A Tale Of The Continuing Time - The Last Dancer Part 24

Lan stood abruptly, turned to leave. "I don't need a conscience," he muttered as he left. "I have a sister."

DateLine:Shawmac on Retirement This is my last column.

As I sit here tonight in these, the last moments of my old life, I am forced to reflect upon a life filled with bitterness, cheap drugs and cheaper alcohol. Face it: writing doesn't pay.

Even as I write, the syndicate that publishes my work, the people-make that the evil lying sc.u.msucking backstabbinglawyers-at Mondo Cool, Inc., are busy trying to deprive me of the retirement benefits I've earned from twenty hard years of labor as a corporate slave, a stone blind geek whose writings have served with equal vigor the twin G.o.ds of profit and pernicious excess.

Theygot the profit, of course. Over the course of the years, better than eig't.i.ty percent of the income from DateLinehas been gobbled up by those sleazy, profiteering hacks in Redmond, those sordid Satans in eyeshades.

Some have suggested that I'm feeling sorry for my self.

d.a.m.n straight.

Twenty years today.

I should have known better, back when I started. So yes, I was innocent. Virginal, perhaps. And the lawyers atMondo Cool Syndicatedstrung me up and hung me out to dry, spread my bleeding skin across their walls, salted me down and tied me to a contract no sane writer would ever have accepted, ruined my life for twenty years, left me with nothing but the s.e.xual favors of my fans as recompense, and then cried crocodile tears all the way to the bank over my pain and agony.

And did their perfidy stop there? Did it?

Well, yes. Believe me, n.o.body is more shocked than I am. It's so unlike them.

As of today, from this instant forward, I write whenIwant to, as Iwant to, on my terms.

But first I have to save the world, with this sensable script I wrote- Maybe I'll be back.

- 9 -.

Thursday, May 28, near 5:00 em., Nicole Eris Lovely sent for Denice.

Denice was told to bring her handheld.

Lovely received Denice inside the farmhouse proper, above ground, in the living room. The furniture was old American colonial; Lovely sat in a rocking chair, and Domino Terrencia.

stood immediately behind her, one hand resting on the back of the rocking chair. Nicole gestured Denice to a straight-backed chair placed with its back to the window, and said, "Please sit."

Bay windows let out on a view of the rows of corn, still bright with the day's last sunlight. Denice seated herself, said mildly, "I wondered why corn was such a staple in the cafeteria."

"How do you feel?"

In fact Denice still felt somewhat shaky, but nothing could possibly have brought her to share that with the dry old woman watching her. "I'm-fine, ma'am." She did not know why she said it: "A slight tickling sensation in the back of my head."

Domino Terrencia lifted an eyebrow.

Lovely said, "You're not hung over?"

Denice said evenly, "No, ma'am."

"Good. I've been wanting to talk to you," the older woman continued. "You've made quite an impression on all of us in your short time here."

"I don't know what to say to that."

"You don't have to say anything, it's merely an observation. I've been trying to decide what to do with you."

"Callia didn't think that would be a problem."

Lovely smiled thinly. "Callia is a charming girl. But I don't suppose she's read more than a hundred psychometric profiles in her life; I've averaged ten a day for the last forty years. I never do business without one. Yours was compiled from your responses during your interview with Callia, and as I say, it concerns me. You're in love with your former employer."

Denice did not deny it. "That does not affect my opinions concerning the Unification itself, or the nature of my commitment here."

"Your loyalty indices are incredibly high. Normally I find that an excellent sign; in your case, though, your loyalties are split in far too many directions. Ripper, your instructor Robert Yo, your friend Jimmy Ramirez, and who knows how many others. I will be blunt; I am inclined, 'Selle Daimara, to put you in front of a firing squad."

A sniper behind me.Denice said softly, "Let's cut this short, shall we? If you thought you could get away with doing that, you'd have done it rather than open this conversation by threatening me with it. If you think that threatening me is going to make me do something foolish, give your sniper an excuse to take me out, you're wrong about that too."

Domino, standing behind Lovely, grew very still.

"It was a gamble," Lovely agreed. "Your profile is that of a dangerously unbalanced woman, Selle Daimara. You're barely in control of your pa.s.sions most of the time, and I deeply distrust such people."

"You mean you distrustall pa.s.sion. 'All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible.'" Denice smiled, said quietly, "You are a woman of dusty dreams, 'Selle Lovely."

"You'll get along well with Obodi. He talks your language."

Denice did not miss the implication. "I'm going to Los Angeles?"

"Auerbach was scheduled to leave for Los Angeles in two days. We believe that he did not know where he was going when he was sent here, but we may be incorrect; between now and Sat.u.r.day morning we're going to abandon this facility.

