Part 17 (1/2)
Pierce nodded. ”It was harder than it looks-the cartridge had to go through several test commands before it would override. And even that couldn't happen until some trusting soul put the cartridge into his terminal. But it means that every terminal hooked into this network is carrying the message. It can't be overlooked or suppressed.”
Anita began laughing. ”What a wicked man! Think of all those innocent housepersons who won't be able to make breakfast because the computer won't talk about anything but Sherlock.”
”Tragic. But this won't do much good unless Wigner gets his troops to Mojave Verde. If the Sherlock missile manages to get into Earth s.p.a.ce, this little message will just help to soften people up. The awful Colonials with the death ray.”
”What's the problem?”
”I spoke with Wigner. He mentioned foul-ups. Once I'd have taken that as stalling. Now I suspect he's really less organized than he looks.”
Dallow came in. ”Ev'body's back. And hungry.”
”Phone up the nearest cafe” and order some breakfast. After they eat, they can take off if they want to.”
”Aw, tha.s.s too bad. This the best job we had in a long tune.”
Pierce and Anita were alone again in the little office, watching the letters crawl yet again across the screen.
”He tried to kill me. Wigner. Right over the phone.”
Anita's eyes widened.
”Oh, don't look so outraged. Eric's all right; from his point of view, he feels he's doing the right thing. And what I'm doing is a threat to everything he stands for.”
”You're very forgiving of a man who's treated you like a-a utensil.”
”He's the closest thing I've got to a friend, Anita. You don't let go of a friend just because he does something stupid or cruel.”
”What a strange man you are.”
”Mm.”
Pierce found a portable cinevision plate in Klein's desk and turned it on. UnTrainable broadcasting always bored him, but it was worth putting up with this morning. A slightly haggard young woman was reading the news: ”-still tying up all computer networks. Trading has been suspended on the Glaciopolis Stock Exchange, and government offices have been paralyzed. Hospitals report several fatalities caused by the computer override as patients failed to receive automated therapy and medication.
”It's still not clear whether Commissioner Gersen will respond personally to the charges made against him in the mysterious message still displaying on all terminals. A Government House spokesperson in Farallon City says Gersen is in Mojave Verde and isn't expected to return until tomorrow night. The spokesperson denied that the Commissioner's tour of the Missile Facility is in any way related to the so-called Sherlock Project, which was reportedly suspended several weeks ago.
”The same government source says Sherlock was certainly not the cause of the unusual lunar light observed yesterday. No explanation has yet been offered for that, but some scientists speculate that an anti-matter meteor may have collided with the Moon.
”In other news, the I-Screens are still closed as the new flu strain continues to spread from one chrono-plane to the next. Government health officials say the quarantine will remain in effect until a vaccine is developed; that may not be for another week. But there's no cause for alarm. No cases of the so-called Thannas B flu have been reported anywhere on Ore.”
She chanted her way through the rest of the news, ignored.
”If he's not due back till tomorrow night,” Anita said, ”It's because the Sherlock missile is due to be launched before then.”
Pierce reviewed what he knew of Mojave Verde's launch capabilities. ”Maybe as early as tonight; more likely tomorrow morning. They won't want to foul up the countdown. If Wigner doesn't get there in time-”
”You want to go south?”
”I don't want to, but we can't take a chance, not if Wigner is having trouble getting mobilized.”
”How will you get there in time?”
”Oh-something dramatic, like renting a car from Hertz-Avis. Want to come with me?”
”I'd get in your way.”
”We make a good team.”
”Not in this case. I'm exhausted-couldn't do a thing. And you'll probably have
to hurt people. Go alone.”
He shrugged and stood up. ”I'm going to see if Dallow found breakfast. And I want to get those d.a.m.n bracelets off everyone.”
”Good-that's something I'll be glad to help you with.”
The indents sat in little cl.u.s.ters around the empty ring of the I-Screen; they
smoked, slept, compared trips. Tim Klein, the knotholer's son, blearily drank coffee in an armchair while his father slept on the floor by the couch, where Mrs. Curtice also slept. Dallow was nowhere in sight.
”Got some good wirecutters?” Pierce asked; after some rummaging, Tim retrieved a thermocutter from a tool chest. Pierce nodded his thanks and began with the young Sicilian, who tried to protest: ”I lose my job, I go to jail.”
”A man must take his chances in this world,” Pierce replied in Italian.
”And my family, sir, what of them?”
The thermocutter burned through the tough plastic. ”They have endured pain and slavery on your account; could freedom be worse?” He handed the Sicilian the thermocutter. ”Release your family and pa.s.s these around.” He yawned, stretched, rubbed his face. His whiskers were growing back; it would be good to have his beard again.
By the time Dallow and a couple of other indents had returned with boxes of doughnuts and a styrofoam coffee urn, most of the people were free. Dallow cut himself free with an enigmatic smile.
”It spooky oat there,” he said. ”Ev'body walk aroun' lookin' stoned. n.o.body talk to n.o.body. Ex-treme”
”They'll get over it,” Pierce said. He could imagine the streets of towns on a dozen chronoplanes, filled with people whose lives had been brusquely overturned by the crawling letters on the terminals. Some had been jolted right out of life altogether: they had gone to join the burning girl and Dr. Chatterjee and all others benevolently murdered. At least, Pierce thought, they would not suffer the final indignity of oblivion: he would remember his victims now, he would allow himself to be haunted. It seemed a small enough penance.
Now everyone had been cut free. Klein and Mrs. Curtice were awake, sleepily drinking coffee. The indents laughed nervously, comparing the paleness of wrists, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. Pierce stood up. Gradually the others fell silent.
”You did well. Because of what you did, there won't be a Doomsday. And there won't be colonies any more, unless people want to have them. Soon you'll be able to go back home to Earth, or anywhere else you like. You can be independent, or you can find a patron again.” He glanced at Mrs. Curtice, who gave him an evil wink.
”I'm sorry I threatened your children. I would never have harmed them. I hope they will never be threatened again.”
Their blank expressions unsettled him a bit. Just as well; at least they weren't sucking up to him as then: new patron.