“It’s fully loaded. Now tell me what’s going on!”
“Come down. You may listen outside the door.”
Subiyama picked up a small recording camera and heaved her bulk out of the bed. “I knew you’d change your mind!”
Without pausing to see if Subiyama followed, Nishi dashed out of the room and down the stairs. In the reception room, she pulled a small table from against the wall, placed a chair behind it and seated herself with a revolver hidden in her lap. The door from the porch stood open in front of her and she could hear footsteps growing louder there. Wytee remained a curled-up ball of yellow on the nearby settee.
Poison thing in purse handle, Wytee informed her. Nishi want Wytee hurt bad lady head?
Don’t frighten her off! We must learn what’s in her mind.
Wytee tell Nishi
Phoenicia, clutching a purse to match her gray suit, entered the open door and paused for her eyes to adjust to the room’s shadows. An older officer Nishi had seen several times with the prefect came in beside Phoenicia and also stopped. He squinted at Nishi,
“Oh, there you are, mademoiselle.”
“Leave us,” Nishi ordered.
“I will be nearby if you call, mademoiselle,” he said and bowed before leaving.
“The nerve of those people!” Phoenicia said. “They made me come alone! Wouldn’t even let me bring my secretary.” She moved into the room, turning the purse slightly until the handle was almost aligned with Nishi.
Warning! Wytee said. Bad lady waits man be away.
Nishi cocked the revolver and brought it up, pointing it at Phoenicia. “If you turn that device any more in my direction, I will kill you,” she said.
Phoenicia froze. They stared at each other, weighing the situation, Nishi alert for movement of the purse, Phoenicia seeking anything she might turn to advantage. Nishi noted the hardness in Phoenicia’s pale blue eyes, the set and practiced strength of the woman’s face. Nishi’s lips felt dry but she refused to moisten them lest that reveal her fear.
Phoenicia did not try to deny her intentions. “How did you know?” she asked.
“I have my sources,” Nishi said. “Drop the purse.”
Phoenicia opened her hands and the purse clattered to the floor. The impact fired the dart mechanism. There was not even a hiss, but a feint “click” sounded as a projectile hit a wooden “Weeping Virgin” statue beside the door to the library.
“Now what?” Phoenicia asked.
“I am thinking,” Nishi said. “You know, do you not, the Legion still employs the guillotine for offenses against the state?”
Phoenicia paled. “You can’t be serious!”
“I think my Lutt would be well rid of you,” Nishi said.
“Don’t you realize who I am?” Phoenicia demanded, but she rubbed her neck.
Bad lady think cut off head, Wytee offered.
Why did she think she had to kill me?
Wytee transmitted a flood of information that almost made Nishi dizzy.
Lutt son want lustful breeding Nishi. Lutt son want . . . want . . . Bad lady want Lutt son make lustful breeding Eola lady . . . want Lutt son President. What means President? Oh! Subiyama make bad story Lutt son. Maybe make Lutt son not President,
Was that enough for her to want me dead?
Bad lady want hurt Lutt son. Want Lutt son afraid.
Phoenicia shifted her weight to her left foot and Nishi, fearing there might be another weapon, raised the revolver slightly.
“Make no sudden movements,” Nishi said. “This weapon has the triggered hair.” Nishi chewed her lower lip, knowing she had said it incorrectly. It always happened when she went beyond her nervous tolerances.
No more poison things, Wytee said.
“There must be something you want enough that we can bargain,” Phoenicia said.
“Your son?”
“You surprise me, Miss D’Amato.”
“You do not surprise me, Phoenicia.”
Phoenicia’s lips went thin at the familiarity but she said nothing.
Bad lady worry Lutt son too much drunk, Wytee said. Bad lady blame Nishi.
“Do you think it’s my fault Lutt has been drinking so much lately?” Nishi asked.
“You’re part of it. There’s also the recent death of his father.”
“And I’m interfering with your plans.”
“My son must learn mature behavior,” Phoenicia said. “He must follow the path I have laid out for him.”
