Doomsday Warrior 18 - American Dream Machine (18 page)

“Here he comes!” an older council member suddenly called out. “The Zrano’s got him now!”

“Looks worried,” another councilman shouted, gleefully.

“Worse than that. Petrified,” another laughed.

Ezlin asked Rock, “How
does
it feel out there, knowing that you’re facing death? I mean how does it
really
feel inside?”

Rock said nothing. The Zrano closed its jaws on the victim, swallowing the man’s scream.

Rock looked away.

Getting to his feet slowly, Rock planned on talking to these men quietly, making them understand what their evil system was doing to other humans. But they were enraptured by the pictures of the man dying. Almost before he realized what he was doing, he knocked the visi-screen to the floor. It shattered.

Ezlin stood up, shouting, “You can’t do that!”

“Watch me!”
Nothing else was left of Rock’s planned speech on decency and morality—only those two grim words.

As he stepped on the pieces of the visi-screen, satisfying crunches came to Rock’s ears, more like old-fashioned wood splintering than any glassov. He was standing on the fading picture of the frightened man, grinding it to pieces under him. The scream continued. It took longer to trample the wirecord for sound.

All the Esmereldan councilmen were standing in silent outrage. Only Ezlin, briefly on his feet, returned to his seat and was staring in a disconcerting way at Rock.

“I felt sure you would take the arena job,” the bearded scientist said. “After all, you’ve had direct experience of the games and have expressed some interest about the things that give pleasure to others.”

“Pleasure?” He drew a deep breath. “Pain for others
isn’t
pleasure! Is that really so hard for you all to understand?”

“You will be taken back to your room,” Ezlin sighed. “I think we’ve all seen enough of you. There is obviously no hope for you. I wash my hands now. Heavens, how I tried!”

And at that moment Rock was reminded of how he had felt the first time he’d seen the Zrano on a visi-screen. A flick of fear coursed through his body, he would have run, but the very thought started the pain bracelet to punishing him with bolts of pain. Somehow, he would face the pain.

Run where?

Where does a man in a box run?

Twenty-Three

T
he sentence was execution. Tomorrow. Back in his guarded room, Rock found the answer to his dilemma on his bureau—the inspiration was the ten-credit cash-note from Ronette!!

When the guards came to lead him to the execution chamber, Rock said, “Tell the council I will accept a job!”

They looked disconcerted but went away, locking him back in.

A short time later, Rock faced Ezlin in Ezlin’s study.

“Are you jerking me around?” a tired Ezlin asked.

“No.”

“What job would you like to perform? This I’ve
gotta
hear!”

Rock replied, “It occurs to me that if the women of Esmerelda were more pleased with their bed partners, it could bring on a state of general happiness that would increase their production.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Ezlin looked suspicious. “Tell me, then, what work you would seriously suggest for yourself? There’s not much time before we execute—”

“It occurred to me late last night that I’d like to show on a visi-screen how it is possible for a man and a woman to be happy making love,” Rock said. “I can record my—er—encounters with the prosti-women. Show other men how to—er—
do it!
Sex is as natural as sleeping and eating, and you wouldn’t, I’m sure, hesitate to show those other functions on a visi-screen.” Rockson really
didn’t
intend to make sex tapes. He had a
plan.

“I see . . . interesting, but the visi-screens are hardly watched, except during the Zrano games. And there are five games this week . . .”

“Then knock the games off the air!”

“No, we can’t do that.” Ezlin looked down at his folded hands. “The games cause universal pleasure, and to halt them is to invite a rebellion, or at least hurt production.”

“Postpone the games, and
increase
production! You need more production don’t you? Everyone here is on a bare sustenance diet, aren’t they? Even you!”

The weary man said softly, “I think you have an idea, but the video is O-U-T! The next best thing would be to use audi-writing. Do a manual on lovemaking, Rockson. That’ll be your new job! You will be a writer! No correction of your mind necessary—OK?”

“No! There are already manuals on the mechanics of making love. I remember reading one in my room. And manuals, obviously,” Rockson went on, “don’t seem to work, as far as your women are concerned!” Rock was picking his words carefully. “The girls think that sex is unpleasant or just a work duty they’ve got to be paid for! It shouldn’t be like that. There can be joy in it for each, warmth and pleasure. And
happiness
increases
work!
Let me do the videos!”

