The Children of the Company Part 22

What did he recognize in my sick white face? Not the features of a man who had emptied a phial into an innocent-looking cup of wine. Why, I'd always been a poisoner, hadn't I? But it had happened long ago, and he had no memory of it anyway. I'd seen to that. And Lewis would never suspect me of such behavior in any case. We were both gentlemen, after all.

"No, thank you," I replied, "I believe I'll just take the air for a little while out here. It's a fine restorative to the nerves, you know. Sea air."

"So it is," he agreed, stepping back. "That's the spirit! It's not as though you could have done anything more. You know what they say: history cannot be changed." He gave me a final helpful thump on the arm and moved away, clinging to the rail as the deck pitched.

Alone, I fixed my eyes on the wide horizon of the cold and perfect sea. I drew in a deep breath of chill air.

One can write lies. And live them.

Two operatives in uniform were making their way toward me through the press of the crowd. "Executive Facilitator Victor?"

I nodded. They shouldered into place, one on either side of me.

"Sir, your presence is urgently requested. Mr. Labienus sends his apologies for unavoidably revising your schedule," one of them recited.

"Certainly." I exhaled. "By all means, gentlemen, let us go."

We made our way across deck to the forward compartments, avoiding the hatches where the crew were busily loading down the art, the music, the literature, the fine flowering of the humanity that we had, after all, been created to save.

THREE.

1906-2100.

THE ANGEL OF THE BOTTOMLESS DEEP.

Getting Budu out of the way had been the first step.

"It was Aegeus's idea," Labienus said, holding out his hands in an apologetic gesture. "He recommended you for the job in the highest terms, Victor. And, really, what were we to do? We needed someone for swift, discreet, and effective work. You were the man."

"You might have warned me," said Victor, ignoring the aftershock that struck the hull of the Thunderer with an unnerving thump. He had gone ghastly pale. There was an expression in his eyes reminding Labienus of one of Van Gogh's more disturbed self-portraits.

"Come now, man, how could we have done that? You needed the advantage of surprise. The old creature had uncanny faculties of perception, as madmen frequently do. It should be obvious why the Company didn't want a lunatic immortal wandering about loose, especially one his size!"

"And the others of which he spoke? His cabal?"

"We've already investigated that," Labienus a.s.sured him. "He was delusional, of course. There are no others."

But Victor had not relaxed.

"What about the virus?" he demanded. "Why was that necessary?"

"Could you have defeated him without it?"

"I doubt it very much," Victor admitted, and dropped his staring eyes at last. Labienus cleared his throat.

"Not a gentleman's weapon, I know. If Aegeus hadn't insisted you were experienced in this sort of job-well. No use dwelling on what can't be helped. But you have my personal apology, for what it's worth."

"Am I still producing the virus?"

"Ye G.o.ds, no! It was designed to run its course quite quickly, once activated. In any case, it was harmless to anyone but an operative of that particular racial type," Labienus explained. "You're perfectly immune to it yourself, and anyone else you're likely to encounter would be as well."

"But how was it done? When was I infected?"

Time for the grandstand play. Labienus looked pained. He deepened the pain to anguish; rose from his seat and paced the cabin a moment before turning to Victor in a decisive manner.

"Victor, it's a cla.s.sified matter, but-by G.o.d, sir, you're ent.i.tled to the truth." He drew from a sheaf of papers on his desk a photograph of Emil Bergwurm. "This was a protege of Aegeus's. I don't know where he found the man, but evidently he was some sort of spectacular polymath-"

Victor rose from his chair and seized the picture. He stared at it for a long moment before handing it back.

"I know where he found him," he said quietly.

"Interesting," remarked Labienus. He pretended to study Victor in shrewd speculation. "There have been rumors for years-but, of course, I won't pry. One does feel a certain loyalty to one's old case officer. I have nothing but respect for Aegeus. If he did experiment with something, in defiance of Company regulations, I am certain it was in the Company's best interests ... and perhaps you know more than I do in this matter."

Victor said nothing. Labienus cleared his throat and continued.

"There you have it. The mortal was brilliant with disease cultures, it seems. He was asked to come up with a, to coin a phrase, 'designed virus.' I a.s.sume you were armed with it at some point in the recent past. Have you been at Eurobase One recently?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, sir."

"Quite. Perhaps it's best we say no more on the matter, then, eh? You've earned a rest now. My private suite is through there-" Labienus pointed. "You'll find a change of clothes laid out for you. I'll have hot coffee and a breakfast sent in. Your personal effects are already waiting for you on the air transport, of course."

"Thank you, sir," Victor said mechanically, getting to his feet.

"And, Victor-" Labienus paused, as if reluctant to be too effusive. He shrugged, smiled wryly and said: "You're an excellent operative, sir. If you haven't always been appreciated, you should know that I, at least, have found it an honor working with you."

"Thank you, sir," Victor repeated. Was he even listening? Labienus clapped him on the shoulder and sent him off to the suite with a gentle push.

