John Sladek - The Complete Roderick

‘Probably left the damn campus.’ He flicked on his own video surveillance unit and ran through the scenes quickly, then slowly. ‘There, is that his car? Black Mercedes limo, gold grille? Okay, he’s at the Ag Sci complex, horse barns. Can we detail a coupla men to escort?’

Collar made a face. ‘Nope. Simons is off sick, and Fielder has to guard this gold dinnerware at the Faculty Club, so that leaves—’

‘Okay, okay. Try to catch up on a little paperwork around here and what happens? All hell breaks loose, people get sick, people want coffee breaks — and now we got this guy, a king of some place, just walking around loose like anybody else!’

‘You want to question the prisoner now, chief? He’s kinda weird and—’

‘Who is he, anyhow?’

‘A John Doe. No ID at all. Our special Ripper Patrol picked him up last night. He was using a glass-cutter on a window at the Computer Science building. Had a microflex camera on him, and a wig.’

‘Kinda fat for the James Bond stuff, isn’t he? Okay, bring him in. Oh but first, ring the morgue, tell ’em it’s okay to release the Hannah kid’s body for a funeral. We’ll catch up on the paperwork later. I know his ma wanted to cremate him today.’

‘Already released him, chief.’

Thank God something was done. Dobbin could see he’d get no further today on Call Me Pig.

As soon as they were in the car, His Incomparability removed his gold military cap, unbuttoned his stiff collar and sighed. ‘Now we can relax. Let us be informal, eh? I will call you Helen, and you must call me Ox.’

‘Ox?’

‘It is my favourite pickname, as you say. These horses’ barns, are they far?’

‘Why yes. I hope your driver knows the way.’

‘Yes, he studies your campus with a fine tooth comb. He knows it like the back of his hams.’ The weedy secretary spoke into a gold microphone, and they moved.

The patchouli scent was heavy. Dr Boag tried to forget it by studying the car’s elaborate furnishings. The roof interior was covered with peacock feathers, the floor with squares of black and white fur (ermine? sable?) and while two guards and the secretary were forced to squat on tiny carved stools, she and the Shah reclined on a deep, comfortable seat, upholstered in cloth of gold and heaped with blue silk cushions. She remarked on the luxury and he replied that he owned seventeen such cars.

And that seemed to be that. Six miles to the horse barns, and already they’d run out of conversation.

The Shah rummaged in a carved cabinet and produced a book.

‘Very interesting, this Book.’

‘Ruritanian?’

‘Alas, my English is not so well for reading, so I have had it translated into my own poor tongue. I believe in English it is called Pianola? By Mr K. Vonnegut. Very good. Much computers.’

She studied the beautifully-tooled cover. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t read it. Technical book is it?’

‘A novelle. All on my own crazed subject, the computers. But the curious part is, there is a Shah in it, making a visitation! Of course he is nothing like me, but even so — reading this is a déjà vu experience for me. Suppose I too were in a novelle, eh? Read by another Shah, who is in turn — you see?’

‘Interned?’

‘I explain so badly. Let me only say I begin to feel like the iteration within the great computer myself, or thereabouts.’

One of the guards grinned, nudged the other and pointed out of the window at a Coca-Cola sign.

‘The pianola,’ continued the Shah. ‘An excellent symbol for the automation, yes? It is I believe used also by Mr W. Gaddis in his novelle J.R., where he speaks of Oscar Wilde travelling in America, marvelling at the industry, the young industry you understand. Now I do believe Mr Wilde suggested shooting all the piano players and using the pianola instead, or do I have that erroneously?’

‘Very ahm, perceptive, Your Inc — Ox, I mean.’

‘Do you like books, Helen? How stupid of me, of course you must be immured in them, books are your life, yes?’

She chuckled. ‘Not as much as I’d like, I fear. Pressure of work, administrative duties—’

‘I too, I too,’ he said, and squeezed her knee. Dr Boag was glad she’d worn the pants suit after all. ‘Yet I do find time to read. Anything I can find on the computers, fiction or not fiction. I believe the machine must some day replace all of us, yes? We will have the robot Dean of Persons, yes, and even the robot Shah of Ruritania. Sad it is, but so. Meanwhile these computers are damn useful, yes? For the police work and so forth.’

He gave her a glass of gold liqueur and rambled on about computers, while she lay back and tried to keep her knees out of reach, trying to ignore the overpowering scent. Eventually she said, ‘You have a point there, Ox, but really isn’t the computer more or less an overgrown adding machine? A tool, in other words, useful of course but only in the hands of human beings. I feel the role of the computer in our age has been somewhat exaggerated, don’t you?’

‘Perhaps. But I see the subject tires you. Let us speak instead of business.’ He leaned back against a peacock-blue cushion. ‘My visit is of course not entirely socialized, you understand.’

‘Oh?’

‘I wish to enrol my son Idris at your excellent university.’

‘Oh. Well I’m sure he’ll like it here, Your, Ox. It’s more than a university, it’s — it’s a perspective on the world, past, present and fut—’

‘Yes yes yes. So I suggest as, as you say, a ballpark figure of two million.’

‘What?’ She sat up.

‘American dollars. At today’s prices not bad, eh?’

‘But our fees are nothing like, of course if you want to arrange a deed of gift—’

‘Gifting, yes, a gifting. Just to ensure Idris’s education. I think of it as an investment in my country’s future. Also a hedge against inflation, yes? Idris is now six months of age. By the time he is ready, the price may go up and up, yes?’

She put down her liqueur glass, sat up straight and looked at him. ‘Let’s be clear about this. Your gift sounds more than generous, but I hope you won’t expect special treatment for your son in return. We are after all a state institution.’

He winked. ‘I understand. Two million and a half, let us say, and be done with. Yes?’ He slapped her knee heartily. ‘Now, on to the horses!’

The history professor looked at his watch. Another minute had passed into his domain. ‘We all seem to be here. I declare this meeting open. I’m sorry Dr Boag couldn’t be here — a previous commitment — and Professor Rogers — he’s ill — and Dr Hannah. I assume you all know of her son’s recent tragic death. Still, we have our quorum, so I suggest we consider these two proposals — Question, Dr McGuffey?’

‘ Woopa. Just want to put it on the record that I had nothing to do with Bill Hannah’s suicide.’

‘Pardon? I don’t follow.’

Dr Fred stood up and looked up and down the table. ‘Oh, I know what you’re all saying. Just because he was in my class. Just because I made a little mistake in his birth chart.’

‘Well, yes, now if we can ahem just get down to these two—’

‘Only I never made that mistake at all. The machines did it! Magnetic influences. Terrestrial currents. Someone saw a flying saucer the other night, unimpeachable witness, ever think of that?’

‘Yes, now if you’re finished, we’ll just—’

‘I’m not finished, may be old, may be sick, but I’m not finished. No siree, copper bracelet wards off arthritis bursitis neuritis, benefic influence of Venus, have to get up early to — Woopa!’ Each sneeze threatened to blow the frail figure off its feet. Noticing his glittering eyes, the chairman said: