Джек Макдевитт - Cryptic - The Best Short Fiction of Jack McDevitt

I was still considering how to proceed when the dictator spoke: “Who are you?” He was scanning the room. “I know you’re there.”

“Hello, Pierik,” I said. I was still positioned in front of the bookcase. Pierik’s gaze passed over me and moved on. I decided to adapt the dictator’s own breezy style. “How are you doing?”

“I am well, thanks.” He turned in the direction of my voice. I stayed perfectly still. Pierik’s fingers crept toward the gun.

“Don’t touch it,” I warned.

The dictator withdrew his hand. “I was merely going to put it away.”

“Leave it where I can see it.”

“This is a clever trick. Is a microphone planted in the room?”

“No. I am here with you.”

“That is hard to believe.”

I crossed the room and turned on one of his lamps.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s quite remarkable. Why cannot I see you? Are you a ghost?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“I am the Messenger of the Almighty.”

Pierik laughed. It had almost an electronic flavor, a cross between a boop and a gargle. The kind of smug sound you got from an AI when everything was fine and you were on course. Everything’s just dandy. No one other than a specialist, or a Nok, would have recognized it for what it was. “Messenger of the Almighty,” he said.

“That is correct.” He made a feint at the gun.

“Stop!” I said. I had the tensor in my hand.

Pierik stopped. Showed me empty palms. “If you are who you say, why do you fear the gun?”

“ I’ll ask the questions.” It was a weak answer, under the circumstances. I decided George was right. “Keep in mind, Kabah , your life is in my hands.”

“So it would seem. Now please tell me who you are, and how you are managing this trick?”

“I carry a warning for you.”

“And what is the warning?”

“Stop the war. Or you will become one of its next casualties.”

He didn’t laugh this time. He took a deep breath, and stood. “What shall I call you?”

I thought about Banshee , Dark One . Maybe Shadow ? “My name’s Kaminsky,” I said.

“A strange name. How does it happen I cannot see you?”

“I want you to stop the war.”

“Kaminsky.” It came out sounding like Kamimska . “What does it mean?”

Damned if I knew. But it sounded important to have an answer. “ Night Rider, ” I said.

“Good. That must be a proud name. Where do you come from?”

“Stop the fighting,” I said again.

“Ah. Yes. The war. I should confess to you that no one would behappier if there were indeed a way to stop it. But unfortunately it is not within my power.”

“One of your people died in my arms.”

“That is sad. Was he really one of my people?”

“I don’t know. She was a victim of your wars.”

“I don’t see how you can hold me responsible.”

“Her name was Trill. She was a bride.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Died on her wedding night.”

“Cruel things happen in wars. It is why we must see this through.”

“You don’t really care, do you?”

“It is the price we must pay.”

“ We ? What price do you pay?”

“Oh, stop the nonsense.” The eyes shaded into gray. “Do you think I enjoy leading an effort that gets my people killed?”

“I doubt you think about it. You like the power.”

“Your Trill is only one person. I am responsible for many. Wars have victims. It is essentially what they are about.”

“You’re a lunatic.”

“I’m sorry you think so, Night Rider .” He gazed up at his portrait. “The war has a life of its own. It has raged a long time. My people want victory. And they will settle for nothing less.”

“ Your people.”

“Yes. My people.”

“I’m tempted to kill you now and wait to see who follows you.”

“Then you will make the same proposal to him?”

“Yes.”

“And you will get the same answer. We are a proud nation—.”

“ Stop there, ” I said. “Don’t lie to me. My patience has its limits.” I liked that line, and I delivered it with enough conviction that I saw the membranes of his eyes close and open. He was getting the message. “I will give you three days to stop all offensive actions. If you do not, I will be back. If that becomes necessary, you will never be rid of me.”

“ How did it go? ” George asked after I’d made my way back to the lander.

“The Night Rider was at the top of his game,” I said. “But I don’t expect him to do anything other than load up with guards.”

“ Who’s the Night Rider? ”

I explained, and he booped and beeped. “He was cool, I’ll give him that. Most people would have jumped out of their skins.”

“ He’s not people , ” said George. “ You have to stop expecting Noks to react the way you or I would. ” That was George’s idea of a joke. “ You have two days’ rations left. Then it’s going to start getting pretty hungry around here. ” That was true. I couldn’t substitute Nok food. It had no nutritional value for me. “ Maybe it’s time to give it up, Art. ”

Maybe it was time to eat less.

I decided to try some psychological warfare. Next day, at sunrise, early visitors to Sunset House found a message painted in large dark green letters on the side of the building: Pierik Akatimi is an idiot.

It looked pretty good, actually. A crowd gathered. Nobody laughed. It’d been there about ten minutes when the toadies scrambled to remove the paint.

I was frustrated. I went looking for statues of the dictator. Wherever I found one, I used the laser to cut off his ears. (Noks don’t really have protruding noses, so I couldn’t do much about that.) I always made sure it was a neat clean cut, and I always waited until there were a few witnesses in place to see it happen.

I listened to government-controled newscasts, but they didn’t men-tion anything about the statues or the painting on the wall at Sunset House. They did inform their listeners, as they did every day, that the war was going well, and that whole legions of enemy soldiers were being killed or captured, their dirigibles knocked down, and their ships disabled.

I asked George whether he could break in on the government frequencies.

“ Of course. I can boost power and we can ride right over them. ”

“All right. Do it. Let me know when I can speak. Then I’ll want you to record my comments and play them every fifteen minutes for the next eight hours.”

“ Okay, ” George said. He hummed while he worked. Then: “ Art, we’re ready to go. Just say the word. ”

“Do it.”

“ Ready for transmission—Now. ”

It was another great moment. “ Greetings, Atami, ” I said, using the standard intro, which translated roughly to ladies and gentlemen of the listening audience . “My name is Kaminsky, and I know you’re already aware that Pierik Akatami is a dictator. He holds onto power by sending your children to war. He is a liar and a thief and a killer. Do not be fooled by him.”

I signaled that I was done, and George said, “ Okay. It went out. ”

“What did you think?”

“ What do you expect them to do? They know what he is. But they can’t stand up against him unless they organize, and there’s probably no way they can do that. ”

Roka had a newspaper. The Guardian . Government-controlled, of course. It printed mostly official releases, and limited itself to favorable comment. The day after the radio broadcasts, which got no official notice, I walked into the print room, hoping to provide an unexpected headline for the next day’s edition. I’d go with the standard Pierik Beloved Is An Idiot . But I didn’t have much in the way of mechanical skills, and couldn’t figure out how to manipulate the printers.