Текст книги "Inherit the Earth"

Автор книги: Brian Stableford

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“That is strange, isn’t it?” Damon said, trying to sound insouciant. “The usual Eliminator jargon charges people with being unworthy of immortality—a formula which takes it for granted that your researchers will eventually hit the jackpot. In a way, you and the Eliminators represent different sides of the same coin. If and when you come up with an authentic fountain of youth you’ll be forced into the position of deciding who should drink from it.”

“We’re a nonprofit organization, Mr. Hart. Our constitution requires us to make the fruits of our labor available to everyone.”

“I looked up your constitution last night,” Damon admitted. “It’s an interesting commitment. But I also glanced at the way in which you’ve operated in the past. It’s true that Ahasuerus has always placed its research findings in the public domain, but that’s not the same thing as ensuring equal access to the consequent technologies. Consider PicoCon’s new rejuvenation procedures, for example: there’s no secret about the manner in which the reconstructive transformations are done, but it’s still an expensive process to carry out because it requires such a high level of technical expertise and so much hospital time. Effectively, it’s available only to the rich. It seems highly likely to me that the next breakthrough in longevity research will be a more wide-ranging kind of somatic transformation which will achieve an authenticrejuvenation rather than a merely cosmetic one.

Assuming that it requires even more technical expertise and even more hospital time, it’s likely to be available only to the very rich, at least in the first instance, even if all the research data is in the public domain. If so, the megacorps will still have effective control over its application. Isn’t that so?”

“ In the first instanceis the vital phrase, Mr. Hart,” she informed him, still carefully maintaining the stiffness of her manner. “The early recipients of such a treatment would be those who could most easily afford it, but it would eventually filter through the entire population. The rich are always first in every queue—but that only means that the poor have to be patient, and in the New Utopia even the poor have time enough. Provided that your hypothetical technology of authentic rejuvenationwere to take the form of a treatment that a person need only undergo once—or even if it needed to be repeated at long intervals—there’d be plenty of time to work through the queue. No one has any interest in delaying our work, Mr. Hart—and that includes the lonely and resentful individuals who have nothing better to do with their time than denounce the follies and failures of their fellow men and urge maniacs to attempt murder.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Damon said, although he wasn’t sure that the matter was as simple as she made it out to be. “As I said, I’ve read your constitution. It’s a fine and noble commitment, even if it was written by a man who made his fortune by turning a minor storm in the troubled waters of the world’s financial markets into a full-scale hurricane. But lonely and resentful individuals often nurse paranoid fantasies. Operator one-oh-one might have got it into his head that you’ve already developed a method of authentic rejuvenation, but that you’re keeping it very quiet. Perhaps he thinks that you’rethe real Eliminators, standing by while the people youconsider to be undesirables peacefully pass away, and saving your immortality serum for the deserving few.”

“That’s absolutely untrue,” said Rachel Trehaine, her bright blue eyes as fathomless as the California sky.

“A paranoid fantasy,” Damon agreed readily. “But I did happen to notice, while inwardly digesting your constitution, that although it commits you to releasing the results of the research you fund, it doesn’t actually specify whenyou have to do it. You’re not the only player in the field, of course—I dare say there’s not a single megacorp which doesn’t have a few fingers thrust deep into this particular pie—but you’ve been going for a long time and you have a good deal of expertise. If I were a bookmaker, I’d make you third favorite, after PicoCon and OmicronA, to come up with the next link in the chain that will eventually draw us into the wonderland of true emortality. Some day, someone like you is going to have to decide exactly how and when to let the good news out. Whoever makes that decision runs the risk of making enemies, don’t you think?”

The remark about Ahasuerus being third favorite after the biggest players of all was pure flattery, but it didn’t bring a smile to Rachel Trehaine’s face. “I can assure you,” the red-haired woman said, “that the Ahasuerus Foundation has no secrets of the kind you’re suggesting. You’ve already admitted that this mysterious Operator is deliberately teasing you, trying to draw you into reckless action. If that’s so, you ought to think very carefully about what you say, and to whom. If Operator one-oh-one has paranoid fantasies to indulge and lies to spread, it might be wise to let him be the one to do it.”

Damon would have assured her that he agreed with her wholeheartedly, but before he could open his mouth her attention was distracted. One of her machines was beeping, presumably to inform her that urgent information was incoming. From where he was sitting Damon couldn’t see the screen whose keyplate she was playing with, and he didn’t try to sneak a peep.