“And marry this Eola VanDyke?”
“He must marry within his social class. I’m sure you can understand that. You French are perfectly aware of social necessities.”
Bad lady think Nishi want much money, Wytee offered.
“You still think you can buy me off,” Nishi said.
“Everyone has a price,” Phoenicia said.
“It would’ve been so much cheaper to kill me, is that not so?” Nishi asked.
“I’m a businesswoman, Miss D’Amato.”
“And you think in centimes and francs. And I am a whore who can be paid for her troubles. You could return to Lutt and tell him you bought me off.”
“For his own good!”
“A mother-dominated, shattered little boy unable to live his own life! I don’t think I want such a man.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want the secret of Lutt’s Spiral communications system and one of his spaceships fully operational.”
“You want what?”
“You heard correctly. In a few minutes, I will summon my Legion protectors. They would come anyway because I’m sure they listen to all conversations in this villa. They will study your purse and the mechanism in it.”
“You think they’ll really bring a charge against me?” Phoenicia asked, but there was little force in her voice.
“They will hold you for an offense against the state. Your son will be told the price of your life. Do you think he will pay?”
Phoenicia rubbed her neck and spoke in a weak voice. “Don’t be melodramatic, young woman.”
Bad lady think Lutt son not save her, Wytee said.
“You doubt your son,” Nishi said. “He may not come to your rescue as the Legion came for me?”
“They won’t dare hold the mother of the next President!”
“But if I make it impossible for him to be elected?” Nishi asked. “As the mother of a loser, how would you then be different from any other criminal assassin?”
Phoenicia opened her mouth and closed it without a sound.
Bad lady think many hurts Nishi, Wytee offered. Nishi not safe. Bad lady do many thinks Lutt son. You want bad lady thinks?
Tell me, Nishi ordered.
Obviously, conversation had brought an outpouring of Phoenicia’s thoughts about Lutt. Wytee, with limited vocabulary, was almost at a loss conveying them to Nishi.
Bad lady make hates dead father. Now make hates Lutt son. He make hurts her. Maybe he cause head cut off. Lutt son tell bad lady she not do politics. He make lustful breeding many womans. He not tell truths, Lutt son make hurts Morey brother, Lutt son bad man.
Enough! Nishi ordered.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. She had suspected the extent of evil Lutt had absorbed from his awful family but there was no doubting it in the face of Wytee’s revelations. “I know Lutt,” she said. “His threats are to be believed.”
A red flush spread from Phoenicia’s neck to her face.
Nishi pointed the revolver to the right and touched the trigger. The roar of the shot filled the room and the bullet smashed into the stucco wall, dropping plaster onto the tiles.
The officer who had brought Phoenicia was in the room before Nishi could count two. He was followed immediately by a squad of her regular guards under Captain O’Hara.
Phoenicia cowered with both hands over her mouth.
Nishi gestured with the revolver. “There’s the purse with the device she intended to kill me. The poison
dart went into the statue of the Virgin over there. I wish to see the regional prefect.”
“As soon as he can be brought, mademoiselle,” O’Hara said. He took a firm grip on Phoenicia’s right arm. “You were very astute, Mademoiselle D’Amato, to take advantage of the situation. I’m sure we will get everything we require now.”
“I’m not sure of it,” Nishi said. “Lutt may let you kill her if you don’t handle this correctly.”
Subiyama lumbered up beside Nishi holding the tiny camera. She gave a low whistle. “Got it all, honey. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Lutt will never lose if he can prevent it,” Nishi said. “We must make no mistakes about what he will do to win.”
And she wondered how much pressure she could put on him. Reveal that a Dreen shared his body? No. That would put Ryll in jeopardy. She knew she could not do that. Especially since the Raj Dood had charged her with protecting the Dreen. But Lutt need not know her reservations.
Ryll Dreen, Wytee offered. Help Dreen.
“If you have the queen bee you have him,” Subiyama said.
Nishi sighed. So even Subiyama did not understand Lutt.
