The Bright Spot Page 25

  He flinched at the question as if I’d slapped him. He did know. Exactly. “I knew you called on her,” he admitted.

  He knew more than that. “She called you a faggot, not a term I approve of. What did you think of it?”

  He was pale, the lines around his eyes and mouth giving away his pain. “She was angry, provoked. I understand her feelings.”

  “You’re a real understanding guy. This tracking program. What else does it do besides track?”

  He hesitated a moment, glanced nervously at the gun barrel. “I can listen, hear what you hear.”

  “Any time, any place, if you wanted.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you need to access it?”

  “Any terminal, the address and password.”

  “Vision?”

  “The data stream’s too wide.”

  “Pity. Here I didn’t think you cared, and all along you’ve been listening to my prayers all these years. Ignoring them, maybe even fucking with them, but listening just the same. I’m touched. You’re wrong, by the way. About Ed. But maybe you know that already.”

  He looked out the porthole, his eyes pinched, his old lips trembling, no longer looking for what was coming but at what had been. He was walking a thin line. I wanted him to fall.

  “Who tipped you, Jimmy? Who told you the truth? Salvador?”

  “That disgusting pig!” he snarled. Jim was a fierce old dog when you kicked him in the right place.

  “What did he tell you about Galatea?”

  He avoided my eyes. He tried to sound dismissive, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anybody. “He thought I was a gullible old fool. He showed me what he claimed were Galatea’s original orders as Lenore Chapell, laying out everything she did, making it seem she never intended to bring down ’ware, never intended to go away with me, never loved me, that it was all just a charade to trick me into giving up my secrets. It was a cheap trick. They were clearly forgeries after the fact to knock me off balance, to ... to break me down.”

  It didn’t look like it would take much to accomplish that. He stared into space, remembering, then made the mistake of looking at me. Maybe I looked a little doubtful about his take on Galatea. He leaned forward, determined to persuade me, beseeching me with my hand gestures. “She was shattered when she came to me. Do you understand? She scarcely knew who she was. I put her back together again. I made her. I named her. She would do anything for me without question. I loved her. She adored me, looked up to me. And Salvador expected me to believe she was deceiving me the whole time because of some scraps of paper he fabricated? He ... he clearly wasn’t trustworthy.”

  Ah, but Jimmy could believe it, even coming from the untrustworthy Salvador, couldn’t stop believing it, even after he’d murdered the messenger and stuffed him in a garbage truck. “Maybe he was right,” I said. “Maybe they weren’t forgeries. Maybe she played you from the beginning, understood what made you tick and ran you like the little windup tin god you are, running you like you were one of your own soldiers. How fitting. What goes around comes around. You know what they say, Jimmy, the power of pride goeth before the fall.”

  His eyes burned into mine. “You think you’re so smart. So smug. Freedomware saved the world, preserved our way of life. It was necessary. Its original purpose was noble. It was going to make us free—free of want, free of limitations, free to pursue our dreams. But it was stolen, cheapened....”

  “Corrupted?” I suggested. This guy wouldn’t know freedom if it was staring him in the face. So that was his story: I gave humanity this wonderful gift, they just weren’t worthy. Exterminate the brutes!

  “Face it, Jimmy. Galatea was on their side.”

  “What about you? You’re a fool if you think you can trust that bitch Luella. She was fucking Salvador, you know. He told me about it, said she was like an animal, couldn’t get enough. She doesn’t care about you. She’s working for them. They’re all the same, the—”

  I pressed the barrel against his forehead, shoved until the back of his head hit the bulkhead, and he shut up. There was a moment there I didn’t know whether I was going to shoot him or not, until it was over and his sorry head was still in one piece and there’d been no big bang, no expanding universe of Dumfries’ brains splattered all over the cabin. I pulled the barrel away from his forehead. It left a small purple O. I didn’t like the feeling of having almost killed a man. Even him.

  “Galatea’s been dead a long time, and Lu’s a subject I suggest you avoid altogether. We’re talking about your crimes for the moment. You killed Salvador because he told you the truth and you couldn’t handle it. Then you killed Ed because blaming everything on him helped keep the lie alive. Trey had lots of reasons to end up dead, and none of them interest me, since the world’s probably better off without him. But what I don’t understand is how you can kill all these innocent people along the way in the name of ending ’ware. Innocent people who never heard of you and Galatea. People you don’t even know. You don’t sound too trustworthy yourself, Jimmy.”

  “Look at me. I’m an old man, watched constantly. How long would I last on my own? I had to use those people. Do you think we could be having this conversation any other way? Can I pilot a helicopter? Sail this boat? Take on armed professional killers? I had to use the only means at my disposal. This is too important not to. I regret the loss of innocent lives. I didn’t intend they should die.”

  “You didn’t intend? You thought Trey Kennemeyer would just go up in flames and no one else would get hurt? You might be a fucking idiot like he said, but you’re not that stupid.”

  “He would’ve ruined everything. He suspected your importance and wasn’t about to let you go until he’d figured it out. He would’ve murdered you when he was done with you if he didn’t kill you in the process.”

  “I’m supposed to thank you—swapping all these lives for mine?”

