Behold a Dark Mirror Page 4

  He needed to punish himself for breaking his rules.

  But he would not have broken his own rules, had he not loved them. He loved them, and because of this he had to break his rules. His rules were an obstacle. The rules stood between him and his family. He had to break them to be with his family.

  The rules were good, they had stood through trying circumstances. His rules were right. But he had broken them, and now he had to pay the price. He had broken them, and that was bad. He had broken them for love, and Margo said that was good.

  Torment, Nero thought, was here once more. Welcome back, robber of my peace. You have forsaken me for another day, and now return for the night. Ah, how I can rely on your presence.

  Margo loved him. He loved Margo and the children more than himself, and more than his rules. That was right and good. Yet, it was not. If he had loved them, he'd have lived by the rules, and they'd have lived. His love was imperfect and without harmony.

  Margo knew more about love than he would ever have known, and she taught him, line upon line, by grace, forgiveness. His painful tears flowed slowly. Tears rolled down his face, dripped onto his chest. Emptiness! His heart was hollow, his existence was hollow, like a dead tree still on its roots, like the memory of life.

  Nero needed real life. He needed to find out about the other pages in Margo's book. He wasn't going to while baby-sitting solitude; he had not succeeded in more than a year of trying.

  And so Nero realized that he had made his decision.

  *

  Mornings on Doka were nature's show time. The radiation of two suns created turbulence in the high atmosphere, and airborne dust painted each sunrise with deep red and purple. With a couple of clouds, the show was glorious. Nero's attention, however, was elsewhere: After waking up, he had started preparing a reply for Kebe.

  There was no encoding gear on Doka, so Nero had to rig up makeshift equipment. Manufacturing a wildcat card was even harder. When he remixed his announcement, night had long since fallen and the next day was arriving:

  "The end of the universe is open for business. Renovation has been slow, inactivity useless. Hot potatoes are necessary to feed the hungry and lonely resident. Hope to see you soon."

  Nero slept through another spectacular sunrise and on through the morning.

  *

  Boring days passed; routines became a tease, the lack of meaning unendurable. Nero's penance was now to wait: The fuse was ignited, would the bomb go off? Rook and Zochar played their eternal games of light and darkness. Pook came and went.

  One day, a spike appeared on the power monitor. Suddenly, the faithful cart that had carried Nero around for months on end became insufferably slow. A parcel filled the mail tray. Nero brought it to the tea table, blew the dust off, and opened it.

  The package contained a hardcover book with pages filled in fine handwriting, an optical card, and a small envelope. He had no reader at hand for the card. The cover of the book said The Making of an Empire, and, on the next line: by Leonard Timothy Duskin. The envelope was full with a deck of microfiches. Nero turned to the first page in the book.

  “Power Sharing was created to reestablish the trust of the public in government. After democracy failed to deliver its promise of participation, rethinking became a necessity. Yet, regardless of its package, power always flows by the same rules.

  The danger from the collapse of democracy was the onset of anarchy, which is the greatest foe of power because of the absence of rule. I admire how a few individuals who understand power can influence history: The council of Bratislava perceived that a novel solution was needed to preserve global influence. They understood that in due time, influence would become control.

  Public governments were lame champions of participation. The lie they purported to defend, however, was appealing. If too many idiots had not become so complacent in their zeal for corruption, they might still be in power. Anyway, after the Disorder, public government yielded to private government. The concept of private government seems close to that of empire, but this is not the case. Private government as implemented by Power Sharing is not so dissimilar from its public predecessor, democracy. Even if they are frauds, both entail the appearance of participation.

  The council defined the charter of Power Sharing and established the Institute for Private Government to implement it. IPG was housed in the surviving Kenzo tower in Bologna, Italy. Later, IPG became known as the Tower, after the site that housed it.

  IPG spawned the Guilds and the Corporations and endowed them with stock in government. These allegedly private organizations sat at the voting table of IPG in proportion to their stock holdings. IPG spread its rule to every known human settlement, and its power was shared by all voting members.

  Stock ownership in IPG became a valuable asset. The political difficulty of generating new initial public offerings soon froze the dynamic of the process and established the root of its inevitable demise.

  Sometimes I wonder if the genius that inspired the beginning might be indeed moved by higher motives. If so, then its weakness is lack of understanding of the fickleness of mankind. It befuddles me how brilliant thinkers are sooner or later the prey of cunning tinkerers. But if there was a method in this plan, then genius created it.”

  Nero tapped the page; the rest of this manuscript should make interesting reading. Yet, the lure of the optical card was even greater to him: There was a message from Kebe on it.

  *

  In the trailer, he dumped the book on the kitchen table. The microfiches were tucked away in the safe at the way station. The reader clicked, engulfing the card in its bowels. The screen lit up, blank. Still no video–too bad.

  “Hi there. You know who I am and what I'm talking about, I presume. You may have started peeling your potato, so to speak. I bet you found it educational–if you haven't finished yet, believe me, it gets better.

  Well, baby, you're big game now. I'm happy for your choice, but–how can I say it? The pastime is dangerous, so start minding your steps. I might come soon if you can rig your gear to bring me through.”

