Tears in Rain Part 28

"Better to ask what should you have done. We believe in action, not words. So tell me what you really dedicate yourselves to here in the HSP."

The man looked stunned.

"I don't understand."

Bruna stared at him.

"Well then, let's speak frankly. In New Barcelona, some of us thought that the HSP had something to do with the recent replicant deaths-Chi and the others."

Now distrust won out. Hericio became so nervous that his voice sounded half a tone higher.

"Are you accusing us of murder?"

"We simply believed it was a marvelously thought-out campaign to incite resentment and awaken the sleeping conscience of the people. A stroke of genius in terms of social agitation, really."

"Who do you think you are, suddenly appearing out of nowhere and accusing us of something like that?"

"I haven't come out of nowhere. I'm sure you've checked me out thoroughly. You know everything about me. I now see you even know how much money I have in the bank. I'm a competent and well-known academic. So now it's my turn to say to you what you said to me earlier. Trust me and show me that we can trust you, and the ten million is yours. But if you don't want to, I'll quite happily leave by that door."

Hericio swallowed.

"I'm not sure what you're proposing. I don't even know if you really have all that money."

"And I'm not clear that we're on the same wavelength or if we're after the same thing."

There was a short, heavy silence.

"You're covered with bruises," said Hericio, pointing at her with his finger.

"They're birthmarks," the rep replied with caustic sarcasm.

The man looked at her with incredulity and then got back to their earlier topic.

"So what do you want me to tell you, Annie? I've celebrated every one of the rep murders-and the disgraceful end of that freak Chi, in particular. I was even delighted-and I'll deny this if you repeat it in public-with the murder of the humans caused by that techno who blew herself up, that Nabokov. Every death is a tragedy, even more so if the victims are children, as in that case. But that slaughter has been fundamental to raising people's awareness, and it's well known that you can't have revolutions without victims. If truth be told, it seems a fairly small price to pay if we can thereby save society from degenerating. But neither I nor my party has had anything to do with all that."

"I see. And from this point on, what are you intending to do?"

"Lead this change, of course. We are in touch with other supremacist groups on various parts of the planet. There have been quite a few protest movements throughout the world this past week-nothing comparable to ours, but it's obvious that there's a global reaction brewing against all these disgraceful acts."

"That's all very well, but I'm talking about the here and now-about deeds, not words. What, specifically, is your next step going to be? Because right now, what's needed is something really dramatic, a final incitement. For example, now would be the perfect moment for a rep to a.s.sa.s.sinate...Chem Cones, for example. Chem is one of your disciples, a known supremacist, and right now, as acting president of the region, he's the main focus of attention. Imagine what a magnificent impetus his death would give to the cause."

A flash of emotion lit up Hericio's face. Bruna leaned forward and whispered, "We could help you with that. Professional help, efficient, secure."

But the light had already gone out. The man stood up and began to walk around in circles.

"I'm not saying you're not right. A death like that would be most advantageous. A martyr. Yes, that's it, our cause needs a martyr," he babbled.

He came to a halt in the middle of the office and looked at her.

"But it can't happen. It can't happen. I'll never take part in something like that, nor will I allow the HSP to partic.i.p.ate. And do you know why, Annie Heart? Do you know why? Not for lack of courage or decisiveness, nor because of any moralistic prudishness, because I'm well aware that the greater good far outweighs one small act of evil. But when you do something like that, you run the risk of being found out. It possibly won't happen in your lifetime, because probably while you're alive, you'll be able to arrange things so that everything remains hidden. But after you've gone? Then the historians and archivists arrive on the scene like vultures and poke around in everything. And I have to look after my reputation-you understand, Annie Heart? I'm destined to be one of the great figures of history. I'm the restorer of the human race. The savior. Future generations will speak of me with veneration and grat.i.tude. And I have to look after that legacy! I mustn't give the enemy any excuses, because I won't be there to defend myself, to explain myself. To date, I haven't had to get my hands dirty, and I'm not going to start doing that now when I'm at the gateway to posterity."

He's serious, Bruna said to herself, astonished. So astonished in fact that she realized her mouth was open, and closed it. Of course, she had never expected that the racist leader would openly confess his part in the plot; she had only wanted to air the topic to see how he would take it. Throw a line in the murky waters, as Merlin used to say. But she wasn't expecting a reaction like this. The guy really believed what he was saying. He was an idiot. She had a feeling-she was almost certain-that Hericio had had nothing to do with the deaths of Chi and the other reps. Either that or he was a consummate actor. Suddenly, she felt a ring of fire squeezing her temples. All the dissembling had given her a splitting headache. It was the price she paid for the stress of pretending to be someone she wasn't and for humoring this repulsive supremacist. For appearing to hate reps and even believing it a little in order to be more convincing. Four years, three months, and thirteen days.

"Fine. I think I'm clear on your position," said the android, getting up from her chair.

"And what...what's going to happen with the money?"

"I'll talk it over with the others" was Bruna's ambiguous answer.

Hericio's face crumpled ruefully, as he mentally waved good-bye to the ten million.

"We could do many things together," he pointed out accommodatingly when they were already at the door.