“His mother a common assassin?” Subiyama crowed. “Oh, no. He can’t let that come out. It would kill his election.”
“He must be made to see the full picture,” Nishi said. “Where’s Mrs. Ebey? I wish her to carry an ultimatum to my former fiancé.”
“You’re giving up on him?” Subiyama asked.
“I do not wish to ally myself with such a family,” Nishi said. “It is unfortunate because I would have made a perfect wife for the poor man.”
***
It is with extreme regret that I sever my long relationship with the American Independence Party. At the same time, I consider myself fortunate and I must say I am proud to declare my support for Lutt Hanson, Jr., and the platform of the Grand Old Party. Recent developments have left me no choice. The AIP, once the strong guardian of human rights, has become a callous tool of the rich. We are fortunate that the GOP is here to pick up the sacred torch.
—Gilperton Woon, formal announcement
I won’t let you threaten Dreenor, Ryll insisted. If your warlike stance were only a political trick, I’d tolerate it, but when you suggest mounting an attack on my sacred homeland. . .
Drop it, you Dreen idiot! I’ll fight the French or the Dreens. I’ll do any damn thing I want and you can’t stop me.
Lutt stood near the windows of his father’s old offices in the MX complex, a wet wad of basil in his left hand. He hated the idea of chewing and swallowing the basil and had been nerving himself for it all morning. The herb always made him feel almost drunk. But the just-concluded session with the French ambassador tipped the scales toward basil.
This is my lunch, Ryll baby, he gloated, hefting the herb.
Ryll contemplated the bazeel with loathing and longing. How pleasant to drift in a bazeel haze, no worries, no arguments with his fleshmate. But Lutt tolerated the dreadful drug, even though he became belligerent and his mind lost its sharp edge. He stumbled a great deal, too. But there could be no doubt who ruled their body when it was saturated with bazeel.
You need me alert and able to advise you, Ryll argued as Lutt lifted the bazeel toward their mouth.
Advise me about what, Ryll baby?
Lutt bit off a mouthful of the herb and swallowed.
You make many mistakes, Ryll pleaded.
Like what?
The ZP plays its own game when it keeps your secret about Deni-Ra. It was an error allowing your brother to arrange this. And your decision to abandon your mother is wrong!
Mother made her own bed! And Morey—I wanta scare the shit outa him! Already, there was a slight blurring of Lutt’s mind but elation drove him. You know what’ll scare him most? The idea of me as President!
But the ZP and Deni-Ra are dangerous, I tell you! Ryll felt his mind blurring faster than Lutt’s.
Morey can’t plot anything with anybody ‘thout me knowing. My Listening Post catches everything. Besides, Dem-Ra’s guards will tell me what they talk about
Woon’s coming and he’ll think you’re drunk!
So what?
Desperate, Ryll tried once more what no other Dreen had ever done: to idmage-block the bazeel. As usual, he failed.
Lutt, sensing the attempt and Ryll’s fading mental strength, began to laugh.
The laughter enraged Ryll. He felt himself withdrawing into bazeel ecstasy. Through a drug-induced mist, he saw Woon enter the office and come up the stairs to Lutt’s level.
My level!
It was a useless thought. In a bazeel hallucination, the senator appeared to expand like a balloon and contract into a miniature figure.
Ryll thought this funny and tried to share the joke. Lutt ignored the intrusion and took a seat near the windows where he concentrated on the visitor.
Their conversation came to Ryll filtered with bazeel distortions—sometimes low, then echoing, now loud, remote, near, clear, fuzzed . . . but Ryll was unable to block it out and retreat into private thoughts.
“The AIP is offering that whore, Toloma, big bucks to speak out against you. Is it true you had a fight with her?” Woon. First loud and then whispering. “I got drunk and had a crying jag. The bitch had the nerve to say I was supposed to be balling, not bawling.” That was Lutt. Ryll wished he could giggle. “What?” Woon again.
Lutt spelled it for the senator, who seemed to shout: “Toloma says you were crying about someone named Ni-Ni. The word in the back alleys is you told her you didn’t take advice from a whore.”
