LoveStar (15 page)

HUNTING LICENSE

Simon received visual notification the moment Sigrid boarded the bus and announced her intention to go north.

[successful assignment! sigrid agreed to be calculated this morning: fifty thousand points paid into 113-34-34231 once she has been fully calculated at 8 p.m.]

He was jubilant; according to his contract he would also receive a 3 percent additional discount on his monthly matching payments when he himself was calculated. It wasn't a high percentage but would accumulate in the long run. Simon wanted to celebrate, go out for a meal and treat himself. He sent a message on the friends' line:

“see you lunchtime? regards simon”

Half an hour later he had still received no replies. He sent the note to Maria as well, letting it ride along with the rest, as if by chance; there was probably little likelihood of a reply but it was worth trying. She had answered neither text nor voice messages since they broke up. Hardly a minute passed when he didn't regret losing Maria, and there was no comfort in REGRET:

“It was just as well Maria left; otherwise the world would have ended.”

“The heavens could fall and the world come to an end if only I could have a word of love from Maria's lips,” thought Simon.

Another half hour passed and still no responses. He checked his phone, took a quick look at his voicemail, text, and picture inboxes. No personal messages, mostly junk mail and links to plague-flies:

10:15
murder in usa police not notified yet corpse
here
pursue the murderer relevant butterfly
here

10:18
train crash in Pakistan rescue workers not yet arrived not yet in news horrific view
here

10:19
dwarfs having sex in swedish apartment block side-splitting butterfly
here

10:20
great car crash people in wreckage fire spreading really exciting
here

10:22
gang rape
here
(don't report, more want to watch)

Simon checked out the train crash, a rather blurred picture due to rain at the crash site and limited viewpoints on offer. He paused at a butterfly in a carriage that was hanging off a bridge. The passengers had been thrown forward and lay there in a heap. A dark-skinned woman lay on top, eyes staring rigidly at nothing, her neck unnaturally twisted, her head back to front on her body, her yellow sari torn off revealing the bare flesh of her back and buttocks. A blood-stained child's foot poked out from beneath the woman, under which the face of a black-bearded man with a turban could be glimpsed. He was breathing. At first sight the only one still breathing. Simon glanced at the counter under the image: 110,298,762 and rising. A well-traveled plague-fly, clearly. The counter had reached 112 million when the man groaned: “CORONA BEER!” upon which all those still alive in the heap began to howl in turn. It was only to be expected when the audience had reached 112 million. Simon frowned: “They're always going further,” he thought, but he took care not to be shocked. Once even Elvis had seemed shocking. Beside the counter you could see that 21,212,570 people had visited an online chat-room about the accident. Simon was in no mood for black humor and irony. He logged off and waited impatiently for replies about lunch. He meant to call Indridi but felt it inappropriate, so he called his friend Krissi but the phone went unanswered. Next he dialed Palmi, who apparently blocked all his calls. At last Freyr answered his phone.

“Hi!” said Simon breezily, “I thought we might do lunch.”

“Wouldn't it be easier if I just gave you one thousand points?”

“What?”

“Maria called. She told us what happened.”

Simon was taken aback. “Maria called? What did she say?”

“She told us everything. You really had us fooled. We really believed your taste was that dubious. Some people even found it endearing the way you could talk so passionately about such crappy films.”

“I only wanted to see you,” muttered Simon. For once he was completely sincere. “I don't know why Maria has been lying about me. I haven't got time to meet up, anyway.”

He hung up on Freyr and checked the text inbox again:

[RE: REPLY TO YOUR APPLICATION

Dear Simon.

Your application for a position with the iSTAR advertising workshop has been turned down. Behavioral experts have checked for any observable changes in your abilities since you were selected as a secret host but none were detected. We will keep an eye on you and be in touch, should the need arise.

p.s. Thank you for your interest but we would ask you to please stop pestering iSTAR with random and unfocused ideas for advertisements.]

