Behold a Dark Mirror (37 page)

CHAPTER 43

Georgia sat at her desk by the Blue Room, idle;  the flow of colonials had slowed to a trickle.  She thought it would have stopped, but some people were so down-and-out that even Virgil looked like a better opportunity.  Her job had become a waste of time.  As one of the few leftover welcome girls, Georgia spent her time without a clear purpose, but she shouldn’t complain—some assignments her friends had been reallocated to weren’t as comfortable.

One area of staffing with no signs of curtailing was armed detail, and Georgia worried about that:  Guards were everywhere.  There were even more guards than during the good days.  Yet fewer of them staffed the frameposts;  all the guards were outside, watching the people.  They'd even been removed from kernel detail.  That made her a wee bit uncomfortable: 
You never know,
she thought,
what may come out of a kernel.  What about monster-like alien creatures?
  From time to time, she heard shots fired, and she prayed that some poor devil wasn't sitting on the wrong end of the muzzle.

The red light on her desk flashed.

She scowled:  a transit—but nobody was on her diary, or on anybody else's;  today should have been a dud.  The welcome staff had drawn straws, and Georgia was stuck covering for everybody, while her friends took an unplanned day off.  Still, there'd be someone in the framepost in seconds.  With a mellow sense of mission she stood up, smoothed her skirt and coat, and freshened her lipstick.  She practiced her best smile, hoping it could soothe details about the foams she'd provide as part of her
Introduction to Virgil
.

Ambling to the arrival station downstairs, she waved to the guard at the head of the hallway and greeted three more on the way.  She winked at Ray, stationed before the framepost airlock;  he winked back.  Ray was handsome and had asked her out a couple of times—
You never know
, Georgia thought.  She made her way to the inner lock of kernel three, the active one, and waited for someone to appear from the sheen within the framepost.

The sparks in the sheen started twirling, as she'd witnessed many times.  A boot emerged, a black-and-red leg—
Wait,
she thought,
that's an army boot and fatigue, how could...
  Strong arms grabbed her and a callous hand gagged her mouth.  She was held by a large man she couldn't see; he was walking her in front of himself, using her body as a shield.  She couldn't yell; she could hardly breathe.  Her heart raced.  Something hard pressed into her side—a weapon?

There were noises behind her;  it sounded like more people had arrived.  The door to the inner lock slid open in front of her, operated by one of the newer arrivals.  She tried to bite the hand over her mouth, but failed.  The grip on her was masterful, allowing only limited movement as intended.  Her legs started shaking and would have failed, if the grip hadn't carried her weight for an instant.  But it was painful not to carry herself, so Georgia had to order her legs to walk.

The middle bulkhead slid open.  Georgia noticed her ears didn't pop, which frightened her even more.  The outer lock slid open:  Ray saw her and her captor, pulled his gun, hesitated.  An ear-splitting explosion blasted from behind her, and Ray's head burst open like a red flower blooming.  Georgia screamed against a hand too strong to be real.  Ray's blood covered her skirt and coat, wet warm droplets landing on her forehead.  She heard steps running;  the next guard didn't hesitate, and Georgia's chest split open in a burst of explosive ammo.

*

The assassin, face and uniform bloody, held on to the corpse while firing crackling fans of needles in rapid sequence.  While his opponent sought cover, he ducked behind a heavy piece of metal furniture.  At the last second, he dropped the corpse like a trash bag, still firing as he crouched.  He realized that all of Virgil's guards in range were now running to this disturbance, ignoring his two companions who were busy tampering with the airlock controls.  A detail of three guards had a clear shot at him as he hunkered behind the furniture;  the assassin, in a survey gaze, saw them at the last minute.  In a split second, he aimed his weapon and pulled the trigger.  The guards fell, but one fired a shot that hit the mark:  He looked down and saw his intestines spilling out just as a second hit from nowhere made pulp of his rib cage.

*

Another assassin ran into the melee, blazing her needle gun and a larger weapon.  She shot in short bursts without aiming, sweeping bullets and needles, gaining precious seconds for her partner hacking at the electronics.  The hall filled with ricochets, forcing all heads low.  One magazine emptied, the needle gun went dead.  She dove for cover, dropping the clip while still firing with the bigger weapon, which also ran empty.  In an eye blink, she had inserted a new clip of needles and resumed firing, stretching her armed hand around a corner, trying at the same time to refill the second weapon.  Unexpectedly, the firing gun shot one last round and clicked silent.  The assassin had dropped it to load the clip into the second gun when a burst of needles smashed into her before she could recharge.

