Joe Haldeman - Worlds

“No, muscle. Endit.” The acceleration kicked in, not as hard as before.

“I don’t understand why you want him revived,” I said. “Won’t you get twice as much if he stays dead?”

“Not necessarily. Might just save Wallace a hundred grand. Have to take it before the guild.” The roar got louder as we rose, and he shouted over it. “Probably I would get the money, but it sure wouldn’t look good on my record. Be that much harder to get muscle I could trust.”

Honor among thieves. We could see the glow of Las Vegas long before the first buildings came over the horizon.

I’d seen pictures of the city, but they were nothing like the reality. A glimmering fairyland of graceful but garish buildings; bright ghosts of holo advertisements, as large as the buildings themselves, hovering in the air.

We decelerated hard and floated down to the landing pad on a hospital on the outskirts of the city. Two orderlies were waiting with a stretcher; the pilot popped the door before we set down.

They rushed in and strapped the body onto the stretcher. “Who’s going to pay?” the female orderly asked.

“Landreth Wallace. But he’s under an Assassin’s Guild guarantee.”

“Okay. You want to fill out the forms?”

“Have to make a delivery. I’ll be back in half an hour, or maybe Wallace’ll come out.”

“We can only give him maintenance treatment, without a signature. He’s losing a thousand brain cells a second.”

“Then he’s already a hundred thousand in the hole.” He unbuckled. “Christ O’Hara, Hawkings, come along with me. Don’t try anything.”

So my introduction to Las Vegas was sitting in a hospital waiting room while a criminal signed forms to save the life of a man he detested. It got more interesting, though.

Landreth Wallace’s house, or place of business, was very near the hospital; we spent less than a minute in the air. The pilot turned me over to a silent man who was armed prominently with two pistols. He led me from the roof down a winding staircase to a small room with a chair, a bed, and a cube.

“Mr. Wallace is out,” was the only thing he said. He turned on the cube and sat in the chair.

I sat on the edge of the bed. The show had to do with a naked woman creeping through the corridors of an old castle, armed with a dagger.

“Do we have to watch this?” He waved his hand, evidently giving me permission to change the station; at least he didn’t shoot me when I started punching the button.

Prime-time cube involves various permutations of vaginal fluids, semen, and blood. I found a public-service station, and we spent the next twenty minutes being instructed in the use of compost in home gardens, with a special emphasis on cucumbers.

A man in his seventies or eighties came into the room and dismissed the guard. I turned off the cube, much wiser in the ways of cucumbers.

“You were assaulted. I do apologize. The man was an amateur.”

“I doubt it. That word means ‘lover.’” Past tense. “Is he dead, then?”

“I don’t know. It no longer concerns me. He has guild coverage.”

“This guild must not have very strong entrance requirements.”

“It does, actually. But he was from out of state, an associate member. For that, I believe you only have to show evidence that you have committed a murder.” He sat down.

“And you belong to the kidnapper’s guild, I suppose.”

He smiled slightly. “There is no such thing. To the best of my knowledge.”

“But you do belong to something.”

He looked at me for a second and inclined his head. “Pardon me? I don’t think I understand.”

“You must have had some reason for kidnapping me.”

“Money.”

“But I don’t have any money. Nothing like as much as you paid those”—I searched for a word—“ shitbags who abducted me.”

The word appeared to offend him. “Please. Whether you personally have money is immaterial. There are very few individuals with fortunes large enough to meet your ransom.

“I shall explain, so far as I can. An unstable situation exists between the United States and the Worlds. Various … people … would benefit from a total severance of relations.

“Last night a decision was made, and analysis of various sources indicated that you are the most prominent Worlds citizen currently residing in the United States.”

“Because of my music?” I was incredulous.

“I really don’t know the details. Aren’t you some sort of musical star?”

“But that’s something that changes daily.”

“Nevertheless, yours was the name chosen. I offer my personal regrets, if only for the selfish reason that I should find it easier to deal with a man.

“To sum up the situation. We have demanded that New New York pay fifty million dollars for your release.”

“Impossible.”

“And we have indicated that it would be a generous gesture on the part of the governments of the United States and Louisiana to help with the payment.”

“That doesn’t seem likely, either.”

“We realize this. Much more than fifty million is at stake.”

“Who are these ‘people’?”

“If I told you more, you would have to die, whether the money were paid or not.” He pressed his fingers together and said calmly, “I may myself die, for my knowledge. But it is an exciting thing to be involved with. Excitement is rare at my age.”

“What happens to me if nobody pays?”

“The threat is that you will be killed. Actually, your life, and the payment, are trivial. If the desired objective comes about, you will probably be released.” He stood up slowly. “At any rate, don’t entertain any illusion about escaping. There are more than forty armed guards in this house. Even if you could escape from this room, you could only get to the roof. There are several people on guard there.”

“It seems like excessive caution, against one unarmed woman.”

He stood with his hand on the doorknob. “Nevada is a difficult place to do business. We don’t want you kidnapped from us.” He favored me with a wan smile and left.

Was it possible the door was unlocked? I went to try it, but before I reached it, it opened. A young man came in, carrying a tray of food. He didn’t seem to be armed.

“Hello. Dinner time.” He set the tray on the bed and then went into the bathroom, and returned with a small folding table. He uncovered the tray and there were two of everything. Bowls of chili, bottles of beer, utensils.

“I take it you’ll be my companion for dinner?”

“Your companion for everything. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”

“I thought this place was escape-proof.”

He attacked his chili like a starved man. “It is. I’m supposed to prevent you from committing suicide, that’s all.”

“Suicide? God, what a crazy world.”

“Well, you have to admit it would screw things up.” He pinched open his beer, and then mine. “My name’s Kelly, Kelly Chantenay. You’re Mary? Or Marianne.”

“Neither. O’Hara.”

He nodded pleasantly and kept eating. I tried the chili and it was bland but palatable. “What do you do when you’re not preventing people from committing suicide?”

“I’m a bodyguard. Kelly Girl.”

“You were just rented for the occasion, then?”

“Most of us were. Except for that talkative cob who was down here with you, he’s Mr. Wallace’s regular body-guard. He’s a real joke, Two-Gun Pete. Americans.”

“Landreth Wallace isn’t a Nevadan?”

“No, he’s from Washington. The city.”

That was interesting. “He works for the government?”

“At the office they said he was a ‘financier,’ that’s all I know. Sounds like a Lobby to me. They’re all a bunch of crooks.”