They began to play once again.
Bump-bump-bump BUMP-BUMP buuump bump …
Nicole giggled.
We’ve failed, Ian thought. God, the worst had come about; we’re ludicrous. He ceased playing; Al continued on, his cheeks red and swelling with the effort of playing. He seemed unaware that Nicole was holding her hand up to conceal her laughter, her amusement at them and their efforts. Al played on, by himself, to the end of the piece, and then he, too, lowered his jug.
‘The papoola,’ Nicole said, as evenly as possible. ‘It didn’t dance. Not one little step — why not?’ And again she laughed, unable to stop herself.
Al said woodenly, ‘I — don’t have control of it; it’s on remote right now.’ To Ian he said, ‘Luke’s got control of it, still.’ He turned to the papoola and said in a loud voice, ‘You better dance.’
‘Oh really, this is wonderful,’ Nicole said. ‘Look,’ she said, to a woman who had just joined her; it was Janet Raimer — Ian recognized her. ‘He has to beg it to dance. Dance, whatever your name is, papoola-thing from Mars, or rather imitation papoola-thing from Mars.’ she prodded the papoola with the toe of her moccasin, trying to nudge it into life. ‘Come on, little synthetic ancient cute creature, all made out of wires. Please.’ She prodded it a little harder.
The papoola leaped at her. It bit her.
Nicole screamed. A sharp pop sounded from behind her, and the papoola vanished into particles that swirled. A White House NP man stepped into sight, his rifle in his hands, peering at her and at the floating particles; his face was calm but his hands and the rifle quivered. Al began to curse to himself, chanting the words sing-song over and over again, the same three or four, unceasingly.
‘Luke,’ he said, then, to Ian. ‘He did it. Revenge. It’s the end of us.’ He looked tunelessly old, haggard, worn out.
Reflectively he began wrapping his jug up once more, going through the motions in mechanical fashion, step by step.
‘You’re under arrest,’ a second White House NP guard said, appearing behind them and training his rule on the two of them.
‘Sure,’ Al said listlessly, his head nodding, wobbling vacuously. ‘We had nothing to do with it so arrest us.’
Getting to her feet with the assistance of Janet Raimer, Nicole walked slowly towards Al and Ian. At the transparent barrier she stopped. ‘Did it bite me because I laughed?’ she said in a quiet voice.
Slezak stood mopping his forehead. He said nothing; he merely stared at them all sightlessly.
‘I’m sorry,’ Nicole said. ‘I made it angry, didn’t I? It’s a shame; we would have enjoyed your act. This evening after dinner.’
‘Luke did it,’ Al said to her.
‘ “Luke.” ‘ Nicole studied him. ‘Yes, that’s right; he’s your employer.’ To Janet Raimer she said, ‘I guess we’d better have him arrested, too. Don’t you think?’
‘Anything you say,’ Janet Raimer said, pale and terribly frightened-looking.
Nicole said, ‘This whole jug business … it was just a cover-up for an action directly hostile to us, wasn’t it? A crime against the state. We’ll have to rethink the entire philosophy of inviting performers here — perhaps it’s been a mistake from the very start. It gives too much access to anyone who has hostile intentions towards us. I’m sorry.’
She looked sad, now; she folded her arms and stood rocking back and forth, lost in thought.
‘Believe me, Nicole — ‘ Al began.
Introspectively, to herself, she said, ‘I’m not Nicole. Don’t call me that. Nicole Thibodeaux died years ago. I’m Kate Rupert, the fourth one to take her place. I’m just an actress who looks enough like the original Nicole to be able to keep this job, and sometimes, when something like this happens I wish that I didn’t have it. I have no real authority, in the ultimate sense. There’s a council that governs … I never see them; they’re not interested in me and I’m not in them. So that makes it even.’
After a time Al said, ‘How — many attempts have there been on your life?’
