Harrison  -  Chapter Five


Copyright 1990 by Jim Vassilakos.  All rights reserved.  Permission is
hereby granted by the copyright holder to copy and freely redistribute
copies of this work, so long as no commercial or barter consideration is
obtained in exchange for such copies.



                                 Five



The nose of the kayak climbed quickly over the tall wave, slicing
the crest in half before plunging back down to meet the next. Its
occupant paddled furiously against the wind, straining
frantically to beat the next rise before the sea engulfed her
vessel. Her long slender arms gleamed in the morning sunlight,
their dark, Draconian tones accented by a rich, brazen glow. A
sudden gust of air almost capsized the boat spraying a salty
white foam against her long, black windswept hair. She breathed
deeply in exhilaration and struggled to keep the kayak upright.
Out in the open sea, several kilometers from any land, she was
beginning to lose her personal battle of wills against the
elements.
   She noticed the brilliant silver frame of the hydrofoil from
the corner of her eye as it approached. The craft sped over the
water in front of her, only its three skinny legs touching the
water. They barely seemed to connect at all. Agyris poked his
dark smiling face out the window as the pilot crossed her path.
   "Had enough yet?!!" he shouted.
   She turned her watch transmitter back on, knowing her weak
voice wouldn't carry as far as his.
   "Almost, give me another cent."
   Her aide's voice broke over the transmitter, "Old Johnny's on
the Coral. It looks like a situation has developed. It's urgent."
   She cursed under her breath. "Okay. Bring the Coral in to get
me." The next wave nearly rolled her over, and she turned the
kayak around so that she wouldn't have to fight the wind or tide.
   Agyris' hand flapped out the window as the hydrofoil sped
away. She heard his voice over the transmitter, "Ambassador
Uhambra is ready now. Coral steer fifteen degrees starboard and
proceed at fifty knots. Pick-up at six-hundred and forty
approximate. Over."
   She leaned back letting the kayak drift with the tide while
avoiding the brunt of the cold wind at her back. The sky was a
pale blue without a cloud anywhere in sight. On the eastern
horizon, Tizar's brilliant tangerine sun seemed to shimmer
through the wide expanse of atmosphere. She saw purple-brown dots
when she blinked and decided to refocus elsewhere.
   "Ahoy there!" The 1st mate was waving from the deck. He wore a
striped blue and white shirt with a sunny face. He tossed a hook,
and smiled down at her as if expecting some reward. She 
hooked her kayak and climbed aboard, as he manually wheeled in
the small craft.
   "Where's mister problem?" she absentmindedly inquired,
reaching for a towel. The first mate smiled through the pained
and exhausted look he liked so much to wear in the company of
superiors. She guessed it was his idea of looking busy.
   "O'er there, ambassador." He nodded his head toward the cabin
as he wrestled with the wheel.
   "Don't strain yourself." She wrapped the white towel around
her tall slender frame. It was a sharp contrast to her black
swimsuit and dark, suntanned skin.
   John Clay opened the cabin door and walked out onto the deck.
Bags drooped under his usually alert, crystal-blue eyes. He wore
a white business suit. She remembered he had a number of them
along with a collection of expensive ties. It was considered
ancient custom with the corporation; but on Tizar, it was
contemporary fashion.
   She stared at him silently with her dark brown eyes. She would
let him confess incompetence and beg for another chance before
patting him unforgivingly on the head and sending him home. As
usual, he waited for the first mate to leave the deck before
beginning his report.
   "Ambassador, it is good to see you vibrant and alive and as
young as ever." She sensed the vague tone of disrespect, the way
he said young. Was he envious?
   "I'm older than you, Johnny."
   "Yes, the miracle of anagathics. It never ceases to amaze me.
So lucky it was for you that you became a diplomat and not a
sleeper."
   She bit her lip in aggravation. "Not luck. What brings you
here this time?"
   "I have bad news to report."
   "Again?"
   "The Solomon residence was broken into early this morning by
that reporter. We captured him, but his accomplice escaped with
the Siri. Together, they have enough evidence to support..."
   "Let me guess... a police investigation."
   "Or worse still, a full divisional security review. And that's
far more likely." Clay's hands were wrung together, his knuckles
white from lack of circulation.
