F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02 (25 page)

           
“Where is
who?”

           
“That man!
The one who was on the floor over there!”

           
The nurse
smiled. “I’m afraid you might be just a little bit overtired, dear. You should
take better care of yourself. You might have been lying on the floor here half
the night if Mr. Easly hadn’t buzzed.”

           
“Larry!” Jo
cried, leaping to her feet.

           
Larry Easly
lay quietly in bed, his hands folded on his chest, a tired smile on his face.

           
“Hi, Jo.”

           
Relief and
reaction flooded through Jo as she crossed to the side of his bed and grasped
both his hands. There were tears on her cheeks… for the second time in
seventeen years, she cried. It was a joy to see Larry conscious again, to see
life in his eyes and hear his voice. But there was something else… mingling in
the relief was a curious, unfamiliar lightness of spirit, as if she had been
purged of all doubt and grief and fear. She felt reborn, released from the
past.

           
Except for
Old Pete. That reckoning was still to come.

           
“I’ll leave
you two alone a minute,” the nurse said, “then he’s got to go to neuro for
retesting.” She closed the door behind her.

           
“I’m okay,
Jo,” Larry said in a faint voice. “Just weak. So weak, it was all I could do to
press the buzzer when I came to and saw you lying on the floor.”

           
Jo’s head
snapped up. “Did you see anyone else on the floor?”

           
“No. Who do
you mean?”

           
“Proska.”

           
Larry’s
eyes widened. “You know about him?”

           
“He was
here! He tried to do to me what he did to my father and almost did to you.” She
hesitated. “Were you in… limbo all this time?”

           
“No,” he
said, shaking his head vigorously. “But I know what you mean. A Vanek explained
to me what Proska could do. No, I was unconscious. I don’t remember a thing
between the booth and this room. But where is he?”

           
“I don’t
know. Something happened when he tried to do whatever it is he does, and we
both collapsed. He was on the floor last time I saw him.” She glanced at the
wall clock. “And that was two hours ago!”

           
“Well, I’ve
only been conscious for about a quarter hour and he wasn’t here when I came
to.” He tried to lift his head but the effort was too much. “That means he’s
free. Jo, we’ve got to get off Jebinose. Proska is the most dangerous man
alive! I can’t walk yet, but I’ll go on a stretcher!”

           
The nurse
returned then. “Time to go. The neuro crew’s waiting for you.”

           
“The only
place I’m going is deep space!” Larry said with what little vehemence he could
muster.

           
Ignoring
him, the nurse flipped open the top of a small console at the foot of the bed.
“You’re going to neuro. Doctor’s orders. Besides, you’re too weak to go
anywhere else.” She tapped in a three-digit combination, then closed the
console cover.

           
The bed
began to roll toward the door and Larry looked around helplessly.

           
“Jo?”

           
“It’s
okay,” she said. “I’ll wait for you here.” She was not looking at Larry
anymore. Her eyes were riveted on a figure standing in the shadows out in the
hall.

           
When the bed
had disappeared down the hallway to the left with the nurse in tow, Jo went and
sat in the chair by the window.

           
Old Pete
entered. Jo’s blaster was in his right hand and he crossed the room and laid it
on the night table beside her.

           
“You won’t
be needing this,” he said.

           
“You sure?”
Jo’s voice was flat, hard. Her eyes were on the wall.

           
“Proska is
dead. He will probably be found shortly after sunrise in the park across the
street. His hands and feet have been tied to a tree; the top of his skull has
been removed and his brain has been smashed at his feet.”

           
Jo looked
at Old Pete’s face and saw in it a sense of infinite satisfaction. “You?”

           
He shook
his head. “No. The Vanek. They removed him shortly after he passed out here and
then Rmrl came to my hotel room. He returned your blaster and led me out to
view their handiwork.”

           
“But I
thought the Vanek never took any initiative – never acted on their own or
anyone’s behalf.”

           
“They
don’t. Or at least they didn’t until now.” He took a deep breath and shivered.
“For beginners, they sure don’t fool around.”

           
“How do the
Vanek know you?”

           
“I met Rmrl
seventeen years ago when I was looking into Junior’s death.”

           
“Is he the
one with the blue spot on his forehead?”

           
Old Pete
nodded. “He’s the one who delivered the coup de grace on your father and he’s
been waiting in silence all those years for the Great Wheel to turn full circle
and exact its vengeance on Proska. Your arrival prompted him into action. He
was no longer a typical Vanek after his close association with Junior Finch,
and when word of your arrival spread among the Vanek–”

           
“How did
they know who I was?”

           
He avoided
Jo’s eyes. “They…  knew. And Rmrl was determined to prevent the same thing
that happened to Junior from happening to you. So he and a few of his friends
decided to take Proska out of the picture, permanently. He had to die… 
there was no other way to handle him.”

           
“I hope
they catch up to deBloise, too!”

           
“They have
no quarrel with him.”

           
“They
should – Proska told me that he went after my father at deBloise’s direction.”

           
Old Pete’s
voice was a whisper. “Then it’s true!”

           
“What…?”

           
“It’s true!
DeBloise is involved. I’ve had that feeling in my gut for seventeen years and
could never prove a thing! That’s why I’ve kept such close surveillance on him
all this time!”

           
“And what
about Proska?”

           
“Never knew
he existed until this morning when Rmrl told me all about him and showed me his
remains.”