“And who’d pay attention to advice on making sex from a young man whose only claim to fame here is that he survived an encounter with the Zrano?”

“There would
certainly
be some interest if you publicized my crime. Remember, I’m the
greatest playboy in the galaxy!”

“It might work.” The Esmereldan’s generous lips quirked at the corners. “You have a fresh idea; go tell Panxux.”

Soon Rockson presented his case to Panxux, the council leader: “Sir, allow me to work at the job I’m best at!” Rock
had
him there. It was against the laws of Klossam to deny a man work that he was good at!

“I think you’d have to understand that my schedule is an imposing one,” the man, trying not to agree, said. “These few minutes spent on the matter of your future is the first free time I’ve had in many a long month, and now I must go!”

“You didn’t answer me. I demand the job! And I need to do it with Kimetta. She’s the best!”

“Despite how randy you may be, Rockson, I can assure you that this asteroid doesn’t need an official pornographer!” He glared. “A royal pornographer so to speak!”

“Not even if the point is that the porno increases production? The great philosopher stated, ‘The good is what—’ ”

“Improves production,” the council leader sighed. “You win! You have your job. To my dying day, I will
never
believe that I took part in any conversation like this! But we’ve been without wars, thanks to Klossam. A program of unceasing work is the answer for preventing mass slaughter.”

Rock snapped, “Or it might be that the slaughter of a few people in an arena makes others stop thinking about—”

“Fuck!
Go make your damned pictures, Rockson! That will be all! I’ll advise the council the execution is
off.”
Showing Rock out, the leader of Esmerelda opened the door on a surprise.

A man stood in that door, lights glinting off the tip of a grav-knife he was carrying tightly in his right hand, which was raised. The leader backed off, so that he was alongside Rockson.

For a moment Rock felt sure that the knife was intended for
him,
and he stepped to one side. The intruder shouted and ran past him, moving at top speed in the direction of the ruler!

Rock turned swiftly and silently on his heels, realizing that, if he wanted, he could reach the knife arm from behind, and vigorously twist it. But why should he help Panxux?
Oh, hell . . .

An angry, defiant shout from the intruder’s throat changed to screams. His knife hand was forced downward until the weapon clattered to the polywood floor and Rock kicked it away. Only then did he push the man from him, and recognize with whom he had been dealing.

“You!”

It was Broomak, the liberal. Now a mad assassin.

Panxux asked quietly, “Why did you want to do this, Kitra?” He used Broomak’s first name.

The knife wielder said in his high, piping voice, “I have come around to Rockson’s way of thinking. He’s
right!
Life here is all work and no fun!”

The leader said, “You need to be
corrected!
More waste, Kitra, of good manpower thanks to this man from Earth’s evil influence!”

“You’ve been wasting every man and woman on this asteroid,” Broomak shouted. “You’ve been a disaster for Esmerelda, you and your cronies. Every year production
decreases!”

Panxux spoke to Rock, eyes unwavering: “Stay with him; I’ll go to find the guards; they will come take him away. Thanks, I owe you one . . .”

“Good,” Rock said, “we’ll sit here and talk meanwhile!”

Kitra Broomak stared at the desk where the leader had been sitting. Not a word passed between the failed murderer and the younger man who had doomed him. Soon a guard snapped a pain-bracelet set on “maximum obedience” on the failed killer, and led him away. Rock held the door open and was going to follow the two when the leader’s voice called on him to wait.

“Only one more point, Rockson,” the man he had saved said, seating himself behind the desk. “I’m aware that I owe you a debt and will find a way to discharge it.”

“Just let me have Kimetta to make the instructional videos with.”

“I’ll see. You realize she’s a free woman? She might refuse. I can’t order her . . . she’s the warden’s daughter.”

“I know. But she’ll come to me.”
But would she?

Twenty-Four

H
e had the 3-D video cameras all set up and ready, and Rock expected Kimetta to show up by midnight. But no go! Just as Rock was shucking his one-piece suit, figuring something had gone wrong, he heard a soft voice calling from the slightly open door. “Hi honey.”

