Джеффри Дивер - The Goodbye Man

“Good.”

Timothy did the shoulder salute to an AU. “Master Eli’s training me himself. We’ve found a lot of Minuses from my Yesterdays. I was on the wrong path all of my life. I’d built a city of Minuses. I told that to Master Eli and he liked it. He used it in a Discourse. A ‘City of Minuses.’ And he pointed me out.” Timothy beamed.

Shaw and the man passed Building 14, whose front door was open. There was movement inside, three or four AUs. A Select as well.

Timothy said wistfully, “I miss TV.”

“Sorry?” Shaw asked.

“Be our secret, right?” Timothy whispered, looking around. In anyone else, reluctance to admit that he liked television would be insignificant, or even played as a joke.

“Sure.”

“I wouldn’t mind watching a TV program here from time to time. When I was married we watched all sorts of fun shows. Not the news, of course. Master Eli wouldn’t allow that. But maybe sitcoms. Big Bang Theory. That was a hoot. The new Star Trek . And Kelsey Grammer. Frasier . Oh, that man made us laugh. My wife and me. When we were... Well, it was funny.”

“Did you talk to Master Eli about getting TVs?”

“Oh, I’m not one to make waves. He says we can’t be distracted from the Process.”

They arrived at the Square. Shaw stood at the outskirts of the crowd, gripping his notebook. He wondered if he could slip out, unseen, and retrieve the war club. No. A number of AUs and Inner Circles were herding everyone into the Square, as if guarding the perimeter. The crowd was the full complement, about a hundred people, the Novices, Apprentices and Journeymen in the middle, as usual. At stage right an AU was mounting a camera. The previous Discourses had been filmed on the ICs’ tablets; this was the first time a camera, on a tripod, had been set up since Shaw had been here.

On the stage was a table, and on it sat a bottle of red wine, the cork sitting loosely in the neck.

Eli was off the stage, talking to Journeyman Marion. She was having trouble keeping from smiling in pride. Pinned to her blouse was a small bunch of dried lavender. Maybe the herb was supposed to be the symbol of the new group. Beside them stood Steve.

Eli nodded and he and Journeyman Marion climbed the stairs, followed by the chosen Companions and unsmiling Anja. As they took their places behind the table, the applause began, shouts too, instigated, of course, by the ICs. The two men and two women — the new Circle — seemed of mixed emotions. Some were embarrassed by the attention, some were smiling proudly. They sat behind the table. Marion took her place in the center. Eli stood behind her. It was a modified Last Supper tableau.

At Eli’s gesture, Steve set down his bulging notebook, then stepped forward and filled the glasses sitting in front of each place. One for Eli too.

When the glasses were topped off, Eli stepped forward and looked over the crowd.

“Friends and Companions, it is my honor to welcome these individuals to our new group. The Circle of Representatives. There will be much work ahead of us, as we expand the Foundation throughout the country. And throughout the world. But we won’t be stopped from spreading the word that the best...”

“...is yet to come!”

Wild applause.

Eli raised his glass. “Here’s to the Process. To the Foundation... To the Tomorrow!”

The Circle downed the wine. As Eli lifted the glass to his lips, there came a cry from the ground. “Stop!” It was Hugh, running onto the stage. He slapped the wineglass from Eli’s hand. It crashed to the planks and shattered.

Gasps from the audience.

“It’s been poisoned! The wine! You’re going to die!”

Cries rose from the Companions in the Square. The inductees leapt to their feet, dropping their glasses, horror on their faces. Everyone but Eli had drunk the wine.

“He got rat poison from Building Fourteen!” Hugh shouted. “Call the doctor! Get him here now!”

An AU pulled a walkie-talkie off his hip and radioed for help.

Eli called, “What is this? What’s going on?”

Hugh brandished a sheet of paper. “We found this. A business plan he’s drawn up. He wants to destroy the Foundation. Start his own. He’s killing those you picked for the new group, Master Eli! And trying to kill you too.”

Gasps and screams from the crowd. Several of the people onstage were gagging themselves to induce vomiting. They were disturbingly successful.

“He? Who?” Eli demanded. “Who are you talking about?”

“Him!” Hugh said, spinning around. His face was contorted with anger. He stabbed a finger at Steve.

The young man blustered, “I...” He looked to Eli, then back to Hugh. “No. I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Two Companions saw him in the gardening shed with the wine bottle.”

“No, I swear.” Steve’s face was crimson. “I never... I love you, Master Eli.”

Hugh said, “He was overheard saying he’d lived in your shadow for too long. You didn’t treat him right.”

“Treat him right?” Eli whispered. “He was like my son.”

“Toxic!” somebody cried.

“He’s a Toxic!”

“Judas!”

“Cast him out!”

“Kill him !”

“The doctor? Where’s the doctor?”

Colter Shaw glanced at the agitated crowd, the fury in their faces.

Frenzy and panic too.

Better get to it.

He walked toward the stairs leading up to the stage. He disliked hurting anyone. He did, however, need to even the odds, given Hugh’s martial arts skills and the fact he was vastly outnumbered. He walked casually past Eli’s two bodyguards. Since the attention was wholly on the stage, Gray was concentrating on the drama, and Shaw thrust a fist into his gut. The man gasped, paralyzed. Shaw executed a fast wrestling takedown. The man landed flat on his back, moaning and gasping, the air blasted from his lung.

“Uhn, uhn, uhn...”

Shaw knew the feeling. It wasn’t pleasant.

In two seconds, the man’s gun was plucked from the holster and racked. It was a Glock 26, nicknamed a “Baby Glock,” for its small size. It had, though, a double-stack magazine; assuming it was fully loaded, Shaw would now have ten rounds to play with. He trained the weapon on Squat, who stared with wide eyes. Shaw motioned him to the ground and patted his hips. As Victoria had said, he was unarmed. “Ties. Now.”

He extracted zip ties.

“Him, then you. Fast.”

Squat complied.

Shaw searched and found he had no weapon.

A woman standing nearby glanced over and gasped. “What’re you doing?” Her voice was incredulous.

Shaw said matter-of-factly, “Be quiet.”

The woman, wearing a purple amulet, said, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Shaw leaned toward her and growled, “Sit. Down. And be quiet.”

“Okay. Yessir. I will. I will.” She dropped onto the grass.

He climbed to the stage, the gun held at his side, away from the crowd. Eli and Hugh glanced at him once, briefly, then again. This time they noted the weapon. Eli’s face grew astonished — then red with rage. Hugh cocked his head, noted the bodyguards and remained motionless, waiting.

Two of the AUs standing at ground level gathered that something was wrong. They glanced to Hugh, who gestured them to stand down. He’d observed that Shaw knew weapons and appeared prepared to use them.

Shaw strode up to Eli and held out his hand for the lavalier microphone, pinned to his white tunic, and the transmittal.

The furious man pulled it off and slapped it hard into Shaw’s hand. The resulting thud was resounding.

Shaw returned to the center stage, scanned about him for threats. And saw none. Holding the mike to his mouth, Shaw said, “Listen to me! There wasn’t any poison. It was sugar.”