Simon longed more than anything to crawl under his bedspread and cry, but he toughed it out on account of the butterfly fluttering around him. He checked the offers page to see what he'd been assigned that day. His reduced personal rating had begun to make itself felt. The most expensive brands had disappeared from the list but there were various fallbacks: a five-year-old Volvo which would suit the taste and purchasing power of his cousin Svenni. Insurance—lots of insurance. A turkey of a film needed a good word on the street. Discounts, announcements, but then the following text popped up:

[Cool competition for secret hosts!

Assignment: Indridi Haraldsson. Mercy trip with LoveDeath. 75% commission.

Million Star Festival, special offer: 190,000.

Regular launch: 250,000.

Night launch: 300,000.

Additional frills: Magnesium: 25,000. Aluminium: 34,000. Nitrate: 12,000.

First come, first served!]

Simon called iSTAR at once.

“What's this about Indridi Haraldsson and LoveDeath?”

“One moment,” answered a man with a German accent, humming cheerfully. Cowbells clinked nearby (the man was lying in a grassy meadow in the Austrian Alps). “Here it comes, dum de dum,” he hummed, and read out: “Indridi H. called LoveDeath this morning. His girlfriend has been matched with someone else; he was just inquiring about a mercy trip when the connection was lost. It's a simple assignment. The fish has nibbled the worm, as we say here in the Alps.”

“But Indridi's not ill. I know him,” said Simon.

“Autistic from a marketing point of view, it says here. . .”

“That's a character flaw, not an illness! It's not sufficient grounds for a mercy trip. I'm not going to send my friend on a mercy trip, damn it!”

“We can't ban a man in full possession of his wits from going up with LoveDeath. We don't think for people. We just do what they want.”

“What'll happen if I take up the challenge?”

“You'll persuade him to go with LoveDeath.”

“What'll happen if I refuse the offer?”

“Someone else will take up the challenge. It's an open hunting license!”

“Open hunting license? I've never known LoveDeath issue an open hunting license before.”

“Progress,” said the man.

Simon examined the page more closely. According to this, ten hosts had already registered for the competition to persuade Indridi to go with LoveDeath. “What nonsense is this?” wondered Simon. LoveDeath didn't need to chase after customers. LoveDeath was above all reliable, secure, effective, and unavoidable, but now there seemed to be a change of tune: somewhere out there ten hosts meant to compete to see who could get Indridi to LoveDeath.

“Where's Indridi now?” asked Simon.

“The coordinates will follow if you take up the challenge.”

Simon registered himself and a yellow smiley face flashed on a map of the city. Indridi was at the Puffin Factory. Simon ran out to the car and roared off. On the way he received a belated text message from Binni.

[sorry, no go, maria's coming out to squash with me and sjonni what a girl!

p.s. easy to get the hang of her, got good info from iSTAR (and a nice video!) ;-)]

Simon deleted the message and did an intensive search for Maria. She wasn't at work, nor at her mother's. He roved into the gym and saw her sitting in a Jacuzzi with Sjonni and Binni, laughing at something, then she stepped out of the water, stark naked, bent over, turned her ass to the Jacuzzi, and shot a tantalizing look at Sjonni, who rose up and went over to her. The counter shot up to twenty thousand viewers and rising as Sjonni rammed away at Maria until Simon yelled “FUCKING HELL!” and switched off. He couldn't take any more, and now for the first time something really began to crack inside him. The car radio blared.
Last chance to take part in the Million Star Festival!
His application for iSTAR had been turned down . . .
A hundred million stars will shoot from the skies!
His network of customates had collapsed . . .
Be prepared, don't miss the spectacle of the century!
He was almost in a mood to book a mercy trip for himself.

Meanwhile, back at the Puffin Factory, Grim reckoned it was safe to let Indridi go home. He put an arm round his shoulders and escorted him to the front door. “You'll get over this, son. Everyone has to go through their first heartbreak.”

Indridi had no sooner left the puffin hall than a cheery fellow popped up and took his arm.

“Hi, Indridi!”

“Do we know each other?”