"We could. If you change your mind about what I've said, leave a message under my name at the Majestic Hotel. I'll call there daily for the next month to check."

The door closed behind her, and Bruna gave a small sigh of relief. She walked down the short corridor to the office. The youth with the straps and guns was still there, but what was worse, so was Serra. By the great Morlay, the migraine was drilling through her skull. The deputy approached her, c.o.c.ky and smarmy.

"A robot will bring what you wanted to your hotel in two hours' time. You'll have to pay him in cash. Five big ones. Friend's price."

Five hundred Gs for a plasma gun. Not a bad price at all. If it worked.

"So I thought we could go to your room to wait for the robot," murmured Serra, moving closer to her.

Bruna put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him away. She intended to do it gently, but she was tired, and it must have ended up being too hard, because the deputy became angry.

"Hey, what's going on! You've gotten all you wanted from me and now you're trying to dump me? You think I'm the sort of person a blonde like you can laugh at?"

Uh-oh, the usual fireworks. Chest thumping like a gorilla to scare her. Bruna breathed in and tried to contain herself and concentrate in between the lashes of pain whipping across her forehead.

"It wouldn't even occur to me to laugh at you, Serra. What's happening is that I'm not feeling well. I have a horrendous headache. Now, you have two options: you can either believe what I'm saying and let me have a rest and, if you like, we can see each other tomorrow afternoon, or you can a.s.sume it's the typical excuse and kick up a fuss and we ruin our fun. You choose."

"You were leaving tomorrow."

"In the evening."

Serra thought for a moment, sulking.

"It's true that you don't look well."

"It's true that I don't feel well."

The guy stepped back and let her past.

"What time tomorrow?"

"Four o'clock."

"I'll cancel the robot. I'll tell it to make the delivery tomorrow afternoon," he grumbled, pointing his finger at her.

"It's up to you," growled Bruna as she left.

n.o.body saw her out and she became lost in the rambling corridors. It took her forever to find the main exit, and another eternity to make her way through the tight and ever-growing crowd packing the street. When she managed to reach the opposite sidewalk, she leaned against the wall and vomited.

"Repent, sister! The world will end in four days," trilled an Apocalyptic next to her.

She threw up again. That d.a.m.n migraine was killing her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

Hericio, somewhat disconsolate, stood gazing at the door through which the explosive Annie Heart had disappeared. It was tough to renounce ten million Gs, especially now that they needed to move to better headquarters and acquire the level of representation that their new leaders.h.i.+p role demanded. But principles are principles, he told himself emphatically, and the fact that he had been capable of choosing glory over despicable money made him feel lofty. His eyes suddenly became moist, an emotional tearfulness brought on by his own greatness.

Then he heard a very soft sound behind him, a rustle of clothing or a footstep, and he knew that Ainho was there, that she'd come into his office through the back door. Her inopportune entry irritated him, and he cursed himself for having given her the access code; what was he thinking at the time? He blinked a few times in an attempt to rid his eyes quickly of tears, repressed his bad humor and turned around. Ainho, arms folded, was smiling at him.

"This mania of yours for coming and going like a ghost is beginning to annoy me," said the politician, without being able to avoid a touch of acrimony.

"You used to welcome my coming to see you," Ainho replied, without losing her smile.

"Did I? Perhaps. But now I'm too busy. I don't know if you've noticed, but the situation has changed. Now I'm the solution, the renaissance, the future. People expect great things from me, and I'm going to deliver."

And as he was saying people, he swept his hand through the air in a broad, majestic gesture that seemed to take in the fake window, the virtual city visible through it, and even the whole world. Ainho laughed.

"Have I noticed? My dear Hericio, I'm the one who's put you there!"

"You? I've been in politics for thirty years!" replied the man indignantly.

"Thirty years of exclusion from parliament."

"That's a-"

"Okay, fine, I withdraw it. And I ask your forgiveness. I don't want to argue with you. Let's enjoy some peace and quiet. Friends?"

Ainho extended her hand, but Hericio was still too irritated.

"Friends?" she had to repeat.

There are few things as awkward as ignoring a person with an outstretched hand, so the politician relented and shook it, though reluctantly and with a wry face. Then he went and sat behind his desk. The desk was imposing, and the chair very tall; they made him feel powerful, and he wanted to overwhelm his visitor.

"So, I've already told you I'm very busy. Why have you come here? What do you want?" he grunted.

Ainho delayed her response until she had sat down in a chair opposite the politician. Then she crossed her legs in a matter-of-fact manner and smiled again.

"Let's just say it's a courtesy visit. I've come to congratulate you on how well things are going for you, and to see how you are. How are you, Hericio?" she asked with what appeared to be genuine interest.

"Fantastic...ahem...although I seem to be...I'm losing my voice."

And now this, thought the supremacist, lifting his hand to his throat. He was becoming increasingly irritated.

"Aha! Losing your voice-so I hear. Returning to what we were saying. Don't you recall that I told you I'd make you famous? That I'd take you to the center of the political stage? That I'd turn you into the man of the moment?"

"I...don't..."

