Edmund Cooper - Kronk

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” Dr. Slink had a sudden terrifying vision of Mongol hordes despoiling the very flower of English womanhood. One would prefer death, of course. And yet… She buried her face in her hands, tormented by unmentionable horrors.

Peter Karamazov rose from the J.F.K. rocking chair and knelt by Dr. Slink’s fauteuil. He put his arms round her shoulders. Gently. Chastely. “There, little one. Nothing terrible has happened yet. At least, I think not. But you must help me. It is for the good of our two great countries.”

“What do you want me to do?” she whispered.

“My dear, you are now involved in the most delicate and vital assignment I have undertaken. There is danger. I will not disguise the fact. There is danger… First and most important, say nothing to anyone. We do not yet know how deeply MicroWar has been penetrated. I suspect Dr. Perrywit, but suspicion is not enough. Therefore, you will be my eyes and ears. You will, if possible, search Dr. Perrywit’s papers for any reference to Project Tranquillity. You will, when convenient, list his contacts both inside and outside Insect Race.

You will do the same for any other colleagues who may be connected with this business. And you will also find out what is to happen to the remaining experimental animals.”

“I can tell you about the animals now,” said Dr. Slink eagerly. “I learned only today that Dr.

Perrywit plans to give them to the Marquis of Middlehampton.”

“So!” Peter Karamazov’s eyes glittered. “We have another lead… Dorothea, I must go now.

There is much to do. You are a brave woman, and when the time comes your contribution will be made known.”

Dr. Slink stood up. “It is so late,” she murmured. “London becomes a jungle at night. There are the students and the bounty hunters and some very nasty groups of children… You are welcome to stay here, Peter. I — I know you are a gentleman.”

Superbly, Peter Karamazov kissed her on the forehead. It was a brotherly kiss; but there was also the merest delightful hint of something more. “Dorothea, I respect you too much to compromise you. Do not be afraid for me. I must do my duty, and I know how to take care of myself.”

Dr. Slink went with him to the door. “Take very great care, dear friend.”

Again his lips brushed her forehead. Then, with a carefree smile, he was gone.

Dr. Slink reset the electro-lock. She badly needed something to take her mind off those terrible disclosures. She poured herself some more whisky, drank it quickly, then switched on the Strauss waltzes, increased the volume, stepped out of the quilted cat-suit and went to bed.

She recalled the Count of Organdie from the Crimson River with a vital despatch for the Grand Duke, so that he could have a few more precious moments with the Lady Dorothea. But the Count had a flesh wound, and he looked just like Peter Karamazov, and the enemy attack had been a feint, and even now Mongol hordes were rapidly approaching the capital…

And Dr. Slink slept very badly.

Spanish Inquisition?”

anyone else to love.”

Gabriel and Camilla were walking hand in hand through the long summer twilight in Epping Forest. Surprisingly, in the confusion that followed the setting off of the fire alarm, they had managed to escape from St. Paul’s Cathedral without encountering either priests or procs. Gabriel did not know whether his frenzied button-jabbing had affected any other autoconfession booths; but from the babel they had left behind them, it seemed possible. He relished the thought.

As soon as they were clear of the cathedral area, Gabriel and Camilla had taken the first vacant auto-cab they found. City auto-cabs could be controlled manually or programmed to drive automatically to a number of well-known landmarks and tourist attractions. Gabriel had programmed for Epping Forest simply because it was well away from the scene of the crime.

Also, he was of the opinion that a half-hour stroll through quiet woodland would be conducive to constructive thought and good for the nerves.

Events were to prove him wrong.

“All right,” said Camilla, “you may now say it.”

“All right, I will,” said Gabriel. “I told you so. The God Machines are rigged.

“Not rigged,” Camilla objected. “Just difficult… Did you really mean what you said in the

“About what?”

“About loving me.”

“I suppose so… I don’t suppose it is exclusive, though. It is merely that I haven’t found

“My situation, too.” She giggled. “Besides, we do have a little something in common, don’t we?”

They had reached a clearing in the forest. Gabriel became aware of a noise throbbing in the sky. He looked up. There was a chopper somewhere fairly close, but he could not see it.

Probably a proc chopper on routine patrol. These days, the procs kept most lonely places under regular surveillance. They had to. The crime curve had jumped right off the top of the graph.

“Good evening, gentlefolk,” said a pleasant, male voice. “How nice to encounter young romantics at such a time in such a solitary glade.”

Gabriel and Camilla spun round. Two or three paces behind them was a tall, bearded man of perhaps fifty. He wore an ancient solar helmet, a monocle, a caftan and sandals. He also carried a jump wand, but he was clearly not a proc.

“Good evening,” said Gabriel warily, “we were just about to rejoin our friends.”

“How sad,” murmured the sudent, “I had hoped that we might converse a little. Also, I do not perceive your friends. However, allow me to remedy the loss by summoning friends of my own.” He whistled.

Four other students came into the clearing, one from each side. They walked slowly and purposefully towards Gabriel and Camilla.

“Are you sure you will not stay and converse?” enquired the bearded individual. “I am sure we will do our best to entertain you — after our fashion.”

The proc chopper — if it was a proc chopper — sounded much nearer. Gabriel glanced up, but there was still nothing to be seen. Rot the procs! Never there when you need them. Always there when you don’t.

The advancing students were mature men in their thirties and forties, each as incongruously dressed as the one who was evidently their leader. One of them sported a Rommel cap, a pirate patch, and an antique Salvation Army tunic. Another wore a Sikh turban with purple blouse and Lederhosen. They were all decidedly picturesque. And sinister.

Gabriel could still hear the chopper. It must either be circling or hovering somewhere. He searched the patch of sky frantically; but there was nothing to be seen, and little hope of help descending from the heavens.

The man in the solar helmet followed Gabriel’s gaze. “The good people upstairs seem to be somewhat coy,” he observed. “I fear we do not interest them. Never mind. The encounter will be all the more valued for being more intimate.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have much money,” said Gabriel desperately. “Perhaps if we give you what we have…”

“I am desolated,” said the solar helmet, “we are all desolated by your temporary lack of means. On behalf of my comrades, I would like to make you a small gift. How much shall we say — ten pounds, twenty? One hates to think of a bright boyo being short of funds when in the company of such an attractive damosel.”

Gabriel could just see the chopper now. It was at an altitude of perhaps five hundred metres, hovering above the tree line not more than about two hundred metres away.

“I don’t want any money, thank you.” The presence of the helicopter made him feel a little more secure. “I really think we should be going.”

“He really thinks they should be going,” observed the Lederhosen.