Paul Theroux - O-Zone

"You can usually get some real good action there," Meesle said as the gunship nosed slantwise down among the towers on the lower east side. It was at the margin of the city's skylights, where they splashed on the river.

With their gloves on the ground-screen, the masked men twitched and looked alert — the Skull and the Demon, potbelly and sparrow-chirp; party masks and real weapons. Sometimes Hooper had thought how his Allbright Cable Sales catalog accurately represented America, everything in it, and that in the future this civilization could be understood from that catalog alone. He had believed it to be real and truthful, and to contain everything that mattered. Now he knew he was wrong, for there was no hint in it of these men or their equipment. Their suits did not look like suits, nor their weapons like weapons.

What am I doing here? Hooper wondered. There was darkness in the sky ahead. He thought: She's lost. And then, remembering how far away he was from her: I'm lost,

He simply wanted that girl. He was proud of his desire, but he was also afraid she might vanish. He was impatient now to go back to her. In this gunship of hunter-troopers he felt like a betrayer. It was not only guilt that worried him, but also a prickly sense that this hunting mission was unlucky and maybe risky. He knew that desire made him solitary and singleminded, but he had never been able to explain his impulses to anyone.

The lighted grid on the ground-screen showed them to be hovering just above Lower East.

"We're going to drop down and get some lights on," Ratty said, speaking from the cockpit.

Sluter groaned over the intercom about visibility, while Flatty gave altitudes — meters from the ground.

"We've had reports of some sightings around here," Flatty said.

Hooper had put on a pair of headphones. "I don't get it," he said, "The city's secure. The bridges are safe. The whole perimeter's sealed. And even the perimeter in Brooklyn is patrolled. All the trouble spots are contained, so how—"

"There's plenty of leaks!" Meesle said.

His old sober voice had changed and become gleeful. The patient pompous man had become jaunty at the prospect of catching aliens within the New York perimeter. Plenty of leaks — he sounded delighted.

Murdick said, "Oh, sure, there's got to be lots of them down there," and practice-aimed his elaborate stunner.

"There's too many irresponsible people in this city who encourage aliens to enter illegally, just so they can get some cheap labor. I'd shoot half the manual workers for a start, and I'd deport all those goons on temporary permits."

"You could round them up and dump them into O-Zone," Hooper said.

Murdick chirped at this — already he had forgotten his disgrace; and Meesle cried, "Sure thing!" Even with masks on, Meesle and Murdick were visibly happy. The masks made their pleasure look frivolous and silly. The men were bright-eyed, actively impatient, working their fingers on the ground-screen as they busily watched for a victim.

"Is that one?"

"No, it's a city cop on patrol. See his shield? It shows up on ultra-v. And there's his partner. The trouble is, they have to make arrests and do a lot of paperwork."

"What about you?" Hooper said.

"Generally speaking, we stick to the areas where shoot-on-sight rules apply."

"That's why we stay off the ground," Murdick said.

"I'll bet there's a Roach around the corner of that building," Meesle said. "We're on low power. This bird is quiet. A Roach around the corner couldn't hear us. We'll just swoop and take his head off as he's whistling—"

Meesle sounded very pleased as he scrutinized the ground-screen. He spoke hungrily and in a mocking way.

"We can see in the dark, you know."

"We'd probably catch more of them if we could smell in the dark," Flatty said from the cockpit. He was eavesdropping on this conversation,

"Skelly likes alleys and doorways. You never find Skelly on a wide road. Skelly loves tight places. Give him a crack and he's happy."

That other talk, all the theory about crime and career criminals and scientific studies and "We have documentation" — that was just guff. These facts were plainer. Meesle and Murdick were having the time of their lives, and they were very proud of their expensive weapons. The grouch, Sluter, actually adored flying the gunship and declaring, "Burn his car and kill his dog." Little Flatty's fun lay in navigating them into corners and seizing aliens and then flinging them out of cargo planes into the sea. This was a picnic for them.

Hooper imagined that all this was so. And then he had proof of it. In the narrow streets of Lower East a speck on the ground-screen was enlarged, and proved to be alive. It was warm-blooded, it moved; but it was very small.

"Make sure it's not a dog," Meesle said, and explained why to Hooper. "We made hamburger out of a guard dog the other week. We pinned him down and were ready to fire when we saw it was a mutt. 'Burn him anyway,' Murdick says — he's all excited, see. But it was a patrol dog, beautiful thing, got loose somehow, poor bastard. Murdick didn't care! If Sluter hadn't hoisted us out of there it would have cost us a few bucks. Hey, there was dogmeat everywhere."

"I had a spasm!" Murdick said, thrilled at the reminder of Burn him anyway. "I just wanted to wail away with my bazooka."

He moved his demon face near Hooper's.

"Flechettes," he said. "I hit him with two cluster bursts of exploding flechettes."

Hooper saw a flight of arrows, Murdick blasting the hound to shreds from the safety of the hovering gunship.

"It breaks my heart to see a good dog burn," Meesle said.

"He didn't have a leash," Murdick protested. "The shoot-on-sight rule applies."

"Watch the screen," Sluter said — there was a sob of enthusiasm in his voice. "See if that Skell has a leash."

Because the speck was not a dog. It was a human male in heavy clothes, and as soon as the gunship's lights were turned on him he began to run.

Then Hooper experienced something he had only seen secondhand on videos or on very big and very teasing projection screens — the wraparounds that could be so vivid.

He held on tightly as the Godseye gunship tumbled sideways toward the street. It pulled up sharply and went after the running man. Hooper had been in many different aircraft, but never in one that could make such sharp turns as it gave chase; never so close to the ground or so near the sides of towers; and never in this part Of New York at this hour. Now they were upside-down, and now flying backwards.

Hooper was secured by a body clamp, but still he felt the sharp jolts of the gunship as it changed direction. The others called out — the man on the ground was darting in and out of doorways; then into an alley. Sluter could have waited at the entrance — it was blind, there was no other way out — but instead he raced in and somersaulted against the blind wall, drenching the man in bright light and driving him out.

"Drop something on him!"

"See who it is first — zoom him."

"It's a Troll. He's ugly, he's got scabs. He looks black. Burn him."

"Stun him," Murdick said, holding his new weapon to a valve in the side of the gunsnip and aiming out. "Stiff him, save him. I can turn him into rubber. We can make an example of him."

Hooper said, "Take it easy, Willis."

"The mere fact that he's running gives us the right to burn him," Murdick said through his chirping amplifier.

They were trying but failing to pin him down; there were too many streets, and too narrow and enclosed.

But Meesle said, "This is the part I like best." He pressed his skull mask to the porthole. "Chasing them." His eyes were fixed on the running man, and there was a gentleness in them — a calm satisfaction and a certainty. "Watching them get tired." He seemed to be smiling within the skull. "Running them down."