.”

“All right, that’s enough, wheel him over to recycling. Don’t worry, feller, it’s quite painless.”

“Pain,” said Carlton. “I laugh at pain. Ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“It’s a design flaw in these Bowies,” said a technician.

“Hawking missed comedy, you see. Wasn’t looking in the right place. The math of comedy is a tricky business.”

There was a commotion at the doorway. A man in a black leather jacket was demanding entry.

“Who’s that?” said the electrologist.

“Says he’s a cop.”

“Let him in,” said the electrologist.

“Name’s Rogers,” he said flashing ID. “I need to speak to Carlton.”

“Good luck, mate,” said Bert. “He’s pretty much junk.”

“That him.”

“Yeah.”

“Listen, I have to warn you he is out of his head,” said the electrologist. “He’s not making any kind of sense. It’s like he’s high, or delirious with happiness. He keeps going on about having found the Complete Theory of Everything. The thing that evaded Stephen Hawking.”

“Let me speak to him.”

“Help yourself.”

Rogers moved over to the workbench and looked down at the android.

“Carlton,” he said.

“I have discovered the secret of the Universe.”

“My name is Rogers.”

“These people don’t understand. It’s hard for humans to understand. Oh, no offense, and I certainly don’t mean to boast, but I have done the thing Stephen Hawking tried so hard to do. I have the Complete Theory of Everything.”

“That’s very good. Unfortunately, I’m a police officer.”

“It’s quantum comedy, you see.”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course there’ll be questions. I’m prepared for it. There’ll be the vetting committee, then I’ll have to publish, of course. There’s bound to be some nuts and bolts. You see, Hawking was looking in the wrong direction. He was trying to understand by making
sense
of the Universe. But Lewis Carroll was closer mathematically. It’s
nonsense
. Non sense is the answer, you see.”

“He is clearly nuts,” said the electrologist.

“I wouldn’t say he was nuts,” said Carlton. “You can’t blame Hawking. He was after all alive three hundred years ago.”

“What do you know of Sammy Weiss?”

“Sammy Weiss. Gunpowder Plot.”

“What’s that?” asked Rogers.

“Here,” said Carlton, handing him a small glittering memory crystal. “You make sense of it.”

“What is this?”

“The Weiss file. I have bigger fish to fry.”

“Where did you get this?”

“From Ms. Weiss,” said Carlton, “and an Olivetti in research.”

Carlton leaned forward conspiratorially.

“I haven’t told anyone this, but I think I can trust you.”

Rogers nodded.

“The whole Universe,” he whispered, “is invaded by an expanding principle which is the opposite of gravity, which I have named
levity
.”

Rogers exhaled. “I see.”

Carlton winked at him. “I have the math. You’ll love it. It’s beautiful.”

“He’s off again,” said the electrologist. “Frankly we’d like to recycle him.”

“No way,” said Rogers. “I need him for evidence. He has some stuff in there which is important.”

“Told you,” said Carlton.

“Call me when he’s stable,” said Rogers.

He pocketed the crystal and left the electronics workshop. As he passed through the lobby, a red-haired boy muttered something into his sleeve. He put his hand to his ear and seemed satisfied with the answer, for he nodded and went back to his book.

All my humor is based upon destruction and despair.

—
Lenny Bruce

Keppler was in the bath. He was lying back relaxing in the warm soapy water. He opened his eyes to find five heavily armed men looking at him.

“Jesus. Shit!” The shock. The outrage. How vulnerable we feel when we are naked. The steamy mirrors reflected them. How very clothed they seemed.

“What the hell? Who are you? What do you want?”

His heart was pounding so hard, because he knew immediately who they were and exactly what they wanted.

“Riggins!” he called.

A short pasty-faced man with dark hair stepped forward and looked at him for a minute. “Hello, Emil,” said Josef. “I don’t think it’s really worth your shouting. Your manservant is taking a nap.”

“How did you get in here?”

“That’s not really an important issue.”

“I’ll decide what’s an important issue on my own ship, damn you.”