‘Six or seven,’ she said. ‘I forget exactly. All for psychological reasons. Unresolved Oedipal complexes or something bizarre like that. I don’t really care.’ She turned to the NP men, then; there were now several squads of them on hand. Pointing to Al and Ian she said, ‘It seems to me they don’t appear as if they know what’s going on. Maybe they are innocent.’ To Harold Slezak and Janet Raimer she said, ‘Do they have to be destroyed? I don’t see why you couldn’t just eradicate a portion of the memory-cells of their brains and then let them go. Why wouldn’t that do?’
Slezak glanced at Janet Raimer, then shrugged. ‘If you want it that way.’
‘Yes,’ Nicole said. ‘I’d prefer that. It would make my job easier. Take them to the Medical Centre at Bethesda and after that release them. And now let’s go on; let’s give an audience to the next performers.’
A NP man nudged Ian in the back with his gun. ‘Down the corridor, please.’
‘Okay,’ Ian managed to murmur, gripping his jug. But what happened? he wondered. I don’t quite understand.
This woman isn’t really Nicole and even worse there is no Nicole anywhere; there’s just the TV image after all, the illusion of the media, and behind it, behind her, another group entirely rules. A corporate body of some kind. But who are they and how did they get power? How long have they had it? Will we ever know? We came so far; we almost seemed to know what’s really going on. The actuality behind the illusion, the secrets kept from us all our lives. Can’t they tell us the rest? There can’t be much more. And what difference would it make now? ‘Goodbye,’ Al was saying to him.
‘W-what?’ he said, horrified. ‘Why do you say that? They’re going to let us go, aren’t they?’
Al said, ‘We won’t remember each other. Take my word for it; we won’t be allowed to keep any recollections like that. So — ‘ He held out his hand. ‘So goodbye, Ian. We made it to the White House, didn’t we? You won’t remember that either, but that’s still true; we did do it.’ He grinned crookedly.
‘Move along,’ the NP man said to the two of them.
Still — pointlessly — holding their jugs, Al Miller and Ian Duncan moved step by step down the corridor, in the direction of the outer door and the waiting black medical van which they knew lay beyond.
It was night, and Ian Duncan found himself at a deserted street corner, cold and shivering, blinking in the glaring white light of an urban pubtrans loading platform. What am I doing here? he asked himself, bewildered. He looked at his wristwatch; it was eight o’clock. I’m supposed to be at the All Souls Meeting, aren’t I? he thought dazedly.
I can’t miss another one, he realized. Two in a row — it’s a terrible fine; it’s economically ruinous. He began to walk.
The familiar building, The Abraham Lincoln with all its network of towers and windows, lay extended ahead, it was not far and he hurried, breathing deeply, trying to keep a good steady pace. It must be over, he thought. The lights in the great central auditorium were not lit. Damn it, he breathed in despair.
‘All Souls over?’ he said to the doorman as he entered the lobby, his identification held out to the official reader.
‘You’re a little confused, Mr Duncan,’ Vince Strikerock said. ‘All Souls was last night; this is Friday.’
Something’s gone wrong, Ian realized. But he said nothing; he merely nodded and hurried on towards the elevator.
As he emerged from the elevator on his own floor, a door opened and a furtive figure beckoned him. ‘Hey, Duncan!’
It was a building resident named Corley, who he barely knew. Because an encounter like this could be disastrous, Ian approached him with wariness. ‘What is it?’
‘A rumour,’ Corley said in a rapid, fear-filled voice.
‘About your last relpol test — some irregularity. They’re going to rouse you at five or six A.M. tomorrow and spring a surprise relpol quiz on you.’ He glanced up and down the hall. ‘Study the late 1980’s and the religio-collectivist movements in particular. Got it?’
‘Sure,’ Ian said, with gratitude. ‘And thanks a lot. Maybe I can do the same — ‘ He broke off, because Corley had scuttled back into his own apartment again and shut the door. Ian was alone.
Certainly very nice of him, he thought as he walked on.
Probably saved my hide, kept me from being forcibly evicted right out of here, forever.
When he reached his apartment he made himself comfortable, with all his reference books on the political history of the United States spread out around him. I’ll study all night, he decided. Because I have to pass that quiz; I have no choice.