  The last noise from the message was a sound like the smacking of lips.

  CHAPTER 5

  Stay at home tonight, the cigar case said–who did this? Jenus picked up rubble at random to drop it again, stepping around the wasteland in a daze. "My canary is dead," he whispered, lifting the cage. He looked at the bird rolling across the bottom. He unlatched the door, inserted his hand to lift the small body. A terrible suspicion about coal mines crossed his mind: Dead–the cage is still intact...

  He went to the phone to call Janet. After an eternity, she picked up.

  "We're in danger," Jenus said. "I'm in danger, I mean, and I may have gotten you involved. I'll be right back..."

  "Jenus, what are you talking about? The crocodile..."

  "Please listen! This has nothing to do with The Clearing. I have no time to explain, no time now. There’s something I’ve got to tell you–to ask you. Take my word for it, please, get dressed and be ready to leave in a few minutes. Pack a bag for a week or two, take some of my stuff. And cash. I stepped on a tiger's tail and they may use you to get at me."

  "What do you mean? Who are they?"

  "Please, please, let's not waste time. Just pack, please."

  "I don't understand, but I'll be ready. I'm looking forward to a good explanation, too."

  *

  Once more the door to Janet's apartment swung open for Jenus. She was sitting on an armchair, duffel bags at her feet.

  "Inconspicuous clothing, some cash, some food, first aid, and a complement of travel paraphernalia," Janet said. "Can you explain now?"

  "Later. Let's go to the air club, I'll arrange a vehicle."

  "Is this a funky way to start a trip, or are we dipping into more hooey? I’ve really had
enough of it for tonight."

  "Later," Jenus said.

  A few framepost stops later, they arrived at the air club, perhaps via Europe, India and West Africa–hard to tell, dialing at random. Hard to tell, also, whether their destination remained private.

  The air club was empty; few people hung around after dark. A phone call endowed Jenus with the codes and password he needed. Then he walked by the flight desk; a tired employee greeted him with his eyes on the show chirping from his viewer. Jenus flashed his flight permit, which the clerk pretended to inspect.

  Jenus and Janet walked to the aircar bays. "I'm anxious to hear the story behind all this," Janet said. "Your benefit-of-doubt line of credit is almost exhausted, dear." Then she said, "On the other hand..."

  "What, Jaya?" Jenus said. His heavy steps and Janet's lighter ones resounded across the empty hallways.

  "I was telling Corinne the other day," Janet whispered, "that I've been bored. That's, by the way, how the tip about The Clearing came about. Seems like a dangerous wish, that of not being bored."

  The aircar in bay 12 was a recent two-seater: a nice powerful toy. From the pilot seat, Jenus opened the roof of the bay, powered the engines, cleared take-off with traffic control, and started upwards.

  Soon they were flying away from the sprawl. Jenus was carrying the aircar on instruments and sight–mostly instruments, as the night was dark. Soon they were on course.

  "Tell me what's going on, Jenus. Now. I'd like to know where we're going, but even more I'd like to know why–so, please, start with the second part."

  Jenus told her about the gamble, the sample, the finger, and the apartment. Janet never interrupted; when Jenus finished, Janet remained silent. She kept gazing into the darkness; muscles in her jaws rippled with intensity as if chewing the news like a rotten burp of cud.

  Jenus's grip on the controls became sweaty. The leathery interior of the vehicle had become too hot for him. No, too cold. He bleated: "I'll do all I can to let you off... If you want."

  After an eternity, Janet turned to him. Her voice was too quiet: "Jenus Dorato, you're a criminal and you have made me your accomplice. How can such a smart man be so stupid? You had it all. And now when are we–when are you ever going to stop running? I love you, perhaps, but there is a lot more than love in the alchemy of a relationship. This..."

  Slamming her fists on the dash, she yelled: "You lied to me!" almost loud enough to shatter the cockpit glass. Her small frame recoiled against the seat. She then quieted, recomposed her hair, straightened her clothes. "I'm sorry," she said. "Now, I feel marginally better."

  Jenus sat frozen. The leathery scent of the cockpit tickled his nostrils; his throat and tongue were dry as raw cotton. He was flying without thoughts, hanging on her next words.

  "On the other hand, what you did for that boy at The Clearing was noble. I can imagine the faces of those idiots when they realized what happened." She smiled at him. "And you're not just thinking of yourself, since I'm here with you. You are resourceful, and you still seem to have a conscience of sort. This makes my decision difficult, Jenus. What do you have to say?"

  Jenus cleared his throat in an effort to reopen his windpipe. He tried to speak.

  "I," he wheezed, coughed. "I agree. I was stupid; I’ve never messed up like this before. This will never happen again." He halted for a paralytic moment. Janet in her gaze showed what he already knew: He wasn't fifteen and this wasn't a baseball through a window pane.

  He cleared his throat, continuing: "Janet, I'm falling in love with you. I'm a bastard for not telling you I gamble, but I was ashamed of it. I beg you, give me a chance. I think... I want you forever. I just realized I don't even feel like running away if you don't care. Let's get out of this, leave the trolls in the dust and continue with our lives, but closer. Not you, and me, but us. Oh, Janet, please. I know I cut corners at times, but I'm not a criminal. Please forgive me!" He said, banging the armrest with his open palm.