   He continued, "This could all have been avoided if we had
simply killed Harrison and his Psyche as I advised..."
   "How did they learn of your whereabouts?" She ignored Clay's
complaint. They both knew it had holes.
   "We're checking into that now."
   "Did you redirect all your people to new controls?"
   He nodded, "Yes, but..."
   "Well, that's all that really matters then. After you leave,
they can investigate all they want, it won't do them a bit of
good. Do you have a list of your redirections?" He handed her the
envelope.
   "What was you're method of communication?"
   "Non-electronic, of course."
   "That leaves quite a lot of room."
   "Sealed paper envelope. Like this one but with coded orders."
   "In person?"
   He hesitated, "Yes. It was safer and fairly quick. And I used
private transport."
   "Where?"
   "Where what?"
   She bit her lip again, "Where was contact made?"
   "A few at their residencies. They spread the word, and the
rest came to receive orders at Solomon's..."
   "Right in the middle of Snowcountry?"
   "It's fairly out of the way."
   "What about the security disk for that day?"
   "It was destroyed by Harrison. He had to protect his
accomplice."
   "You're sure? We can't have that thing floating around."
   "Would you like to see its remains?"
   "Not particularly." She wondered if he was trying to be funny.
"When you leave tonight, take Solomon with you."
   "Of course."
   She smiled for the first time since seeing him. "Is that all
then?"
   "Not quite. I'd like to know what we're supposed to do with
Harrison."
   "Have you interrogated him?"
   "Not yet."
   "Wake him and do it. Report back if he has anything
interesting on him mind."
   "If not, can I kill him?"
   She laughed, "Would it give you great pleasure?"
   "On the contrary. I'd like to keep him alive for torture. He's
only ruined everything."
   "Alright. You can do with him whatever your little heart
desires. I emphasize little heart, because I know you very well.
That's if and only if he refuses to cooperate. However, if he has
something interesting to offer, see if there's a way to avoid
murder. He's quite possibly the top gatherer on Tizar, maybe even
in the entire sector. There will be a storm in the press if he
just disappears. See if there isn't a way we can use him to our
advantage. He must have some sort of connections. And find out
how much he knows. It'll give us a good idea where we stand."
   Clay nodded, trying consciously to make a mental note of every
order. He knew he wouldn't try hard to make Harrison talk. It
would be fun getting rid of him.

                        *     *     *

Mike awakened slowly, his body stretched like a slab of meat
along a tightly strewn grav-field, its invisible coils suspending
his horizontally, tugging his arms and legs in separate
directions. He glanced about the large, dimly lit room, its
sharp, jutting contours and lack of furnishing serving a dull
reminder of his helpless position. A large window along the far
wall overlooked a blue-green seascape, gaeyave and shallowfish
swimming slowly past the plastic brace, while another creature
with long clear tentacles attached itself to the smooth surface.
Mike peered between its suctioning arms wondering if he was
dreaming. He could barely make out the blurry lights of Aquapolis
in the far distance.
   Robin leaned with her back against the glass and watched Mike
while the drugs slowly lost their grip. As his eyes focused on
her dark outline they seemed to close on the neat puncture wound
in the center of her forehead. His legs began kicking in a
pathetic sort of dance as he tried to physically squirm out of
the gravity cell.
   "We had to put you in there. You kept on hurting yourself."
She approached him cautiously.
   "You didn't have to dope me up. How long has it been?"
   "Not long."                              
   Mike stopped fighting the field. He tried to relax and think
of a way out, but he was out of ideas.
   He looked her over. Robin wore a pair of blue coveralls. A
headband hung limply from her front pocket.
   "Sorry about shooting you." He tried to make it sound genuine.
   "Quite all right Mr. Harrison. I understand your motives."
   He wondered how much an android could understand.
   "Besides," she continued, "it was about the best place you
could have aimed."
   "No brains, huh."
   She patted her chest.
   "Well, it doesn't look good."
   She seemed to laugh inwardly as Mr. Clay glibly strolled in,
"No, but it will heal." He looked very self-assured, even a
little cocky. "Robin is very hard-headed Michael. May I call you
Michael? The bullet you fired simply bounced off. The skin which
was torn is constructed with a biochemical agent not unlike that
found in mendwear. Bed off."