Not a bad beginning. He would improve on it.

April 29, 2100. If a place can hold the memory of death, surely the badlands of Montana retained it. Labienus peered from the window of the Silverbolt as it bounced over bare rusty earth and rock, trying to imagine what it had been like on that h.e.l.lacious Cretaceous day when the end had come for them all: the maiasaur with its touching maternal concern, the vicious tyrannosaur no less a good mother, the little sneaking egg thieves with no shred of moral respectability whatsoever, all the rumbling honking thundering life that had held sway since forever. Even if they'd had the brains to see it coming, how could any of them have understood the End? What, for us? Rulers of the earth for the last hundred and sixty million years?

But the earth had understood, and remembered still, and offered up white bones still bedded in clay red as fresh meat for the edification of its present rulers, who utterly failed to take the hint. It was almost a duty to explain the lesson, thought Labienus.

He crested the last hill and braked a moment, gazing out at the spectacle in the valley below. There, the glittering expanse of domed backs in dustdulled jewel colors: parked vehicles by the hundreds, for all the world like a ma.s.sed herd grazing. The real herd was streaming up from the parking lot toward the immense white tent, only pausing and milling at the gate, where two parked ticket trailers blocked the way under the hanging sign: JURa.s.sIC RANCH. Above the sign a banner had been poked up on poles: WELCOME CHILDREN OF MARIEL PROPHET!

Labienus grinned and fingered the little laminated tag he wore on a loose chain about his neck, that bore the single word MEDIA.

The tag got him preferred parking, and got him past the two trailers without paying for a ticket, and got him through the maze of hay bales and tent anchors to the trailer behind the big tent. He didn't even have to raise his voice, as he surely must have done if he'd wanted to be heard above the air conditioner's drone; he merely flapped the tag at the two husky mortals standing guard there. They looked him over, decided he fit the description they'd been given, and stood aside to let him climb the steps to their mistress's Abode of Repose, as the flowing script on the trailer's side declared it to be.

The refrigerated atmosphere inside was like a blessing from G.o.d, if one's idea of G.o.d fit the Mediterranean model and not the Nordic one whose h.e.l.l was a region of eternal ice. Flies dotted the screen, motionless, chilled practically into hibernation. Labienus made no move to swat them. They were innocents, after all.

He picked his way through the power cables for the various communications hookups, edged through the bath and dressing room, where the high wig and outrageous false eyelashes were set out like armor to be donned for battle. There were five pots of eye shadow alone, in five different shades, each to be applied in its turn in the elaborate face paint patterns five generations of white trash had come to expect from evangelists, no matter what belief system they were peddling.

She was sprawled on the bed in the room beyond, naked, holding a frosted bottle of Perrier to her face.

Labienus bowed and waved his MEDIA tag.

"Ms. Mariel Prophet, ma'am?" he whined. "I'm from the Flathead Lake Tribune, and we just wondered if you had anything to say about those rumors that you ain't actually one of the High Holy Ascended Ones but in reality is Mary Ellen Kew from Provo, and ain't been any nearer them monasteries in Tibet than Taiwan, which you had to leave on account of a morals charge?"

"All lies," said Facilitator General Kiu, not even bothering to move the bottle so she could look at him directly. "Really."

"What, even that story that you slept with that little rich boy in New York and got him so crazy in love with you he went and willed his daddy's pharmaceuticals empire to your ministry before he blowed his own brains out?" persisted Labienus, perching on the edge of the bed.

"Especially that story," drawled Kiu. "Doonie had no brains to blow out."

"But we got a private source says the FBI and them Tobacco and Firearms people are, quote, very concerned unquote about reports you been meeting with survivalist supremacist sociopaths and planning a old-fas.h.i.+oned Doomsday suicide party," said Labienus, stretching out beside her. She groaned and s.h.i.+fted.

"Your clothes are hot," she complained.

"Get used to it, sugar," Labienus told her, moving closer. "It'll be even hotter out there, once you've got your prophet costume on."

"I go naked under the robe," she informed him.

"Angel Mariel! What would your faithful followers say if they knew?" he chuckled, pulling her against him.

"They know," she murmured, kissing him. "The idea inflames them. All those big boys with guns and half those big girls with knives dream about seeing their Holy Ascended Mother's merciful bosom up close and personal."

Labienus shuddered. "I don't see how you can stand the idea of one of them l.u.s.ting after you. Let alone hordes of the things."

Kiu laughed and drew back from him, rising on her elbow and resting her head on her hand. "You men," she said sadly. "Though you're more finicky than most, Labienus. If I gave a d.a.m.n what happened to my body that way, I'd have curled up and gone into fugue the first time I was raped. We can't afford that kind of fastidiousness. Flesh is too useful! If you'd bent over and offered that darling a.s.s to the monkeys a few times, you'd have gotten things you wanted with much less trouble."