You're leaving now because I want you away from here when we evacuate. Your friend Ramirez is waiting for you down at the garage; I'm sending you to Los Angeles with him, Lan, and Callia."

Denice stood. '"Very good."

" 'Selle Daimara. Look at me." The old woman locked eyes with Denice, spoke without anger, without any particular show of emotion. " 'Sieur Obodi requested that you be sent to Los Angeles. He requested you by name. Ramirez vouched for you, said he's known you for seven years and that you are a woman who makes and keeps commitments. Ring recommended, in language it generally reserves for those actions needed to deal with the worst sorts of crises, that you be sent to Obodi."

"So?"

"I have no reason to believe you are anything but what and who you say you are. But people who attract attention to themselves concern me. A woman who has switched allegiances once will do it again. And a woman who describes herself, in all seriousness, as a dreamer of the day, is a woman I am unable to trust. If anything odd comes to light where you are concerned, no matter how trivial, I will have you executed."

Denice stood looking down at the old woman, distantly aware of the easy smile curving her lips. The sniper was in the corn, at least sixty meters away. In the time it took him to realize that she was moving, to pull the trigger, Nicole Lovely could be dead, and Domino would not take much longer. Denice leaned forward, said, "I haven't even seen your psychometric profile; but I think I know you better than you know me. You've always been scared of Ring and you're more scared of Obodi. You're out of your depth and you know it. And the thing that scares you the worst about me is the thought that maybe what you can't deal with, Ican. You're so scared youstink of it." Denice bent forward, brought her face close to Nicole Lovely's, and said, "Stay that way."

Nicole Eris Lovely whispered, "Don't try me, girl." Denice straightened, glanced at Domino, turned her back on both of them, and walked out.

It occurred to her on her way down to the garage that her father, an absolute master of the high-stakes face-off, could not have handled Nicole Lovely much better.

I am my father's child,she thought to herself, and the thought filled her with a degree of self-a.s.surance that surprised her.

The car flew westward through the night.

Lan and Callia sat together in the front seat; Denice sat in back with Jimmy Ramirez. The canopy was tinted black all around; it was impossible to see out. Jimmy had raised a barrier between the front and back seats, so that Lan and Callia could not hear their conversation.

To Denice's cold horror, she found that Jimmy Ramirezbelieved Obodi's story. "He's human," said Jimmy Ramirez simply. "He's as human as anyone could be. He's just not from the Earth.We're not.

We're the children of the exiles, of the people who were imprisoned here fifty thousand years ago."

Denice sat through the initial rush of Jimmy's explanation; she sensed that he had been wanting, perhaps since his initial meeting with the man, to speak about Sedon with someone he trusted. She spoke quietly and carefully. "Jimmy, do you know anything about genetics?"

It stopped him cold. "No, not really. Not as much as you, I'm sure. Why?"

"There's only a two-percent difference in the genetic code of humans and apes. Did you know that?"

"No. And I don't see what you're getting at."

"You know the moss that was found on t.i.tan?"

"Yes."

The point was one that Ring had made for her; nonetheless it made sense to her, and she did not hesitate to present it as her own. "That moss doesn't use DNA, Jimmy. It doesn't use any of the same base of amino acids that we use, and there's no particular reason it should. There are hundreds of amino acids that would work as well as the ones that, by chance, ended up composing the DNA of plants and animals on Earth. The chance that alien genetic material would haveanything in common with that of plants and animals on Earth is so unlikely it's flat plainimpossible."

"I'm sorry," said Jimmy slowly, "maybe I'm stupid. So?"

"This Obodi, he's human, right? No question about it. Jimmy, humans evolved on Earth. Not anywhere else. Life that evolved elsewhere would be so different from us that it couldn't even eat our food without being poisoned. The chance that humans evolved elsewhere independently, and then came here-there is no chance that that happened."

Jimmy was well educated, better educated in most ways than she was; she saw the argument sink home.

Finally he shook his head, said simply, "Maybe you're right. Maybe." He grinned at her then, said, "But wait until you meet him. Read his mind and see what you think, and then you tell me. Denice, he'sreal."

Denice said softly, "Okay."

"Denice?"

"Yes?"

"We can use you. But that's not why I'm glad you're with us."

Denice turned in her seat, hugged Jimmy suddenly and fiercely, and whispered into his ear, "Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you very much."

After a bit Jimmy said, "You can let go now." He sank back in his seat and straightened his coat and tie.

"I know you're stronger than I am," he said a moment later, "but you don't need to make a point of it by bruising my ribs."

"You used to be stronger than me. You're out of shape these, days."

"I'm a lawyer, not a boxer. And even when I was stronger than you, I couldn't have taken you if my life had depended on it." Ramirez shrugged. "Muscles aren't everything."