  “Of course not. But how can you condemn my actions when you don’t even know why you’re so important?”

  That line almost earned him a bullet. “Listen to me, old man: I’m important because I’m alive. I’m important because I’m a superb actor. I’m important because Lu loves me. I’m important because I fucking say so and I’m good to my dog. Any ideas you have on the subject don’t interest me.”

  He looked at the barrel again, deciding he’d take his chances that what he had to say didn’t interest me like Moses didn’t care about the Commandments, like Sleeping Beauty didn’t want to be kissed. He was going to tell me anyway. It was good for me, it was good for everyone. He thought he knew things like that. That’s what made him so dangerous. “I wrote the original Freedomware with voice command, but the generals told me to take it out. I didn’t, but said I did. Access was limited to my voice, which you’ve shown you can emulate, and my genotype. Our genotype.” He eyed me significantly to make sure I’d been awake that day in biology class. “I left it that way. They never knew. When Freedomware was stolen for commercial purposes, they just wrote routines on top of my code, so it’s still there beneath all their crap....”

  Commercial purposes. All their crap. How tacky. The poor guy. Enough to make you want to go out and murder a few dozen people. He was going to make supermen, Jedi knights, and all he got was pool guys and garbage men, and now the Homeland would never be the same.

  “As you’ve guessed, our dialogue in the diner was a code. The question ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’ initiates the sequence, signaled by the response ‘Yes, there is someone else.’ The names are a code string that activates the switch to voice command, pending verification of genotype.”

  “Kissing the tears.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So that’s why you wanted Dee. She heard the names, she kissed me. You thought she was working for Trey.”

  “How do you know she wasn’t?”

  At least he was consistent. “Doesn’t matter. She’s certainly not working for him anymore. Trey’s dead thanks to you.”
<
br />   He’d drawn me in. He’d told me my trick. I could instruct a workware crew to do my bidding with a string of names and a kiss because I had the right voice and DNA. I knew half of the routine. And I still hadn’t killed him yet. I might as well hear the rest of it. “So what was Galatea running, a virus?”

  “That’s what I told her. For her own protection I thought she should know as little as possible. Viruses are slow and ineffective, a mere annoyance. Voice command gives you and me the ability to control any single crew. She carried a simple instruction set permanently making everyone in the system, everyone running ’ware throughout the world, once she entered the system, a single crew for purposes of voice command only, regardless of whatever conventional command hierarchy they might be running under. She needn’t stay. Her mere presence would permanently alter the operating system. Afterward, the workers would go about their usual businesses, follow their transmitted work orders, with no change at all until they receive a voice command—which can only come from you or me—then they all act as a single crew. What you say to one will be heard by all, and obeyed regardless of any other instructions. By all of them. Unfortunately, it’s very rudimentary. They all obey any command simultaneously.”

  “How long are they one crew?”

  “Under voice command, permanently, once the instruction’s given. It can’t be rescinded without crashing the system.”

  “And that’s what Lu’s running now. Once she runs ’ware, all the workers in the world would be one crew ready to follow my orders. That’s how you and Galatea set it up. She would link them into one crew, then you give the order.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And what instructions did you intend to give them, the workers of the world, when Galatea logged in and made them one crew, forever subject to your command?”

  He looked back at me calmly. I don’t know what I’d expected him to say, but there was a moment before he spoke when I knew he was going to surprise me, knew that perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. I felt a chill go up my spine, raise the hairs on my neck, tingle like a halo around my head. He spoke clearly, with absolute conviction. “What you must say when the time comes: Quit. Shut down.”

  I tried to imagine it, everyone throughout the world running ’ware shutting down, planes falling out of the sky, fires raging, workers dropping dead in the street from the air they could no longer breathe. “Thousands would die.”

  “Many thousands, I should think. But then it would be over.”

  “What makes you so sure they wouldn’t just start it all up again?”

  “I can’t be sure, but not without a great deal of opposition. Ever flown in a zeppelin?”

  “This is a pretty big Hindenburg.”

  “It has to be. The whole species is at stake.” He smiled his sad smile again. This time I could see it wasn’t quite like mine. He was insane, and I wasn’t. Not yet anyway. I was still young.

  “And what happens to Lu if she ever runs ’ware and delivers this simple instruction set?”

  He shook his head at my foolishness. “What do you care what happens to her? Do you think—”

  I shouted him down. “What happens to Lu, you sick, fucking old man?”

  He could’ve lied to me. I’ve often wondered why he didn’t. I like to think it was because he knew how much I would’ve hated him if he had, and he couldn’t bear the thought. But knowing him, it was probably just the principle of the thing.

  “She dies if she runs ’ware,” he said. “Salvador told me. It will look like a violent allergic reaction. The agents who were watching us planned to grab Galatea before she could affect the system, but they laid a lethal trap for her genotype, in case she eluded them. Insurance, they thought. It’s still in place. It will kill her when she runs ’ware, shut down her autonomic nervous system. Her heart will stop. But the damage will have been done, the instructions given, the system permanently changed. They won’t even know what’s happened until you act, and then it will be too late. Do you understand what you must do?”