“Come with me,” the man said, taking his arm. “I can get you quickly and safely north to LoveDeath. The connection was lost before you booked, so I thought it would be better to discuss this man to man . . .”

A neatly dressed woman in her thirties stormed in through the door, seized Indridi's wrist, and tried to drag him in the opposite direction.

“Don't listen to him,” the woman said. “I've got a car. I'll give you a ride north.” She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “We could stop on the way and satisfy your last wishes . . .”

A rumpled old woman with a headscarf came in and tugged at Indridi's sweater. She had long gray fingers.

“Don't listen to them, my boy. They don't wish you well. Trust me. Come home with me and I'll tell your fortune and then we'll see what's in store for you.” The woman stroked his back. “I see a bright, shining future! Come with me . . .”

Indridi looked in bewilderment at these people who were having a tug of war with him. From inside the factory came a pitiful, long-drawn-out howl. The wolf had woken up. Hands fumbled at Indridi and voices promised him mercy and a fiery exit. More people came in. Indridi tried to back into the puffin hall again but the secret hosts gripped him tighter so he couldn't break their hold. The wolf howled louder and Indridi was spun around four times before he managed to tear himself free with a sharp jerk and flee back to the Big Bad Wolf, back to the safety, softness, and warmth. Grim ran after him along with the head of security, who called out:

“STOP! HEY, STOP! DON'T GO BACK!”

When they arrived Indridi was lying in the wolf pit again, patting the wolf affectionately while it licked his face with its huge tongue and growled at anyone who approached.

“Don't growl, dear wolf, they're not wicked people,” said Indridi sadly, scratching it behind the ears.

The security representative didn't dare to go down. He stood on the bridge, scarlet in the face.

“If you keep patting the wolf like that it'll stop being fierce!”

Indridi pretended not to hear him.

“Get out of there, boy! If it stops eating people and starts fawning on them like Lassie we stand to lose 500 million and five years' work and we'll have to begin all over again.”

“We should have left out the dog's heart,” thought Grim with a sigh. “A wolf with the heart of a dog . . .”

The secret hosts were still standing in the entrance lobby, banging loudly on the door to the puffin hall.

“Open the door! I'm his friend,” echoed around the hall.

“Indridi, dear! Could I have a quick word?” Indridi recognized the voice. It was a friend of his grandmother's.

“Are these his friends?” asked the security representative.

“Indridi hasn't got any friends,” said Grim. “He only mixed with other couples and his girlfriend has been matched elsewhere.”

Simon parked his car outside the Puffin Factory. More and more hosts kept joining the group to take up the LoveDeath challenge. A pale man stood to one side, puffing on a cigar. A woman waited in a car with smoked glass windows. Two teenagers loitered outside the fence.

“There's something wrong with the Mood Division,” thought Simon. He had never seen so many secret hosts exposing themselves in one place. He called Indridi but got no reply. In the entrance lobby of the Puffin Factory, he was met by a crowd of people.

“Indridi, it's all right! It's your cousin Anna here! I haven't seen you since you were small.”

Simon managed to force his way through the throng to the glass door and caught sight of Indridi as he was escorted into the puffin hall between two men, one of them wearing a white coat, the other clearly a guard. Simon made eye-contact with Indridi and called:

“Indridi! I'll get you out of here, Indridi!”

Indridi smiled dully at him. Simon was shocked at how drawn he looked.

“Do you know that guy?” asked Grim, pointing at Simon.

“He and his girlfriend were friends of mine and Sigrid's,” said Indridi.

“Is he one of them?” asked Grim.

“I think he's a programmer,” said Indridi.

“People claim to be all sorts of things,” said Grim. “Is he to be trusted?”

“Who can be trusted when it comes down to it?” asked Indridi.

The security guard drove the secret hosts back and let Simon in.

“We were here first!” a woman hissed at the security guard.

“Bribed you, did he, the bastard?” a man shouted. “I'll offer more!”

“Are you okay?” Simon asked Indridi. “Has Sigrid left?”