   The grav-field slowly rotated Mike into a standing position.
He looked at Robin. She smiled as if on display.
   "Why are you telling me this?" Mike tried not to sound too
irritated.
   Clay pondered the question for a moment, his thin, white brows
furrowed in self-restraint. "Because I like you..." he managed
with a sarcastic twist to his voice.
   Mike let a smile creep across him face before plunging, arms
outstretched. He felt his body sheathed in fire, burning alive
even as brushed by the old man and hit the floor, his inflamed
arms crackling and spitting like dry driftwood over an open
barbecue.
   "What you are now experiencing Michael... is our cooperation
inducing system. It consists of a series of electrical implants
in your brain... which are capable of constructing a wide array
of phantom sensations... when properly instructed." His booming
voice slowly slipped to its usual volume as the flaring pain
evaporated.
   Mike felt his head, naked flesh and electrodes.
   "You bastard."
   Clay smiled at the remark.
   "Why the hell are you doing this?"
   "I'd like to get to know you... get to know your work?"
   "Why should I tell you jack-sh..." Mike hit the floor as the
electricity scathed through his mind, his head throbbing in
illusory explosion.
   "I believe you will find our methods quite convincing."
   Mike tried to talk, but the pain forced his mouth shut, his
neck curling backward in agony. Gasping for breath, he refocused
his eyes. Robin stood over him, her foot resting softly on his
chest.
   "I don't know... you want..."
   "Now we're getting somewhere aren't we..."
   Robin blurred into the ceiling, its dark surface pressing on
him, pushing him deeper into the floor.
   "We want to know... how we can help... do we?"
   "Ye......"
   "What's that Michael?"
   "Yes....."
   The pain faded slowly, the pressure falling away like storm
clouds over the coast, raining then leaving in gentle succession.
Clay regarded the young man with antipathy, the body tangled in
grotesque torment, and without a single scratch. He much
preferred real torture, the sort that you could see and have
respect for; but that could wait for later.
   Robin picked Mike's head off the floor and let it drop. "He's
unconscious. Automatic depressants registering in the forward
cranium."
   "That's no fun... let us wake him."
   "Are you sure?"
   "Do it."
   Dark brown eyes burst open as the chemicals neutralized in
wave after wave of mind splitting torment. Clay's smiling face
loomed above like a bobbing floater.
   "Tizar to Michael... are you still with us? I hope that was as
good for you as it was for me Michael. Because, to be absolutely
honest, it doesn't get much better; but we will try, won't we."
He winked toward the silhouette sitting quietly against the
window.
   "Go ahead..."
   "What's that Michael? Are you actually cognizant? Have you a
thought to share?"
   Mike felt Clay's glaring eyes upon his face even as he closed
his own.
   "...before it dies of loneliness? Go ahead... what?"
   "Kill me..."
   A long silence passed before Mike opened his eyes. Clay looked
astonished and insulted.
   "Kill you??? Why in heaven's name should I do a nasty thing
like that? I want to be your friend. We are friends... aren't we
Michael?"
   "What the hell do you want from me?"
   "You mustn't be difficult Michael... it's a naughty thing."
   Burning sensations tore through Mike's body for a fraction of
a second as he turned to look again at Robin.
   "She controls it Michael... she could kill you on a whim...
except, of course, for the obvious fact that androids don't have
whims. Lucky for you... isn't it?"
   Mike griped bare floor as the pain coursed through his veins.
He twisted about, vulnerably, clawing toward her with floundering
motions.
   "But since you've been such a good sport, we're going to keep
you company for a while longer. Are you feeling cooperative yet?"
   "Tell me what you want."
   Clay acquiesced, "Very well, let us start at the common
ground, just to see what we both know. Tell me who killed our
esteemed friend, Mr. John Doe number seventeen."
   Mike stopped and thought as the pain released its hold.
   "Who... Fork? You want to know who killed Fork?"
   "I believe I have made myself abundantly lucid, Michael. You
were aware of them. We know you visited the pit."
   Clay first heard a chuckle, then a snort, then a laugh, then a
sound he couldn't place in any interrogation he had ever
participated in or heard of. He looked down at the billowing
figure in amazement and then back toward Robin.
