Russell Hoban - Fremder

‘I said to Helen, “It’s the same world, isn’t it? The rat — half of it anyway — jumped back from whatever it was getting into and maybe the headline started to change but it changed back.”

‘She said, “What do you expect when you send a rat on a man’s errand? We’re not going to get anywhere with this until we do it ourselves.”

‘I said, “I’ll be damned if I want to end up with my arse in one place and my head in another.”

‘She said, “How much difference would it make?”’

Sixe paused there. ‘Not a lot, I guess,’ he said reflectively, ‘not a lot.’ During this long narrative his apparently total recall had transported me to that long-past September; I’d been seeing my mother’s face and hearing her voice that I knew from recordings. She was gone and here I was with this yesterday man whose sadness was evidently little relieved by alcohol.

‘I could see she wasn’t in the mood for a rational discussion,’ he continued, ‘but I kept trying. I said, “I think before we do anything else we should try to figure out what happened here.”

‘She said, “Looks pretty simple to me: the rat chickened out at the last moment.”

‘I said, “Be serious, God knows what the implications of this are.”

‘“God!” she said. “He didn’t care about my arse. Why should He care about a rat’s? He didn’t care about my grandmother’s arse either, when they used her for their so-called medical experiments at Auschwitz. Don’t talk to me about God, He and I aren’t speaking these days.”

‘I said, “I wasn’t talking about whether or not God cares — I was talking about the significance of what happened to the rat.”

‘“Significance!” she said. “What it signifies is: make sure your arse follows where your head leads. If you’re going to do something, then fucking do it.”

‘“Maybe this just doesn’t want to happen,” I said. She didn’t answer; she switched on the videoscan and moved it from station to station around town. There was the Ziggurat in purple standby mode, then Stilt City and Raftville, you could almost smell them. Sleazeworld and the central Fungames complex showing THREE BIG PUKIES TONITE — HORROR LIKE YOU’VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE! She punched in the street-level view and we saw Prongs and Arseholes, Shorties, Clowns, Funboys, Executives, and Wankers. She zoomed in for a good look at their tattoos and their paint, their shaven heads and their tribal hairdos. She said, “Maybe every world is a rats’ world. Let’s try again.”

‘I said, “What, with another rat?”

‘She said, “With us. Let’s get the oscillators implanted and do a jump before Heale decides to have a closer look at what we’ve been up to.”

‘I said, “But Helen, maybe Izzy and the rat didn’t change their minds; maybe the wrong phase-scaling got fed in both times or the oscillator circuitry wasn’t correct.”

‘She said “I’m sick of all this goddam arithmetic; Elijah didn’t have to piss about with numbers, he just fucking did it and the Lord took care of the details.”

‘“Don’t forget that you and He aren’t speaking these days,” I said.

‘“Maybe He’ll do it for old times’ sake,” she said.

‘I said, “I don’t think we can count on the Lord for that, he’s got a lot on his plate just now. And before I do a jump I’d really like to know where Izzy’s head and the rat’s front half ended up.”

‘“Wherever they are is better than here,” she said.

‘By then of course I realised that she was well and truly unwired and there was no knowing what she might do next. I was feeling pretty crazy myself — I mean, for all I knew we’d replaced the existing world, which was already one head short, with one that was missing half a rat. I was angry at God for creating a universe that could be mucked about like that. Why couldn’t He, She, or It have made something solid and tamperproof?

‘Helen said, “As soon as I can get hold of Ulrike let’s do it.” Ulrike was the neurosurgeon who was going to do our implants.

‘I said, “Helen, don’t be crazy.”

‘She said, “Why not? Where has being sane got me?”

‘I said, “For God’s sake, try to act like a scientist.”

‘She said, “Is that what you are — a scientist? You just don’t have the balls to take a chance. And who are you to advise me anyhow? You’re a loser who’s been getting a free ride on me.”

‘That’s when I left the house for a long walk. I had a key to the Class A walkway but I didn’t use it, I felt like being down on the ground with the Prongs and the Arseholes and the rest of the street life. I was half-hoping I’d get jumped and not have to make any decisions for a while or maybe for ever. I walked as far as Stilt City past people kicking each other’s heads in and breaking whatever was unbroken. The streets stank of vomit and sewage and the air was full of noise but the nastiness of it didn’t seem as nasty as what we’d been doing quietly in our nice clean lab.

‘It was raining; London always looks more itself by night and in the rain — all black and shining and full of lights and colours like a nightmare. People offered me everything from slammo to little boys but nobody bothered me. I think I must have looked a little too weird to take a chance on.

‘I got back to the house about three o’clock in the morning and two guys jumped me at the front door — professionals. They didn’t waste any time talking, they just gagged me and cuffed me and shoved me into a hopper and flew me to a building in the Inner Exec Circle. No blindfold so I knew I was for it. They took me to a lab where they strapped me to a bed and a woman medic gave me an injection. When I came to I heard myself talking and I saw that I was hooked up to a downloader. The medic was sitting by the bed and she whispered, “Listen but keep babbling. I’m a friend of Ulrike’s. I have orders to terminate you as soon as there’s nothing more to be got from you. Be careful when you leave.” Then she took off the electrodes, undid the straps, stuck a card in my pocket, pointed to the window, and said, “Quick, the fire escape — go!” So I went.

‘I walked to Sleazeworld and hired a Q-BO-SLEEP for the night. Next morning’s newsfax had this item.’ He took yet another photocopy from the wad. It was dated 17.09.22.

HELEN GORN BREAKDOWN

Physicist-neurologist Helen Gorn was found by a Corporation patrol at 02:20 wandering in her nightdress on the Class A walkway in OW 71. Gorn, 7 months pregnant, was taken to SNG Rest and Reassessment where she was diagnosed as suffering from clinical depression.

‘I’ve seen this before,’ I said to Sixe.

‘You’ve probably seen this one as well.’ He gave me another photocopy, dated 24.09.22:

HELEN GORN DEAD

Helen Gorn was found dead from a drug overdose early this morning in her room at SNG Rest and Reassessment where she had been in therapy for the last week. Gorn, 26, was seven months pregnant. The foetus was safely transferred to an artificial womb to complete full-term gestation. (See obituary p.4.)

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Why are you showing me these?’

‘Pay close attention to the dates. Helen goes into SNG Rest and Reassessment on 17 September and she ODs a week later on 24 September. Now look at this one. It’s a Code Red Memo, SNG ONLY which means SNG, Thinksec, and Top Exec.’

I looked:

CODE RED SNG ONLY INT TE AUTH I 14:32 28.09.22

Elijah newgo I Heale Speed I CN Flicker .

‘Elijah resumed under Irene Heale: top priority. Codename Flicker,’ Sixe translated. ‘Notice the date: four days after Helen’s death.’

‘So? They had her notes and all the data the two of you accumulated and they were going ahead. What else would you expect?’