“The Ahasuerus Foundation thanks you for bringing this matter to our attention,” the red-haired woman said, reading from the screen. “The Ahasuerus Foundation intends to cooperate fully with Interpol and suggests that you do the same. If the Ahasuerus Foundation can help in any way to locate and liberate Silas Arnett it will certainly do so.”

Damon knew that he was being slyly rebuked for not taking the note straight to Hiru Yamanaka, but he couldn’t guess whether the rebuke was sincere or not. He had no way of knowing whether coming here had made the general situation better or worse—or, for that matter, what might count as “better” or “worse.” When he saw that she was finished, he rose to his feet.

“I’m afraid I have a plane to catch,” he said. He knew perfectly well that he was about to be thrown out, but figured that he might as well seize whatever initiative remained to be seized. “If I hear any further mention of the foundation I’ll be happy to pass the news on. I take it that my discretion wasn’t necessary, and that you won’t mind in the least if I simply use the phone in future?”

“We have nothing to hide,” said Rachel Trehaine as she came to her feet, “but that doesn’t mean that we don’t appreciate your discretion, Mr. Hart. Privacy is a very precious commodity in today’s world, and we value it as much as anyone.”

Damon took that to mean that she would definitely prefer it if he exercised the utmost discretion in passing on any further information, but that she wasn’t about to feed anyone’s paranoid suspicions by saying so explicitly.

As soon as he got back to his car Damon checked into the net-board where Operator 101 had posted the notice Yamanaka had showed him, but there was nothing new. There were no messages from Madoc Tamlin or Eveline Hywood awaiting his attention. Having decided that everything else could wait, Damon sent the car forth into the traffic.

He had no doubt that his movements were being monitored by Interpol, and that the fact of his visit to Ahasuerus, if not its content, would be known to Yamanaka. His eastward expedition would also have been observed and noted, but Tamlin could be trusted to evade any surveillance to which he was subject as and when he wished.

While the car made its silent way along the city streets, observing the speed limit with mechanical precision, Damon took out the folded note yet again and scanned the tantalizing lines for the hundredth time. He had expected no more from Ahasuerus than he had got and he had no doubt that he would have got no more from Rachel Trehaine no matter what tack he had adopted in making conversation, but he couldn’t help wondering whether he had concentrated on the wrong part of the puzzle. The most remarkable allegation it made was not that Eveline Hywood and the Ahasuerus Foundation knew something significantly shady about Conrad Helier’s past but that Conrad Helier was still alive. How could that be, when so much solid evidence remained of his death?

Damon wondered whether the kind of reconstructive somatic engineering that had been used to make Rachel Trehaine look younger than she was could be used to alter a man’s appearance out of all recognition. And if some more extravagant version of it didexist, if only as an experimental prototype, might it be applied to other applications? Specifically, might it transform the cells of one body in such a way that genetic analysis would conclude that they belonged to an entirely different person? In sum, how easy was it, in this day and age, for a man to fake his own death, even to the extent of providing a misidentifiable corpse? And if it were possible today, what was the likelihood that it had been equally possible fifty years ago?

“Paranoid fantasies,” Damon muttered as the stream of unanswerable questions dwindled away. He knew well enough that even if the matters of practicality were not insuperable the question of motive still remained—not to mention the matter of principlethat he had quoted to Madoc Tamlin.

The car came gently to a standstill and Damon realized that the traffic stream in both directions had ground to a halt. A quick look around told him that every emergency light in sight was on red and he groaned. Some idiot saboteur had hacked into the control system and thrown a software spanner into the works. He sighed and tried hard to relax. Usually, such glitches only took a few minutes to clear—but one of the reasons they had become so common of late was that rival parties of smart and prideful kids were trying just as hard to set new records as the city was.

By the time the car got moving again, Damon was not finding it at all difficult—in spite of his own checkered history—to sympathize with the hypothetical proposition he had put to Rachel Trehaine. Anyone who did come up with an authentic emortality serum might well be tempted to reserve it for the socially conscientious, while allowing all the lonely and resentful individuals who had nothing better to do with their time than fuck things up to fade into oblivion.

Seven

I

’m sorry we couldn’t bring flowers,” Madoc Tamlin said to Lenny Garon, “but they reckon flowers compromise the sterile regime and promote nosocomial infections. It’s bullshit, but what can you do?”