           
A long
silence. When Jo finally broke it, her voice was low but carried a sharp edge.

           
“Do you
really expect me to believe that?”

           
“It’s
true.”

           
She rose
slowly to her feet and faced him. She wanted to believe it. She wanted
everything over and done with and settled so she could get on with her life.
But there were still too many dark areas concerning the old man.

           
She spoke
the question that had hovered unasked between them since Old Pete entered the
room.

           
“Why are
you here?”

           
“On
Jebinose? I came to see if I could help Larry. After all, I’ve been here before
and–”

           
“Lie! You
came here to cover something up – or to make sure it stayed covered. What is
it?”

           
“Nothing!”
He spoke the word without conviction, as if he knew he would not be believed.

           
“Another
lie! The only connection between you and Jebinose is my father – and he’s dead.
You’re somehow involved in that and I want to know how!”

           
“Never! I’d
never do anything to hurt Junior. How can you say that?”

           
“The Vanek
told me, ‘He will not harm you again.’ Did he mean you?”

           
“No! He
meant Proska!”

           
“Impossible!
Proska didn’t even know I existed until tonight. How could he hurt me ‘again’?”

           
Old Pete
blanched and said nothing.

           
Turning to
the night table, Jo picked up the blaster and pointed it at the old man’s head.

           
“Tell me
now or I swear by all I believe in I’ll burn a hole in you! What was your
involvement in my father’s death?”

           
Her eyes
told him that she was not bluffing. She had tasted vengeance tonight and was
not going to stop until all accounts were settled. Old Pete began to tremble.
He found a seat by the far wall and slowly lowered himself into it. Looking up,
he held Jo’s angry glare and spoke in a dry, cracked whisper.

           
“Junior
Finch isn’t dead and he wasn’t your father.”

           
The words
lay on the air like dead fish on a stagnant pond. Finally, Jo shook her head as
if to clear it.

           
“What are
you saying?” She was nearly insane with rage. “Do you think you can get
yourself out of this by concocting some wild–”

           
“It’s true!
Junior Finch was completely sterile as a result of the radiation leak that
almost killed him when he was eighteen. He didn’t produce a single gamete from
then on. The histology report on the genitourinary system in the autopsy
reconfirmed this, and I paid an ungodly sum to have that part wiped.”

           
Jo’s finger
tightened on the blaster trigger. “But you said he isn’t dead! How can you have
an autopsy report on a man who isn’t dead?”

           
Old Pete
held up his hands. He was tired, defeated, and more than a little frightened by
what he saw in Jo’s eyes.

           
“Just let
me continue. When your grandfather found out Junior was sterile, he was
crushed. It meant there’d be no Finch beyond Junior to carry IBA into the
future. That was important to him. He set great store by family – didn’t start
one till late in life, but once he had one, it became the prime focus of his
life. Junior was one child, IBA another. He wanted them both to go on forever.
Me, I couldn’t care less.”

           
“Get to the
point.”

           
“I am: your
grandfather – a most persuasive man – talked Junior and his wife into cloning a
child from Junior. I helped them arrange it.” He paused. Then, regretfully:
“You are that child.”

           
“But I’m
female. Junior Finch was male.” The blaster did not waver. “A clone is an exact
genetic duplicate.”

           
“Surely you
know that a female can be cloned from a male. All that needs to be done is to discard
the Y chromosome and duplicate the already existing X. That’s basic genetics.
They decided on a female clone to head off any possible future suspicions. A
male would grow up to look exactly like its donor, and if anyone ever raised
the question, it would take only a simple chromosome test to put Junior in jail
and you in a molecular dissociation chamber. There are laws against clones,
remember? A female was safer.”

           
Jo lowered
the blaster. She believed him. The same instinct that had told her he was lying
before, now told her that Old Pete was telling the truth. And it fit. It
explained a number of things, especially the awe she seemed to inspire in the
Vanek – they had recognized her for what she was.

           
Jo was
inspiring a little awe in herself right now. She should be reeling, numb,
crushed, shattered. But she wasn’t. She felt strangely aloof from the
revelation, as if Old Pete were talking about someone else.

           
“I’ve kept
this from you all along,” he was saying. “I never wanted you to know. When I
went, I was going to take it with me since Junior’s death left me the only one
alive who knew. Even the technicians who did the cloning never knew whose cells
they were working with.”

           
“Why would
you keep that from me?”

           
“Because I
didn’t see any purpose being served by telling you that you’re not a real
person under the law. I didn’t know how you’d react to being a clone… that
knowledge could destroy someone. Don’t you see? Junior Finch isn’t dead. He’s
you – and you’re Junior Finch.”

           
Jo answered
without hesitation, her voice tranquil and full of confidence. “No. I’m
Josephine Finch. I always have been and always will be. Junior Finch lies
buried out there. Josephine Finch will go on living as she always has – as
Josephine Finch.”

           
It was a
declaration of identity that brought Old Pete to his feet and made his face
light with relief. Jo knew who she was and intended to remain who she was, no
matter what her origins. He stepped toward her, falteringly, until he stood
before her.

           
Placing his
arms on her shoulders, he said, “I’m proud of you… Josephine.”

           
She dropped
the blaster and hugged him. She wanted to speak, wanted to tell him how glad
she was that his only crime was trying to protect her, but her larynx was
frozen. She could only squeeze his thin old body very hard.