He nearly fell back in astonishment upon opening it. Not only was he looking at Kimetta, but she was naked except for some sparkle highlights on random spots—or was it Kimetta’s clone, Ronette, without the mask? In any case, she was standing in front of him. She said she
really was
Kimetta, the girl who had helped shanghai him and then had saved him by giving him the Zrano’s mother’s picture-medallion. He asked her in; she came in.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, “But you’re
Ronette.”

She blinked twice and sagged, “How did you know?”

“The real Kimetta, well . . . I’ll explain to her when she gets here—now go get her. Go on! Get out, honey, and send Kimetta here!”

“I’ll leave, but—”

He kissed her. “Maybe some other time.” He patted her bare fanny hard and sent her off—not without some regrets.

A short time later a fully clothed, angry Kimetta was at the door when he opened it. “Well, Mr. Perfect, Mr. Privilege,” Kimetta said, her blue eyes glaring, “I came here only to tell you off! You sent for me, did you? You want me to make your damned porn movie huh!! Well, I’m not—”

He smiled. “You’re acting just like your old self—the real
Kim,
not Kimetta—Kim is a woman who I dream about—I
hoped
you would act that way.
Now
come in! I have something to discuss.”

He pulled the perplexed-looking Kimetta in and shut the door. This idea of his was going to be hard to explain!

“Huh?” she said. “What?”

“Come inside, that’s why I asked for you; not for sex—I need some explanations. You brought me here, now
help
me, please.

She did come in, saying, “OK, I
owe
you that.”

“What the hell did you do it for,
all
of it! Why hurt me, then
help
me?”

She was thoughtful and calm after he asked that. She sat on the bed and stared into space a while. He almost expected her to take out a square of audi-writing and flick on music. But all she said was “I don’t know.”

“I think I
do
know, honey,” Rock said. “I think all
reality
changed! I think you were compelled to do it all! Yes—don’t tell me you don’t feel like that happened. Don’t you have weird dreams? Dreams of being someone else?”

“No . . . wait! Yes.” She smiled. “I dream I’m the president’s daughter in a place called America! That I really do love you. Yes Rock, I do dream! Those dreams are why I helped you, even if in
this
reality I’m supposed to hurt you!”

“That’s crazy, but I know you’re right. I’m dreaming,
now.”

She nodded. “Yes. In any case,” she said, “Panxux informed me that he was desirous of sparing your life and wouldn’t consider otherwise unless you violated some other rules or were guilty of treason by not working well on your video-sex tape plan. He favorably mentioned your plan to make the videos to teach your ways of sex pleasure, to increase work productivity. So I’m to be your co-star! Please, all this talk about dreams and reality hurts my head!”

Rock declined her invitation to begin filming sex instructions. Instead, he sat next to her and said, “I think you’re right, like I am, about reality being wrong. I had dreams—that I was someone called the Doomsday Warrior. That I was—trapped in a box, suffocating, dreaming about this place, this world. Kimetta,
Esmerelda isn’t real!
Do you believe me, Kimetta?” His mismatched eyes held her. “Say you do!”

“I do.”

“Then we’ve got to escape!”

“How can one escape a dream? Let’s just have fun dreaming!” She started to strip off her clothes. “Please, let’s have sex! I’m—I’m
scared
of this
talk!
What can we do about wrong realities?”

“I don’t
know!
Put—put on your clothes. Let’s get going. Can you use your pull to have the guard remove my pain bracelet—to get us at least on the way to the spaceport?”

“Yes . . . I am A-1, and a citizen. I am trusted. I am the warden’s daughter. But, how will that—”

“I have the crazy idea,” Rockson said, buckling his belt, “that if we escape this asteroid, we escape the dream! And we—I—wake up!”

“I know I was part of this conversation,” Kimetta said, “but now, none of this makes the slightest sense to me!”

“It will. Let’s go!”

Twenty-Five

T
hey left the arena area in a rocket-car. Rock sighed in relief as his pain-bracelet was taken off by a guard. In a short while Rockson heard sirens, saw police vehicles swooping down. “The radio; put on the police scanner,” Rock said.