  "Just how do you plan to fix this? Convince me, Jenus, and I may hang around a while longer. I'll keep my eyes wide open: I may want to love you, but that's not enough. So tell me."

  "A two-week vacation on the other side of the planet. That'll give us time to figure what to do next."

  "Not very convincing, truly."

  "I didn't have time to come up with anything better."

  "Maybe," Janet said, "we should make some plans, sleep on this."

  "Together?" Jenus grinned, and looked at her.

  Janet sighed, rolled her eyes. "I'm letting you drag me into this disaster, choosing to help you I'm-not-sure-why, and in return you ask me to warm your bed tonight?" She said. "Why I'm still here listening to you is beyond me." Looking outside, she added, "Lack of a parachute, I fear." She paused for a long instant. "I don't know what to think about you, Jenus–you burnt a hole through my heart. I'm still the jury and the judge, you moron, even if it's possible I may still be in love with you."

  Silence fell between them, at first awkward. The wind wailed around the shell of the aircar. Its moan and the hum of the engines mixed in the cockpit; a dim glow from flight instruments was all the interior light. The smell of Enchantment still lingered, fainter after many hours. Jenus's right hand, fitted in the driveglove, idled; controlled by the autopilot, the glove tickled his fingers and forearm with attitude corrections. He was absent, yet aware of Janet’s presence. Her head weighed against the restraint of the reclined seat, eyes closed.

  *

  Noon sun-rays seeped through the curtains of the hotel room, shining on plain white walls. The air conditioner roared, trying in vain to keep the room cooler than the outside.

  Jenus struggled with the shower faucets, fighting a losing battle trying to set an acceptable water temperature. Eventually he slid the curtain open; trickles of water dripped from the plastic sheets and fell into a crack in the floor. He glanced into the bedroom.

  Half a bed-sheet was wrapped around Janet, the other half spilling on the carpet. Janet had pulled a loose corner of the bedspread over her head to repel offending light.

  A charming view of the ocean peeked through the window. When they had arrived, the sun was high over the Pacific; the coast of Malaysia attracted many tourists–and New Penang was off the popular routes without being remote.

  "We need to decide what next, honeybunch," Jenus yelled coming out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair.

  "Breakfast seems like a good idea," Janet said. "I'm hungry." She lowered her improvised light shade, fully awake, and stared at him. Looking at the scenery outside, she said: "Make it lunch." She forced a smile on her face.

  Jenus kept drying while Janet took her turn fighting the shower. Anxiety gave to all his actions a taste of uselessness; he dressed, watched in silence while Janet did the same.

  They set off on foot for the business district. The street was noisy, and many odors hit their noses–wafts of sweat, curry, a wet dog, frying fish. Hawkers tried to lure them into shops peddling penny jewelry, crafts, food. They were sweating profusely when they passed an eatery smelling of fresh seafood and air conditioning.

  The waiter showed them to a table and benches covered in blue melamine and gave them an illustrated menu marked with price and picture of each item. Choosing was easy, and so was ordering two double martinis. In the cooler air, their skin tingled, their hunger and thirst grew, and alcohol was appealing.

  The shade of blue of the melamine did not appeal to Jenus, but at least it was clean enough. Too bad the bench was just so uncomfortable: He kept wiggling, trying in vain to remedy his discomfort when he realized Janet was looking at him.

  "You didn't like my plan."

  "No, Jenus. Taking a two-week vacation across the planet won't do any good if they are as tough as you seem to fear."

  "I didn't think the vacation would work,
either."

  They stared at each other.

  "Who are these people, Jenus?"

  "I don't know; but there must be two sets of them. Why search my place after paying me? Why tell me to stay at home if they wanted to search my place–did they want to kill me? I'd like to know what's happening at the lab."

  "Can you find out?"

  "Not without giving us away–well, provided we're hiding in the first place. I could ask Gus... I’m still too tired to think, didn't get much sleep on the way here. Did you?"

  "Not really–but I didn't want to talk to you."

  Jenus lowered his eyes. "I didn't want to lose the lab, and my life." He looked at her. "Our life."

  Janet said: "You haven't lost anything, yet. This won't be the only time I’m angry. I'll be angry at you again–I guess–in the future. Get your brains to work, now." After a second, she said, "Hopefully not so angry."

  Biting his lower lip, Jenus looked down. "Listen to this," he said. "Suppose team X needs some illegal information. I am among those that could–but wouldn't, under normal circumstances–provide it. Team X sets me up, or learns that I'm in trouble, and blackmails me into the act. Team Y, however, is also after the information that team X wants, and team Y learns of X's plans for me. X won't share its booty, so Y's best hope for getting the data is, well, what happened to my apartment yesterday. Y wants what I know, X doesn't want Y to know, and I'm in the middle."

  The waiter came with more drinks. Lunch was slow to come, and alcohol on an empty stomach was a tantalizing brainstormer.