*

A guard on the verge of panic gambled his life that the assassin couldn't fire back and exposed himself to gain a clear shot.  He fired a burst of needles that hit the assassin, then kept firing on the mangled corpse.  He vomited, staring at the chunk of bloody ground meat in front of him.  In shock, he dropped his empty needle gun and walked erect into the open.  He staggered as he was hit full-on by a rally of heavy-gauge fire.  Covered in vomit and blood, he fell; his last sight was a streaming line of demons in black and red pouring out of kernel three.

*

Tom Bruxvoort, in a stylish civilian suit, pinned a decoration to the chest of the engineer in front of him.  Dried blood crusted his black-and-red uniform;  his face was dark with soot and streaked with scrapes and tears.  "On behalf of ConSEnt," Bruxvoort said, "I present you this medal for your role in taking Virgil's framepost station.  You're a capable engineer, Muller, and a soldier with nerves of steel.  Your time to disable the bulkhead safeties is a record."

Muller saluted.

"It would have been hard to take the station without your help," Bruxvoort said.

"Yes, sir!"  Muller turned on his heels and walked away, stiffly.  As he turned the corner, he ripped the decoration from his chest and tossed it.  "I'm an engineer," he said.  "An engineer, an engineer!"

*

Three gallows were rigged above a high platform at the end of Main Street.  At gunpoint, the largest crowd ever gathered on Virgil was forced to stand by and spilled over into the meadows around the platform.  All men, women, and children were to witness the change of rule. In the crowd, Kebe was holding baby Janet. 
This can’t be good,
she thought, fidgeting with a corner of the pink blanket.  Jenus, next to her, was grinding his teeth, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and looking at her and their baby.

Standing on the high platform, one man wearing a brown trench coat and a cowboy hat paced idly.  "My name is Bruxvoort," he said.  His voice echoed boldly, carried by loudspeakers, losing itself into the vast emptiness surrounding the settlement.  "I represent ConSEnt, which is now in charge of Virgil." 

Three people were brought onto the high platform, their hands tied behind their backs.  They walked in a line, dejectedly.  Men in black and red slipped the nooses around their necks.

"Mr. Potter here, formerly the local planetary manager, with his associates," Bruxvoort said, pointing at the three, "will be executed to demonstrate that power has changed hands.  Go ahead, captain."

The captain pressed the release button;  the three fell through the floor of the platform, their necks snapping.  The corpses dangled, turning slowly.  The whisper of a breeze was the only comment on the execution.

"I hope I've made myself clear:  ConSEnt is in charge now.  I have all the guns, and as far as you're concerned, I'm ConSEnt.  There are a few dispositions, so listen carefully, folks.  One:  I can't stand this earthbound timekeeping crap, so set your watches to mark daytime and nighttime when it belongs.  Two:  if anyone wants to leave Virgil, he or she will be allowed to leave as soon as I'm informed of who makes catjuice, where it's produced, and how it's used.  Until then, ten people a day will be executed just like the gents here.  Three: the first group of ten will be picked before you leave this venue."

The crowd roared in anger.  Bruxvoort nodded;  a few soldiers fired into the air and all the assassins cocked their weapons, ready to shoot into the crowd.  The uproar died quickly.

"You may now exit through the checkpoint gates," Bruxvoort said.

Kebe, Jenus, and the baby ebbed and bobbed with the people around them towards the closest gate.  Kebe stared in front of her, cradling the baby.  Jenus looked left and right, stooping.

People around them whispered anxiously.  "Catjuice, what the heck is catjuice?"  "Does this have to do with the Magician?"  "There was a lady Magician;  Jim said he saw her at a meeting."  "A group was trying to do something a while ago." "I heard rumors about a lab." "Grab your ticket off planet."

Kebe had cropped her hair into a crew cut a couple of days earlier, and now blessed that whim.  Yet Jenus had never had on Virgil a profile as high as hers, so she handed the baby to him with trembling hands.

*

Jenus's fear mingled with the feeling that he'd forgotten something important.  Kebe looked scared;  she handed him baby Janet.  Jenus held the sleeping baby in his arms.  He looked at the tiny person he was holding;  her perfect small fingers twitched slightly.  His job, now, was to keep them alive.  Kebe had walked ahead, away from him;  a thick crowd was now between them.  The crowd pressed him forward in an unstoppable flow.  He looked at the high platform—and it dawned on him.

*

"No!  I've done nothing!  I know nothing!"  Someone yelled ahead.  Kebe heard a loud smack, and the pleading stopped.  As the gate got closer, Kebe saw assassins in black and red ConSEnt uniforms trying to match pictures with the faces going by.

*

"Kebe!"  Jenus yelled loudly but not loud enough.  He looked at baby Janet, unable to move against the crowd.  The man on the high platform had the same voice, so was the same man who long ago, in another life on Earth, had tried to kill him by shooting him in the back, leaving him face down in the gutter.  He looked at baby Janet.