   "What are you doing?"
   She nodded her head, nothing.
   "Michael, either we've pushed you completely over the edge,
or..."
   "Fork isn't dead." Mike tumbled himself into a sitting
position, holding his side with one hand and wiping away tears
with the other.
   "You are insane."
   Mike beamed up, the laughter leaving him as the memory of pain
crept back into his mind.
   "You don't believe me, Clay... flush me out the torpedo
tubes."
   The old man smiled at the suggestion.
   Clay wasn't convinced, "If he's alive, then where is he?"
   Mike rubbed the metal connections on his head.
   "Where is he!?!"
   The dim flicker of pain approached his senses and veered away
as he steadied his gaze on the dark outline against the wall.
   "I'll do it, Michael."
   The moment hung open like a sputtering ocean swell refusing to
die.
   "In transit to Calanna."
   "And how do you know this to be true?"
   "A little birdie told me. Look Mr. Clay, I'm a gatherer. I've
got ways of finding things out."
   "Connections?" Clay seemed intrigued; whether out of
playfulness of genuine belief, Mike couldn't tell.
   "That, investigation, and sometimes just a little intuitive
reasoning."
   "What did your little break-in this morning constitute.
Investigation or intuitive reasoning?"
   Robin told the truth; he hadn't been out very long. Mike
wondered how far it was to the surface.
   "Mr. Harrison," Clay skipped to the surname as if he were
beginning a long lecture, "It seems as if we have fallen into a
double-checkmate. Do you play chess?"
   "On occasion."
   "Double-checkmate is the game's one fault; it is shall we say,
the impossible outcome. Yet, in reality, it is all too common.
Rarely instead of there being a winner and a loser, both parties
lose."
   "There's always stalemate..." Mike involuntarily slid backward
an inch as Clay glared at the interruption.
   "Not the same, Mr. Harrison. One is more a tie than the
other."
   "I see."
   "We have forced each other into unacceptable losses, and
foolishly. We are not enemies. If anything, we both want to see
this Mr. Fork as you call him returned to Tizar, alive and well."
   "Then why did you kidnap Niki?"
   "You were interfering with my work. You were investigating me.
And furthermore, you were drawing attention to Mr. Fork. I am
convinced that if he were not the subject of your obtuse
scrutinies, Imperial attentions would never have been attracted."
   "ISIS."
   Clay smiled and folded his hands over his belt.
   "What part in this do you play, Mr. Clay."
   The old man's skin tightened involuntarily, "Again you probe
me, Michael."
   Mike looked at Robin. Her outline seemed to shimmer against
the dim, blue light of the seascape.
   "Fine. I'll forget you. I'll forget I ever met you. But just
what are you proposing?"
   "That you go to Calanna in search of this Mr. Fork. I would
like you to find him and bring him back here to Tizar."
   "And what will you do? Linden already knows that you planted
those bugs."
   "What I will do is unimportant."
   Mike smiled in disbelief, "I know Chuck. He doesn't take
security lightly. I really doubt that he'd just put this to
rest."
   "He has no choice. You have no choice. Or would you rather be
fed to the fish?"
   "Look, I'm just saying..."
   "Mr. Harrison, you are not in a position to debate me. Will
you do as I bid? A simple yes or no will suffice."
   Mike considered it, even though he knew Clay was right. He had
no choice. They had no choice. That was the beauty of
double-checkmate, or mutual assured destruction as most folks
called it. It was a lesson history had invariably taught every
culture. And in each culture it had a different name.
   "Okay. I guess you've got me. I'll convince Chuck to stay
cool, and I'll go to Calanna." He didn't mention that the latter
was already decided.
   "And you'll take Robin."
   "And I'll... now hold it just a minute." Mike raised his hands
in protest.
   "And you'll take Robin." Clay held all the cards, and he knew
it. Mike realized it was pointless to debate.
   "Fine. I'll take her."

  _______________________________________________________________
  I  Jim Vassilakos                       I  A rust monster...  I
  I  University of California, Riverside  I    Run Awwaaay!!    I
  I  jimv@ucrmath.ucr.edu                 I         :-)         I
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