  I looked back at him a moment. I wasn’t going to shoot him after all. It was too late. I’d listened. “I understand what you want me to do. But I don’t think you understand me too well. I can’t let Lu run ’ware, knowing she’d die. Even if you could convince me she’s the deceitful monster you’ve got in your head, the answer’s still no. Because you know what? If that were true, then workware can have the fucking planet anyway, because I won’t give a damn. Either way you lose.”

  I expected him to give me an argument, but he didn’t. He seemed to understand, and maybe he did.

  “I’ve told you,” he said. “That’s all I can do. The choice is yours.”

  Some choice. I laid the gun on the table in front of me. We both knew I wasn’t going to kill him. Moments later jets crisscrossed overhead. We looked toward the porthole simultaneously, mirror images, like an old vaudeville routine. It was supposed to be funny when one person pretended to be the reflection of another, especially in all the little ways it could go wrong. “Shall we wait on deck?” he said. “They’ll be concerned for your safety if they can’t see you.”

  I doubted that, but I let him lead me up the companionway. It was still brutally cold on deck. We were holding our position in a tight circle. The jets were a lingering echo, off to round up the rest of the gang. There was nothing visible yet on the horizon, but they’d be here soon enough. The gun was in my pocket. I didn’t see any more use for it. I pulled my coat tightly around me.

  “I can’t let them question me.” He smiled apologetically. “I know things.” He actually waved goodbye before he broke into a passable run for a man his age. I don’t know how I could’ve stopped him short of fumbling for the gun and shooting him in the back, and what would’ve been the point in that? He dove over the rail and plummeted toward the icy water. I reached the rail just as he hit the surface and went under.

  In seconds a Klaxon blared, and his ’ware crew automatically launched into their rescue routine, diving into the water after him, their bodies tuned to handle the cold, racing through the water. Even so, he must’ve been dead before they reached him. He was certainly dead when they laid him out on the deck and checked his vital signs, tried to revive him. Nothing. Then they bagged him, left him lying there, and returned to their positions. Mourning wasn’t part of the routine.

  I followed the helmsman up to the bridge. He shut off the Klaxon and parked himself by the wheel. He was lean, with big hollow eyes. Who knows how long he’d been on this boat, carrying the old man around.

  “Is there someone else?” I asked him.

  His eyes met mine. “Yes, there is someone else.”

  “GusCarlTerryArthurAlanGeorge...” By the time I was done, his eyes were gushing tears, and I kissed them. “What is your name?” I asked.

  “Blaine Causwell,” he said.

  “Take us home, will you, Blaine?”

  He took the wheel and gave it a turn, and we headed west, toward the mouth of the James. I sat on the deck, beside the body, shivering in the cold. About the time I spotted land, agents dropped out of the sky and boarded us, whisked Blaine and the others away as evidence.

  “What did he say?” one of the agents asked me urgently when they found me by the body.

  “What did who say?”

  “Dumfries! Who do you think?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Paranoid delusional nonsense. He was completely out of his mind.” That was my story, and I stuck to it. I passed out before they even got me off the boat. I woke up a few days later, a new man.

  STEER CLEAR OF THE CONGO

  22

  “Mistuh Kurtz, he dead.”

  —JOSEPH CONRAD, Heart of Darkness

  THE ONLY THING I SAW WHEN I OPENED was Lu looking back at me. “Nick? Are you awake?”

  I was, but I didn’t speak right away, basking in the tender concern in her voice and expression. Either she was the greatest actress who ever lived, or she adored me. Either one suited
me just fine.

  “Nick?” she whispered.

  “Who you calling Ted?” I croaked.

  “I didn’t call you Ted.”

  “Well, why don’t you?”

  She smiled like a dirty-minded angel. “Because you’re in the hospital.”

  “That must be why the sheets are so clean. Ted can’t come to the hospital?”

  “No. The man in the next bed might mind.”

  I doubted that, but I could understand how Lu might. “When do I get out of here?”

  “I’ll see if I can find out. There are lots of people who want to talk to you.”

  She didn’t exaggerate. Some of them were even doctors. “Hypothermia is no joke,” one of them told me. That little gem cost me a week’s salary. There wasn’t much wrong with me other than a lot of stress, a touch of pneumonia, and a little exposure.

  But I never wanted for visitors. I talked to shrinks, cops, cop-shrinks, and several agency officials whose precise agency and title could not be divulged to me without an extensive background check I’m sure I wouldn’t pass. If they asked me a question, I answered it.

  “Mother’s maiden name?” one badly briefed fellow asked me.

  “Garbo,” I said.

  He wrote it down. “First name?”

  “Greta.”

  He wrote that down too. “Sounds foreign,” he suggested.

  “She was from the Aldebrian Emirates,” I said.

  “Never heard of those.”

  “They’re new.”

  I could say anything, apparently, and he would write it down. Okay. I’ll play. It beat watching television, where the latest news was the recent terrorist attack at the World Palate. It only has to get on the news to be the truth. No arrests had yet been made of those ever-elusive terrorists, though there was no shortage of file footage of suspects from yesteryear to blame it on even though most of them would be pushing ninety by now and were probably dreaming the big sleep.