Дэймон Найт - Orbit 3

The god could have slain the assassin by surrendering his godhood in suicide. Being a god, he couldn’t quite. No, said the gas-blue eyes, he couldn’t quite, ever.

“Good night, Mr. Andrews.” Dr. Kagle definitely sounded weary. “I know it’s been too harrowing. But you did ask me about your brother. What choice did I have?”

Muttering all the obscenities he knew, Cassius jammed his card into the ignition slot and rammed the Aircoupe away from the vicinity of the funeral parlor, leaving the blister open so he could shout back, “You rotten bastard, I’ll tell the world about this, I’ll let them know—”

The Etaoin Pub was located on the fourth sub-level of the Capitol World Truth Building.

The pneumodoor went hush-hush open, then closed. Cassius heard it dimly. He was slumped over the bar, looking at his globe of Old Kentuckye Woodesman 120 Proof Sippin’ Sauce.

He heard footsteps. He continued to peer into the amber infinity of the booze. Who the hell cared about footsteps?

“Cassius? It is you! Good God in heaven, sweets, what’s happened?”

The barkeep ambled over. “Friend of yours, lady?” “You’re new around here.”

“Yeah. Hired on two weeks ago.”

“This man works on the paper upstairs.” The barkeep sniggered. “When?”

“What?”

“Lady, this guy’s been campin’ here since the day I started.”

Fuzzily Cassius recognized the voice of Joy de Veever. His body felt weighted with bags of lead shot. It was an effort merely to turn and blink his red eyes slowly, like an owl.

Joy had something clasped in her arms. Her glance was alternately indignant and sympathetic.

“I should have thought of coming to this bar sooner, Cassius. But you’re not the drinking type.”

“Every time some of the boys from the paper come in,” said the barkeep, “he goes to the john. First time, when he didn’t come out for a while, I thought he was sick. Went back there myself. He was just standing. Told me to leave him alone. I did. When the boys left after lunch, he came out. Same routine in the evening, too. Sometimes he leaves but he always comes back. Wonder where he goes at ni—”

“Thanks for your help,” Joy cut in. “I’ll take over. Cassius?”

“Lee me lone,” he said, finding it like climbing Everest to gesture.

“Cassius, what in God’s name is the trouble?”

Getting no answer, Joy pulled up the next stool. She told the barkeep she wanted nothing to drink. The tone clearly instructed him to leave. He did. Cassius blinked at the object in Joy’s hand. Some sort of book with a tricky shining clasp.

“Cassius love, I’ve been searching for you ever since I got back yesterday. It’s apparent that I shouldn’t have spent that week and a half in Bonn at the Floorwax Institute trade show.” She sounded affronted. “In the interval it seems you’ve completely lost your mind.”

“Perfly all right.” His tongue was oh so heavy. “Perfly.”

“Perfectly my eye! I just talked to Hughgenine upstairs.”

“Bothrin me. Come in here and bother me. I didn’t make it to the men’s in time.”

“Bothering! I should hope so! After all, when you don’t show up to work for sixteen days straight, it’s natural for him to bother. Cassius—darling—” And the tears were genuine all at once, rolling down over her rouged cheeks. “Are you in trouble? Hughgenine said he lost his temper. He’s sorry he fired you on the spot. He’ll take you back if only you’ll tell somebody what’s wrong. Cassius? Wake up and listen to me! You’re being horrid. You don’t know the agony I’ve been through. Last night I nearly had your floor super thinking you’d suffered a heart attack and must be lying dead inside your flat. What hit that place? Your books were all tom apart.”

“So wat?” he inquired. “So wat, so wat? Joy lee me lone.”

“I will not leave you alone! I’ll get you to a doctor. Do something! Are you having a nervous breakdown, sweetheart? To destroy your things that way—all the notes for the biography of that colonel strewn all over in pieces—”

“Stupid book. Useless goddam wase time.”

“Are you in trouble with some woman, Cassius?”

He giggled, but it had a dull sound.

“Cassius, I must say it again. You’re treating me very unkindly. After all, you do mean something to me, you know. Please, please, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Oh nothin. I just got a tase for booze, ’s all.”

“Obviously.” Joy couldn’t help sounding smug. “And obviously you’re in no shape to help anybody who wishes to help you, whether it’s Hughgenine or me or anyone. That’s why I brought this. I figured if the answer can’t be gotten from you, it can be gotten from this. Unless you’ve lost your mind so thoroughly you’ve broken every single habit you ever had.”

She was extending the object in her hand. The clasp looked vaguely familiar. Why did he feel alarmed?

“I found your other diary too, Cassius. In pieces. This one was intact.”

“Too tough,” he muttered. “Too dam tough tear up. Hey.” Again he blinked. “Snoopin?”

“Yes, snooping. I admit it. I had to find some explanation for the peculiar, awful way you’re behaving. Now you tell me how to open this lock, Cassius. Either that or you tell me what’s the matter with you. Else I’ll go to the stationer’s where you bought it. See, the name’s stamped in gold on the back. It’s right on this level. I’ll force them to disclose the code.”

“Gimme tha,” he said, lifting his eighty-pound hand, trying to thrust it through the gloomy darkness of the bar.

The effort cracked away some of his lethargy. He felt he must have the diary in his possession. Then he knew why. The last entry mentioned the Commuter’s Rest Mortuary Chapel by name. Didn’t it?

He wasn’t positive. He thought so. Warning bells, so faint he barely heard them.

“I will not.” Joy held the book miles away. “I will not give it to you.”

“I said gimme—!” he cried, standing. He toppled on his face.

From afar, Joy said to the barkeep, “You watch him. This man’s sick. I’m going to get this book opened and then we’ll take him to a hospital. You just watch him a few minutes. No, you shut up, do as I say! Want to lose your job? The paper owns this building, leases this space, or aren’t you aware of that? Here, Cassius. Stand up.”

As he fumbled his way back to the stool with her help, he managed to perceive what it meant. Joy, poor old Joy. Sure she wanted to help. Sure. The locked diary tantalized her. Anything that might harbor a scrap of something hot tantalized her.

Paper leased the space? For the stationer’s too, probably. They’d come across with the code under threat. He made one more abortive lunge for the book.

He grabbed the poly bar rim to keep from falling. He could see it now. He didn’t actually care but he felt he should. The book would open to a tune whose notes and name he couldn’t recall. Then Joy’s curious eyes. They’d glitter, running down the entries.

Then showing it to Hughgenine. Then the trail to Kagle. Joy’s hot one, the big hot one in reach at last. Plus her sense of avenging him. As if that mattered.

Christ. What Kagle had said was true, true. First one person would have—he shuddered and knuckled his eyes and moaned a little—those experiences. Then the next would have to see what the experience was. Then the next after that. Then someone would see how it could pull the fangs of fear. Go through the worst, the very worst, and your imagination won’t have anything to gnaw on, year after year. Wanda Kagle put it right. I’ve been there.

Christ, the government and the do-gooders would probably seize everything. The public good. Uplift. You can stand five minutes of Butcher Balk to be free, can’t you? Take a chance, you’re bound to die like Peckham. Think of the peace. I’ve been there.