Denice nodded, let herself relax against him. True enough.

She had slept less than eight hours in the prior two and a half days; not long after that she closed her eyes, relaxed into the vibration of the flying car, and went to sleep with her head on Jimmy Ramirez's shoulder.

Some two hundred troops in gray PKF combat fatigues, mostly men, were encamped in a ragged semicircle stretching across most of a kilometer of hillside in the Santa Monica Mountains. The circle of troops faced a small collection of buildings, inside a walled enclosure, across a distance of perhaps two hundred meters.

"Bad timing," said Jimmy as they stepped out of the car into the gray, early morning light. Denice glanced over at Lan and Callia; they looked every bit as much at a loss as she felt. "Let's let them get their work done, and then we'll introduce you around. For now, keep your mouthsshut."

The car had landed at a rough downlot near the edge of the encampment. Mist still crawled over the campsite, slightly obscured the view of the building the troops were arrayed against.

A table had been set up at the edge of the downlot, bearing doughnuts, bagels, coffee, and fruit juices. A half dozen men and women in civilian clothing stood near the table, eating, drinking, and talking in quiet voices.

A pair of PKF AeroSmiths hovered overhead.

Jimmy gestured to a row of small folding chairs set up near the table. "Have a seat. I'll be right back."

Lan looked around helplessly after Jimmy had gone. "Great. Who wants orange juice?"

Callia shrugged. "I do. Denice?"

"Sure."

They walked over to the refreshments table together. Callia said, "This seems very familiar to me."

Lan nodded, pouring. "Me too."

Denice shook her head. "Not me." She had taken one sip of the juice when the firefight began.

Laser light stabbed downhill toward the ma.s.sed ranks of the PKF soldiers. From the PKF positions, artillery fire responded, an awesome barrage of sh.e.l.ling that blew down a huge section of the wall surrounding the small enclave. A wave of gray-clad foot soldiers surged forward, running through the early morning mist toward the enclave's smoldering structures. Laser light reached out from the windows and doorways of the now-exposed buildings, a ragged response to the PKF sh.e.l.ling.

Denice stood with a paper cup full of orange juice in one hand and watched the a.s.sault.

The PKF troops reached the edge of the enclosure and paused to regroup. A huge, booming voice, enormously amplified, called out in a strong, vaguely Latin accent, "YOU HAVE ONE LAST OPPORTUNITY TO THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER. YOU HAVE.

THIRTY SECONDS TO DECIDE.".

"That's right," said Callia to no one in particular. "They'd already fried the President, and they wanted to take the Speaker of the House alive."

"They waited twenty seconds before they went in," said Lan.

Denice was not counting; nonetheless she thought Lan was probably correct. About twenty seconds had pa.s.sed when the PKF troops crossed over the broken stretch of wall and into the door-to-door fighting that had marked the Unification's conquest of the Camden Protectorate, in the last significant battle of the Unification War.

Perhaps sixty seconds after the final wave of the a.s.sault had begun, a hugely amplified voice boomed down out of the sky: "CUT!"

Jimmy shrugged. "The extras are all Rebs. We've got a couple of Claw playing officers, and another couple of Claw in the production crew. The second unit director, Joe Tagomi, is handling all of the action scenes; he's a Reb, ex-s.p.a.ce Force, one of our best combat people. The building they're attacking is, by an odd coincidence, laid out in very nearly the fas.h.i.+on of the PKF barracks that exists, today, in Los Angeles."

Callia said flatly, "This is the craziest thing I ever heard of."

Denice blinked.

Jimmy looked at Callia without expression. They were seated out in the open about forty meters away from the trailer where the second unit director sat with a full sensory traceset covering most of his skull, working through the morning's rushes. "Is it? We needed a place to train. Somewhere outside, in terrain at least something like the terrain in which we're going to be fighting. Chris Summers recommended the Santa Monica Mountains, and we did a complete risk a.n.a.lysis before we started. We're actually shooting a sensable. Terry Shawmac wrote the script, Adam Selstrom agreed to play Jules Moreau. Shawmac knows what we're doing-he had to, to craft the script in such a way that we would get the training results we needed. Selstrom doesn't. Most of the balance of the crew are sympathizers, supporting members of the Reb, a few Claw who we don't think the PKF have ever made. The sets aren't historically accurate, but the PKF don't care about that; that we're shooting a pro-Unification sensable during the TriCentennial made themvery happy. Licensing was a Cakewalk; Unification officials have been so cooperative with us I barely know how to describe it. It's more than a little eerie."

Callia shook her head. "I don't like it. This is very risky. Was Nicole consulted on this?"