Lenny Garon made the effort to produce a polite smile. Madoc couldn’t help contrasting the boy’s stubbornly heroic attitude with that of Diana Caisson, who hadn’t smiled all day and didn’t seem likely to start now. He wouldn’t have brought her along if he’d had any choice, but even though the hospital was nearly the last place in the world she wanted to be she’d insisted on tagging along. It seemed that what proverbial wisdom said about misery loving company was true—and when Diana was miserable, she certainly had enough to go around.

“I shouldn’t be here,” the novice streetfighter said, as if the hospital’s insistence on keeping him in were a slur on his manhood. “The intestine’s not leaking anymore and the nanotech’s taking care of the peritonitis. I was just unlucky that the cut reached my spleen—it was nothing, really. They’ll probably let me out in a couple of hours if I kick up a fuss.”

“It wouldhave been nothing if you’d had IT as good as Brady’s,” Madoc told him cynically. “Pretty soon, you will. You have talent. It’s raw, but it’s real. Just a couple more fights and you’ll be ready to turn the tables. You hurt Brady too, you know—he might not be in the next bed, but he knows he was in a fight. One day, you’ll go even further than he has—if you stick at it.”

“Did you give the tapes to Damon Hart?”

Madoc couldn’t help glancing at Diana to see what effect the mention of Damon’s name had, and was unfortunate enough to catch her eye.

“Why should he give the tapes to Damon Hart?” she snapped at the boy, without taking her accusative eyes off Madoc.

“I thought that’s why he came to the fight,” Garon retorted innocently.

Madoc had a stoical expression all ready for display. He hadn’t had a chance to warn the boy to be discreet, and it was inevitable that the cat would be let out of the bag. Now it was his turn to be stubbornly heroic in the face of adversity. He waited for the storm to break.

“You didn’t tell me Damon was there,” Diana said, far less frostily than Madoc had anticipated. “What did he want?”

Madoc realized that her anger had been deflected by a false assumption. She assumed that Damon had sought out Madoc in order to talk about her. She must be hopeful that he had been consumed by regret and wanted Madoc to act as an intermediary in arranging a reconciliation. Madoc had already divined from the rambling odysseys of complaint he’d been forced to endure that what she wanted above all else was for Damon to “see sense” and realize that life without her was hardly worth living. Unfortunately, Madoc’s opinion was that Damon had been perfectly sensible in realizing that life without her wasworth living. He considered lying about Damon’s real purpose in visiting the fight scene, but figured that the web of deceit would probably grow so fast that it would end up strangling him. “He didn’t actually come over to watch the fight, Lenny,” he said, judiciously addressing the boy rather than Diana. “He doesn’t do a lot of that kind of work anymore. He’s busy with other things—customized VEs, mostly. You know the kind of thing—for phones, games, cable shows. . . .”

“Pornotapes,” Diana cut in acidly.

“Yeah . . . well, it was just business.”

“What kind of business?” Diana wanted to know. Now her resentment was building, as much because Madoc was avoiding her eye as because the news wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Madoc could see that the boy was curious too, but Diana’s curiosity was much sharper and it wasn’t going to be easy to fob her off. He felt obliged to try, though, if only for form’s sake.

He turned back to the boy and said: “How d’you feel now? The pain control working all right?”

“Oh sure,” Lenny assured him. “It was never bad. I felt a little spaced out after the fight—floating, you know. Soon as I got here they shot me up with something real good. Don’t even feel dreamy now. Sharp as a tack.”

“What kind of business?” Diana repeated frostily.

“Come on, Di,” Madoc said. “We’re here to see Lenny. The boy took an awkward cut. We can talk about our own things later.”

“No,” said Lenny helpfully. “You go ahead. You can talk about Damon all you want—I got all his tapes, you know.”

Of course I know, you stupid little shit, Madoc thought. Aloud, he said: “He just wanted me to ask around about some things. We’re still friends—we do little favors for one another occasionally. It’s . . .” He stopped himself saying a personal thing, because he knew that Diana would misinterpret it. She misinterpreted it anyhow.

“ Little favors,” she repeated. “Little favors of the kind that you weren’t supposed to mention to me.”

“No, Di,” Madoc said with a contrived sigh. “Actually, it’s not to do with you. Something’s happened to one of his foster fathers, that’s all. The Eliminators may be involved, although it seems to be a kidnap rather than a murder. He just asked me to ask around, see if anyone knew who might have made the snatch or why.”

Madoc could see that Diana was having trouble remembering whether she’d ever been told who Damon’s foster parents were, but Lenny Garon had no such difficulty. Lenny was a fan, and fans liked to know everything that could be known about their heroes.