*

Kebe forced herself to appear calm.  The crowd streamed through the gate, one person at a time;  her turn came to walk before the security checkpoint. 
I've done this before,
she thought.  Her hands wanted to shake. 
I'll make it for Janet.
  She had to control herself. 
I'll make it because I can.
  Her lips mustn't quiver. 
I'll make because I want to.

Some guards looked at her casually.  As she left them behind, her spastic fingers reached her face and swept her forehead as if to adjust a lock of hair.  She wanted to smile, but too-stiff lips refused to oblige.  She walked unevenly, not daring to look back for Jenus and Janet.

"Hey, look at him!"  she heard a commando say.

"Yeah, it's a match," another said.  "Gun both, the man and the baby."

Kebe turned to hear two short rallies of shots and see Jenus and Janet fall in a pool of red.  Her vision clouded, and she fainted.

*

"So you got Jenus Dorato," Bruxvoort said.

"Positive, sir.  It's a match:  eye prints, teeth, the works.  He had a baby girl with him."

"A baby, you say."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, captain," Tom Bruxvoort stood up and paced the floor of what had been Potter's office, "I had a long-standing issue with Dorato that is now settled for good, thanks to you.  I've no dispute with his wife—or girlfriend.  The matter is closed."

The captain snapped his heels, saluted, and turned around.

CHAPTER 44

"How's Mrs. Dorato?" Primus Lelouche said.

"Sedated," Rebecca answered.  "Miserable."

"Did she snap?" Nero said.

Rebecca shook her head.  "She's holding.  When she came looking for me, we cried together and walked back here to her place.  I got a tranquilizer for her from the dispensary.  After she fell asleep, I came looking for you."

"To understate the case, our situation is precarious," Max Hopkins said.  "Bruxvoort will have our hides if we don't act quickly.  We need a plan."

"Yes," said Terry.  "We all take catjuice and then decide independently what to do.  After I'm like her," he gestured at Rebecca, "I'm on my own.  I want enough for the rest of my family—that's all.  We'll try the wilderness for a while, until things calm down."

Max nodded.  "Alternatives?"

"Kebe won't be able to take the juice," Nero said.

"Not now, but she will tomorrow," Rebecca said.

"Is anybody opposed to taking catjuice?"  Primus said.  "I skimmed the current crop, just in case.  Here's what I got."  He fetched a hefty bag, which he placed on the table.  "This is a half kilo of catjuice paste:  plenty for our immediate purposes and then some.  Another five kilos will be ready soon."

"It's two to three, then," said Rebecca, "Nero and me to nurse Max, Terry, and Primus.  We can't do it here.  We need to find a place away from anyone—no more Lucretias."

"And medication is needed," Primus said, "but not for me.  I won't take the juice.  You'll be one-on-one."

They all looked at Primus:  "I'm too old," he said, staring at the floor.  "I don't think I'd survive anyway."  He looked up, wearing his brightest smile.  "I've had what I wanted from life:  you," he said, looking at Rebecca, "and all those who will follow.  I am a rich man, Ms. Doe;  your courage made me rich—the courage of all of you.  I don't care what comes next;  it won't get any better than this."

Terry stared ahead, lost in his fantasies.  Nero bit his lips.  Max looked down, then left, then right.  He wiped his nose with his hand.  Rebecca put her hand on Primus's.

"There is one thing," Primus continued, "that I can try, that would be more useful than turning myself over to Bruxvoort."

Even Terry turned to look at him.

"Lucretia's prescription for the catjuice dosage," Primus said, "was derived from Nero's intake.  Nobody knows what would happen if dosage were enormously greater."

"Are you suggesting..."  Max started.

"That I take a catjuice overdose?  Yes, as an experiment."

"But you'll die!"  Rebecca cried.

"Maybe and maybe not, Ms. Doe," Primus answered, patting her hand in a fatherly manner.  "I'll be a dead man in a couple of days no matter what;  at least my actions would serve some purpose."

"You can't do this by yourself, Primus," Nero said.

Primus raised his eyebrows.  "Says who?"

"Come with us," Max said.  "We'll do this together."

"We can't leave Kebe alone," said Nero.

"Oh, yes we can," said Terry.  "We need you, and she'll sleep for a long time."

"You arrange the details;  I'll go get the medications," Rebecca whispered.  She sniffed, dried her cheeks with a tissue, then winked and disappeared.

The afternoon was mild.  One moon painted a lacy arc in a spotless blue sky.  Yellowtrees hid the human settlements from the enclosed spread of grass;  the hideout was naturally fenced in with thick undergrowth that secluded the area.  Five people sat on the ground in a circle.

"We have a minor change in procedure," Rebecca said.  "Since we'll all be knocked out, Primus, Max, and Terry need to take their intravenous medication right after the catjuice."  She showed three syringes, one fuller than the others.  She gave the fullest to Primus.  "You take the biggest pill."