“So what if I did? Where does she get off telling me I’d been coming to the wrong place all these years if I was looking for a prom date?”
“You have to be more careful, Lutt. It’s going to cost us plenty buying her off. Are you drunk right now?” “Hell, no!”
“You’re head’s shaking kind of strangely, fella.”
“I’m not your fella, Woon! I’m your candidate for President!”
“Dammit, you’ve been drinking and it’s barely noon.” “What I drink and when is none of your business!”
“Just as long as you don’t appear in public this way.”
Lutt leaned forward belligerently. “Are you trying to tell me what to do?”
“I am your campaign manager, Lutt.”
“You’re my figurehead, Woon. That’s what you are.”
A surge of rage distorted the senator’s fat cheeks and vanished immediately. He smiled.
“I’ll try to remember that. . . Mr. Hanson.”
“Well, what’d you wanta see me about?”
“That guru on Venus, the Raj Dood, called me out of the blue this morning. He wanted to talk about some agreement you’re supposed to be making with the French Foreign Legion. What the hell are you doing with the Legion?”
“Yeah, Uncle Dudley did say something about carrying on with the negotiations. Tell ’im to stuff it.”
“Uncle Dudley? You mean the Raj Dood is—”
“—my mother’s brother.”
“Jesus H. Willy! If that ever gets out! Can you keep a lid on him? Does he want money for . . .”
“Uncle Dood doesn’t seem to care about money. I think he and old Osceola are a nesting pair.”
“The Spirit Glass lady? That Osceola?”
“None other.”
Woon found a chair and sank into it. Lutt was amused that Woon chose a chair L.H. once had booby-trapped to goose whoever sat in it. Shoulda left it the way Father had it.
“Do you have any other little surprises for me?” Woon asked.
“Yeah! It may be all over the media soon anyway. The French ambassador’s been here. He says my dear old mama tried to assassinate Nishi D’Amato. The ambassador called Nishi the Legion’s mascot and said this is a crime against the state.”
Lutt drew a finger across his throat.
“Oh, my God!” Woon gasped.
“There’s a bright s
ide,” Lutt said. “We won’t have Mama to kick around anymore.”
“You can joke about it?”
“Why not? Think of the mileage we’ll get outa this. We deny the charges. My mother would never do such a thing! They chop her and we go into mourning. The sympathy vote would give me a landslide victory.”
“Your own mother? You’re not serious!”
“Is there anything wrong with my analysis?”
“I don’t give a damn about your fucking analysis!”
“Hey! Aren’t you a campaign manager?”
“Okay! Then you better know this is the kind of thing that can backfire and ruin us. The opposition would suggest you might use the Presidency to revenge yourself on the French.”
“Yeah, I might.”
“Have you gone mad?”
“I’m gonna win this election, Woon. And when I do, I’ll show you a thing or three about using power.”
“Will the French bargain with us to cool this thing?” Woon asked.
“They say my former housekeeper . . . Remember Mrs. Ebey? They say she’s coming with a message from Nishi. I may bargain with her if Nishi is willing to put out for me.”
“Put. . .out?”
“Crissakes! Don’t you speak English?”
“I’m afraid I do. Are you suggesting you would bargain for your mother’s life if this Nishi will jump into bed with you?”
“You got it!”
Wide-eyed, Woon stared at Lutt as though seeing a stranger. When the senator spoke, it was in a low, growling voice. “Any idea what the French want?”
“Sure! They want my Spiral communicators and my spaceship. They’ll trade Mother for those little concessions.”
“Give them what they want.”
“If they give me what I want.”
“I’ve cut a few corners in my life,” Woon said, “but you make me look like a Sunday-school teacher by comparison.” He grabbed both arms of his chair and levered himself to his feet. “I’ll talk to this Mrs. Ebey. And I believe I’d better see your Raj Dood.”
“You do that. And ask his advice.” Lutt pictured his voice in a parody of Woon’s booming tones. “I hear Dood gives great fucking advice.”