“There’s no public record of Damon’s foster parents,” the boy piped up. “I checked . . . a while ago.”

“That’s because he didn’t like to talk about them,” Diana said, her wrath dying back into icy frustration. “Madoc is his friend, though. It’s only natural that Madocknows who they were.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Madoc said, because he felt obliged to try. “This stuff is confidential, okay?”

“It’s notokay,” Diana said. “You’re supposed to be myfriend right now, and I don’t like the idea of your going behind my back like this—seeing Damon and not even telling me. They were biotech people, weren’t they? Damon’s foster parents, that is. He fell out with them because they wanted him to go into the same line of work.”

“That’s right,” Madoc said. “But it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care what happens to them. I just have to make some inquiries, see what I can find out.”

“Can I help?” Lenny wanted to know.

“No,” said Madoc. “Nor can you, Diana. It’s best if I handle it myself.”

“Just because I fell out with him,” Diana was quick to retort, with manifest sarcasm, “it doesn’t mean that I don’t care what happens to him. He’s in some kind of trouble, isn’t he?”

“No,” Madoc said automatically.

“Is he?” Lenny asked curiously. It was obvious to Madoc that his blunt denial had been read as a tacit admission, even by the boy.

“Not exactly,” Madoc said, immediately retreating to what he hoped was a tenable position. “It’s just Eliminator shit. It means nothing. It’s not even Damon they’re after. Look, can we just let it drop, for now? Damon wouldn’t want me to talk about it here. Hospital walls have more eyes and ears than most.”

That argument was sufficient to make Lenny Garon back off, but it had the opposite effect on Diana.

“I want to know what’s going on,” she said ominously. “I have a rightto know. You were the one who saved the news until we were here.”

“If you hadn’t walked out when you did,” Madoc told her waspishly, “you wouldknow what’s going on. You’d still have been there when the cops came to call.”

“All the more reason why you should have told me,” she said. “All the more reason why you should tell me now.”

Madoc raised his eyes to heaven. “Not here,” he said. “Lenny, I’m really sorry about all this. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“You just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t about to quit on you when he realized how dangerous your little games can be,” Diana came back maliciously. “You have to be careful choosing your so-called friends, Lenny. Some of them only want to jerk your strings. People die in those backstreets, you know—far more than Eliminators ever kill. Whatever kind of trouble Damon thinks he’s in is nothing compared to the trouble you’rein. Always remember—Damon got outof your line of work and took up making pornypops and phone link frippery. That’s the example to bear in mind.”

“She’s right, Lenny,” Madoc said, having been given ample time to replan his strategy while the vitriol was pouring out. “Damon got out, and you should aim to get out too—but Damon didn’t get out until he’d made his mark. He went out a winner, not a quitter. You can be a winner too, Lenny, if you stick at it.”

“I know that,” the boy in the bed assured him. “I know I can.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Diana disgustedly. “You’ve checked your investment, and it seems to be in working order. They’ll let him go home tonight, if he insists.”

“I’m sorry, Lenny,” Madoc said. “Diana’s under a lot of strain just now. I shouldn’t have brought her with me.” Maybe I shouldn’t have let her through the door, he added beneath his breath, and maybe I shouldn’t let her in again—except that she might be more of a nuisance out of my sight than she will be where I can keep an eye on her. He followed her out of the room and along the corridor to the elevator.

Diana didn’t say a word until they were back in the car, but she didn’t waste any time thereafter. When he took the controls himself she actually lifted his hands from the keypad and switched on the AP, instructing it to take them home.

“What’s going on?” she wanted to know.

“Damon got a visit from the cops after you left,” he said. “Interpol, not his old friends from the LAPD. They wanted to know if he knew anything that could help them find his foster father. He didn’t so he asked me if I could use my contacts to find out anything. I’m trying to do that. That’s all.”

“Where do the Eliminators come in? They don’t dokidnappings.”

“They may have done this one. About the time the foster father went missing some crazy posted a notice about Damon’s biological father.”

“I didn’t know that Damon knew who his biological father was, or that he cared. I don’t even know the name of mine—do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do know my biological father’s name, although it was never a matter of great interest to me. Damon’s case is different—but he didn’t like to talk about it. I guess he wanted to keep all that stuff from cluttering up his relationship with you.”

“I guess he did,” she said bitterly. “If he hadn’t been so determined to keep his stupid secrets, maybe . . . .”

“Maybe nothing,” Madoc said wearily. “It’s over—let it go.”