"Thank you, but I'll abstain," said Labienus. "And you can't tell me all you ladies are so free with your immortal charms. Why, I knew a little Botanist drone who so loved one man, she refused ever to take another lover after he died."

"Never heard of her," said Kiu. "And she loved a mortal, didn't she? That just proves my point."

"Maybe," replied Labienus, realizing with a start that he'd never thought of Nicholas/Edward as mortal. "Oh, well. Getting back to business: how is that Doomsday party shaping up? Plenty of odorless flavorless stuff to put in the Tasty-Ade?"

"It's not that old-fas.h.i.+oned," she said reprovingly. "I've got my inner circle of initiates convinced that the federal government is about to release a plague among all true believers."

"Because they're being controlled by Satan?"

"Ahriman, darling. I like to mix and match my bad guys. Anyway, I'm about to reveal that the latest divine avatar has given me the secret formula for an antidote." Kiu yawned and stretched. "A little chanting, a little light show with holographic chakras, and then I'll implore them all to come join me and the Apostles of Liberty at the meditation center on the night of the full moon, for an announcement of major importance. That ought to give the Feds time to hear about it."

"So that history can pursue its tragically inalterable course with another ma.s.s suicide," said Labienus, taking the Perrier from her and setting it aside.

"You got it, honey," Kiu agreed. "I'm making sure push will come to shove. With all those SWAT teams on the horizon, my faithful ones will clamor for the antidote. I'll administer the injections myself, a.s.sisted by the Apostles. They won't start dying for five hours, by which time I'll have departed to ask the Ascended Masters for guidance, but the Apostles will stay at their posts to record everything significant. Et voila! We'll have field-tested a new poison on abundant volunteers."

"Five hours!" Labienus smiled, loosening his tie. "That must be one of Pryleak's toxins. He's a genius at timed-release poison."

"I don't know where you find these awful little moron scientists, but they certainly know their jobs," said Kiu. "If nothing else."

"You might say I've got a guaranteed supplier," said Labienus. He leaned over her and spoke seriously: "Easy enough to coax them into doing what they're good at; you might as well ask a rabbit to run. Far harder to persuade ordinary mortals to glorious idiocy. What a job you've done with those Apostles of yours!"

"Oh, but darling, that's just show business," Kiu replied, smiling as she unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt. "Listen!"

They paused and focused on the hymn welling from the speakers in the big tent, the soul-stirring anthem so cunningly recorded it incorporated a host of subliminal subsonic hypnotic suggestions. They could hear the Apostles on the smaller stages outside working the crowd, and the first of the warm-up acts starting within the tent itself.

"Everything but the sign saying THIS WAY TO THE EGRESS," said Labienus, removing more of his clothing.

"Well, there is no egress," admitted Kiu. "As they'll discover."

"Much too late," said Labienus, and bit her. He thought of the scene as history would record it: the hundreds of corpses lying side by side in the desert, like sea lions on an infinite beach, bloating and blackening in the sun, all fallen in att.i.tudes of prayer ... the image intoxicated him.

Later he lay side by side with her in the chill, listening to the rising frenzy. The Apostles had moved into the big tent now and were building antic.i.p.ation for Holy Mariel Prophet's eventual appearance.

"s.e.x," Kiu said thoughtfully. "And Fear. Get that big old devil behind them with a stick, and my radiant beauty in front of them, and they'll run right off a cliff, if I ask."

"I'm a firm believer in Guilt, personally," said Labienus.

"Works well on individuals," Kiu conceded.

"Nothing like it for subtle motivation. Plant it deeply enough into a mortal's psyche and it twists them endlessly." Labienus sighed. "Get it in there young enough and it'll do all your work for you. You'll have only to prod the mortal along with a suggestion now and then."

"You realize, of course, that we learned this from the Company?" said Kiu. "Deep programming to keep us running? I was supposed to feel guilty about surviving when everyone else in my village was slaughtered. 'Kiu-Ba, you bad girl, why didn't you die with us?' Conditioning nightmares for centuries, every time I had a disobedient thought, until I learned to work around them."

"Well, of course," said Labienus. "I did, too. What a lot you can do with a child, if you handle them properly!"

A metallic voice spoke from the communications console, echoing through the trailer. "Beloved of the Avatar, this is your one-hour call."

Kiu reached out to a bedside unit and thumbed its b.u.t.ton. "I copy, Sergei. How's the preshow going?"

'As you divinely ordained it, Beloved."

"You will be blessed. Out." Kiu slid from the bed and hurried to her dressing table. Giggling, Labienus rose and began to dress himself.

"Do you have many Russians working for you?"

"Just Sergei." Kiu spread a coat of primer onto her face, working quickly. She had, after all, had millennia of practice.

"There was a Russian Preserver drone in my sector, and talk about conditioning! You'll never guess how the Company put his survivor's guilt to good use."

"They sent him down in s.h.i.+pwrecks to salvage valuables?" Kiu fanned the first coat dry and considered her pots of rouge.