"You do, Hericio, you do. Back then you really were interested in what I had to say. We agreed that I'd mount an operation, a campaign to boost your image out there, and that of your party. You didn't want to know what the campaign would involve, and that was the right decision. In any event, I wouldn't have told you."

"I-"

"Wait a minute. Forgive me for interrupting you. If you don't mind, I'm going to take this off."

Ainho pulled back the right sleeve of her jacket a little and, grabbing hold of a bit of skin at her wrist, pulled downward and peeled the skin off her hand. It looked as if she was removing the skin, but in reality, she was taking off a very fine transparent dermosilicon glove. She carefully put the object into an airtight bag and sealed it.

"Phew, that's a relief. No matter what they might say, you end up being allergic to these things. Getting back to what we were discussing, I want you to know that you form part of a vast operation. You thought you were hiring me, you thought that ridiculous amount of money you gave me was paying for a publicity campaign...You poor devil. I wasn't working for you; rather, you were working for me. You're my work, I've created you. And you're nothing more than a p.a.w.n within a grandiose master plan. So grandiose that it would never fit inside your pea brain. Nothing to say?"

"I see. I'd like to think that you're silent because you're embarra.s.sed by your own stupidity, but I fear it's the result of the neuromuscular block I transmitted to you earlier through the glove when we shook hands. Contact poisons are incredibly ancient; they were used during imperial Roman times, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance. In these hypertechnological times of plasma guns and penetrating shots of nitrogen, I thought it elegant to resort to something cla.s.sical-with a touch of modernity, of course. It's tetrapancuronium, a stronger, synthetic version of curare. An instant and devastating toxin. You become paralyzed within seconds, as you've been able to verify. You're unable to move. But you are able to see, hear, and feel. Within twenty minutes, the toxin paralyzes the respiratory muscles and the victim dies of suffocation. But don't worry, we won't get to that point. Everything clear so far? Any questions?"

"Ha-ha, forgive the tasteless joke. And forgive me as well for spying on you before when you were talking to Bruna. Well, you think she's Annie Heart, but in reality her name is Bruna Husky and she's a replicant! I'm sure that would make you shudder if you weren't paralyzed. Don't you find it repugnant that you received her here, in your own office? That you conversed with her so amiably? That you l.u.s.ted after her? Because I'm sure you desired her...so blonde, so hot, so voluptuous. Well, you and that rep said something very interesting-that the cause needs a martyr. And it's true. You're both right."

Ainho calmly stood up and removed a sizable imitation leather sheath from the inside pocket of her jacket. It contained a large butcher's knife. She walked around the desk with the knife in her hand and approached the paralyzed Hericio.

"It's nothing personal. And I'm not one of those people who enjoy doing this sort of thing. No. But it's what has to be done, and I'm going to do it. Because I'm absolutely clear how far we have to go. And I'm also clear which path to take. As you can see, I'm going to use the knife now. Again, a traditional weapon. Much less elegant than poison, of course. But even older. Basic. Look, you've had the misfortune of landing in the middle of history's stampede, and that's why you're going to be trampled. I'm sorry, but you're the ideal martyr. Moreover, your martyrdom has to be outrageous. Spectacular. That's why I'm doing this...and this...hmmm, I'm trying to be quick, but it's not that easy, believe me. And on top of everything else, the wound stinks...yuck. Nearly there. I think I might make another cut here...Aha! And now, I'm removing the intestines with the tip of the knife...That's it, good, it looks terrific. It looks quite a lot like the threatening hologram Myriam Chi received. Remember what you were saying a short time ago? That business of the greater good far outweighing one small act of evil? Well, you've been my small act of evil for today, my poor Hericio. But wait, it can't be, are you moving an eye? Oh, no. No need for concern. It's only a tear."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

He ought to have been pleased, because it was the reply he'd been looking for when he sent his memorandum, but Yiannis was in fact feeling nervous and intimidated. He had always been an orderly person, a meticulous and legalistic type, so breaking not one but two major administrative regulations was something that made him feel quite uneasy, despite the fact that he'd broken them knowingly. Moreover, the response had been much more immediate than he had expected, and that also heightened his anxiety. Less than an hour after he'd sent the memorandum, his supervisor's secretary had already summoned him to an urgent meeting. And it wasn't a holograph meeting but a meeting in person, something truly inconceivable. And on a Sat.u.r.day to boot! So now here was Yiannis, sitting on an extremely modern sofa in the supervisor's antechamber, waiting to be received. He'd been waiting almost an hour, despite the secretary having told him to get there quickly. Of course, it could be premeditated, a tactic designed to wear him down and make him more nervous. And if that was what they were trying to do with this long wait, he had to admit that it was working. Yiannis stirred in his seat, and the sofa rocked gently in the air like a cot. d.a.m.ned designer furniture.

"Yiannis Liberopoulos? Mrs. Yulia will see you now."

Finally. The archivist followed the young woman who had come for him. She had a line of hair running down her long neck like a brush, in the Balabi style. Alien hairdos were very fas.h.i.+onable among young Earthlings, so now they all looked like horses with cropped manes.

"Come in, come in, Yiannis, my friend. Please sit down."