“It’s over when it’s over,” she told him, trading cliché for cliché. “So tell me—who wasDamon’s biological father? I can find out on my own, you know—I’m no Webwalker, but it has to be a matter of record, if only someone can be bothered to look hard enough. Interpol must have made the connection.”

“It’s not exactly a matter of publicrecord,” said Madoc unhappily. He knew, though, that even a rank amateur like Diana could probably turn up the information eventually, if she had motive enough to try. Damon’s change of name wasn’t likely to confuse her for long. Anything Interpol could find out, anyone could find out—given a reason to make the effort.

“I have friends too,” she said firmly. “You know Webwalkers, I know Webwalkers. I bet you’ve asked that mad cow Tithonia to help out—but who needs her?Suppose Damon’s fanswere to find out that there’s a mystery which needs solving?”

“One of them already did, thanks to you,” Madoc pointed out.

“So tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help you—but I can only do that if you let me in.”

“I already let you in,” Madoc muttered. “When I opened the door, I didn’t know all this was going to blow up, or . . . well, given that it hasblown up and that I didlet you in . . . Damon’s original name was Helier. His father was Conrad Helier.”

Diana thought about that for a full minute. “The Conrad Helier who invented the artificial womb?” she said eventually. “The one who made it possible for us all to be born? The man who saved the human race from extinction?”

“The very same. Except that he didn’t exactly inventthe artificial womb—he just perfected it. It isn’t as if the sterility transformers would have put an end to the human race if Helier hadn’t been around. One way or another, we’d all have been born. Given the urgency of the demand, someone else was bound to have come up with the answer within a matter of months. Some say that Helier was just the guy who beat the others in the race to the patent office, like Bell with the telephone. A guy named Surinder Nahal reckoned that he should have been there first, and I dare say he wasn’t the only one.”

“But Conrad Helier didget there first,” said Diana, who was far from slow when it came to certain kinds of calculation. “Which means that he must have got rich as well as famous. Damon is his biological son—and knowsthat he’s his biological son.”

“That’s right,” said Madoc shortly—although he knew that it was useless to try to stop now.

“And he’s yourfriend,” Diana went on inexorably. “Just like that poor kid lying in the hospital. And he’s stillyour friend, even though he doesn’t even doctor tapes for you anymore.”

“I dohave friends!” Madoc protested. “ Realfriends. People who know they’ll always be let in if they come knocking on my door.”

The barbed comment didn’t bother her at all. “You’ve already started digging, haven’t you?” she said. “You must have been high as a kite when he askedyou to do it. You think there’s a game to be won here—a richgame.”

“You don’t know me at all, do you?” Madoc retorted bitterly. “You think I’m just a hustler, incapable of genuine loyalty—but you’re wrong. Damon knows me better than that.”

“Damon doesn’t even know what day it is if there isn’t someone there to remind him,” she sneered. “Without me, he’s just an innocent abroad. If I’d only known that he was about to get into trouble. . . .”

If you’d only known that he had millions stashed away, Madoc thought—but he didn’t dare say it aloud, and he knew that it would have been unfair. The fact that Diana hadn’tknown, and still felt bad about the split, proved that she loved him for himself, not his fortune. The fortune just added insult to injury.

“Damon knows I can be trusted,” Madoc said. “He’s known me a long time. He told me who he really was way back at the beginning. It never affected our friendship. I’ve always respected his privacy and his wishes. I never expected anything like this to come up, but now that it has I intend to play it straight. I’ll do everything I can to find out what Damon wants to know, and I would have done the best I could even if he hadn’t put up the money. So would the Old Lady, who isn’t mad and isn’t a cow. You don’t understand this, Di. Just let me get on with it in my own way, will you?”

“I’ve known you longer than Damon has,” she pointed out. “I probably know you better than you know yourself. I want to help. I’m entitled to help. I still have Damon’s best interests at heart, you know. Just because he’s a pigheaded fool who’s impossible to live with, it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Before Madoc had a chance to respond to this catalogue of half-truths the car came to an abrupt stop. When he looked around he saw that all the emergency lights in the street had come on, and that they were all blazing red. They were only a couple of hundred meters from home, and the foul-up wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to sort out—a quarter of an hour if the crash was a reallybig one—but it somehow seemed like the very last straw.

“Oh shit,” Madoc groaned, with feeling, “not again.”

“It’s probably friends of yours,” Diana opined, not needing sarcasm to ram home the irony of it. “Maybe even fans.”