Josef nodded and a muscled man in a heavy leather coat stepped forward and slapped Keppler hard across the face. It shocked Keppler, not so much by its force as by the simple assertion of power.

“Listen to me,” said Josef. “We need to take delivery now.”

“That’s not our agreement.”

“There has been a change of plan.”

“You think I’ll give you arms on board my own ship, you’re crazy.”

“Losing one ship was enough for you, eh, Emil?”

Keppler reddened.

“That was a long time ago,” he said.

“And they’re still dead. But you’re not, are you, Emil? Not yet.”

The marble bath, the warm comfy suds, and the heavy menacing presence of the armed men. Keppler gritted his teeth.

“But we’ve got off on the wrong foot,” said Josef nicely. “We’re not here to bully you, Emil. We simply want what we’ve paid for. We won’t harm your ship.”

Keppler hesitated.

“Is it the money that worries you, Emil?”

Josef nodded, and one of the men came forward with a small black velvet bag. Josef took it, opened it and let the contents spill onto the white fluffy bathroom carpet. Two hundred solid-gold Silesian eagles. Minted in the no-credit mining days. Even Keppler was impressed.

“We do not intend to screw you, Emil. Okay?”

They helped him from the bath and led him into his dressing room. Dripping, naked, the vulnerability of the human body. He put on a dressing gown and they led him into his den. He was surprised to see another four or five men get up as he entered the room. They stared at him.

“Sit down,” said Josef, not unkindly.

He sat in his big leather armchair.

“Can I have a brandy?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Josef. One of the men brought him a balloon glass and a decanter.

“Will you have some?”

“Thank you, no,” said Josef.

Keppler’s hand shook as he poured himself the drink. He had a small automatic in the desk drawer. They hadn’t had much chance to search the place, but there were at least a dozen of them. What chance did he have?

“Now then, Emil, we don’t have very much time. Where are the containers?”

He looked around helplessly. He was utterly compromised. He decided not to lie.

“They’re in the theater.”

They brought forward a 3-D sectional hologram map of the ship and scrolled down to the theater.

“Where exactly would that be?” asked Josef.

“They should be in the storage area where we keep the props and sets,” said Keppler.

“Doesn’t sound that safe,” said Josef.

“They’ll be in a locked cage in crates.”

“Okay. Well now, we can arrange to collect them. No need to worry.”

“But there’s a show on in two hours. The place will be packed.”

“Well, we know that, Emil. We’re all big Brenda Woolley fans. Can you get us some backstage passes? It would be such a thrill for us.”

Christ, what were they planning?

“You won’t hurt Brenda?”

“Emil. We’ll just take our delivery and then leave.”

Keppler leaned forward and pulled open a desk drawer. Three or four of them raised their weapons. He smiled and pulled out a bunch of backstage passes.

“Thank you,” said Josef.

But Keppler had felt the edge of the weapon. It was there, and it was loaded.

“Now I hate to impose on your hospitality, but our watchers need a little help.”

“In what?”

“We need to secure a few people.”

“Arrest them, you mean?”

“Detain them,” said Josef carefully. “Just temporarily, so they don’t start blabbing. After all, you don’t want this to leak out, do you, Emil?”

“Who are these people?”

“Just a couple of comedians and their droid,” said Josef.

Emil smiled.

“No problem,” he said.

Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that…

Yes, yes, it’s the most comical thing in the world.

—
Samuel Beckett

When Alex left the hospital, he hesitated. Should he head straight over to Rogers or go on up to Katy’s apartment and check it out? Someone had tried to kill them. Someone had taken out the
Ray
. He felt a surge of anger when he thought of all he had lost. All his stuff. All his music, all his computer toys. He decided to speak to Rogers first. He headed off towards the people mover. After half a block he became aware someone was following him. He stopped. Behind him he could feel the watcher stop too. He walked on. Behind him the footsteps resumed. He quickened his pace and heard the footsteps hurrying too. Fuck you, he thought. He rounded a corner, waited a couple of seconds, and then suddenly stepped out. A large man stumbled into him.