Black Genesis

  The whole thing had me spinny. On the one hand, Heller must NOT get himself killed before I had the means of forging his reports to Captain Tars Roke. On the other hand, a very great danger loomed that he was up to some dastardly plot to succeed in his mission and definitely had to be put away or killed.

  I went out and laid down in the yard and buried my face in my hands. I had to be calm. I had to think log­ically. This was no time to go off my rocker just because I had to keep a man from being killed that would have to be killed. I had to think of something, something to do!

  And that (bleeped) wild canary kept trilling at me from a tree. Mockery. Sheer mockery!

  Chapter 2

  Heller clickety-clacked across the drive at the Gra­cious Palms and trotted into the lobby. It was still after­noon, and in the hot off-season of late summer the place was deserted.

  He was about to mount the steps to the second floor when one of the tuxedoed guards stepped into view and stopped him. "Wait a minute. You don't have your room anymore, kid."

  Heller had stopped dead.

  "The manager wants to see you," said the hood. "He's pretty upset."

  Heller turned to go to the manager's office.

  "No," said the guard. "Get in here. He's waiting for you." He pushed Heller toward an elevator. They got in and the hood pushed the top floor button.

  They got out into a padded, soundproofed hallway. The hood walked behind Heller, shoving him along with little pushes that made my screen jolt.

  From an open door at the end of the long, long hall, the manager's voice could now be heard. He was cursing at people in Italian. He sounded absolutely livid!

  There were others in the room, throwing things about, rushing around.

  The hood shoved Heller into the hubbub. "Here he is, boss."

  Vantagio Meretrici gave a cleaning woman a shove out of his way and came stamping up to Heller.

  "You're trying to get me in trouble!" he shouted. "You're trying to cost me my job!" His hands, Italian-like, were flying about. He made a gesture across his own throat as though to cut it. "You could have cost me my life!"

  He stopped to scream something in Italian at two cleaning women and they rushed into each other, one dropping a stack of sheets.

  Italians. They are so excitable. So theatrical. I turned down my sound volume.

  Sure enough, he came nearer and was louder!

  "That was not a nice thing to do!" cried Vantagio. "To sneak in here like that!"

  "If you could tell me what you think I did..." began Heller.

  "I don't think! I know!" cried Vantagio.

  "If I did something..." Heller tried.

  "Yes, you did something!" shouted Vantagio. "You let me put you in that old second-floor maid's room! You didn't say a word! She was absolutely livid! She practi­cally burned out my phone!"

  He put his hands on Heller's shoulders and looked up at him. His voice was suddenly pleading. "Why didn't you tell me you were a friend of Babe's?"

  Heller drew a long breath. "I actually didn't know she owned this place. I do apologize."

  "Now, look, kid. In the future, speak up. Now, will this do?"

  Heller looked around. It was a two-room suite. The huge living room had walls of black onyx tile adorned with paintings. The rug, wall to wall, was beige, covered with scatter rugs of expensive weave and patterns of gold. The furniture was light beige modern with seductive curves. The lamps were statues of golden girls completely

  naked. A garden balcony was outside and wide glass doors showed a view of the United Nations Building, its park and the river beyond.

  Vantagio turned Heller in the other direction. There was a beige, leather-covered bar and gold shelves and scrollwork behind it. A barman was hastily emptying it of hard liquor and putting the bottles in cartons.

  "I'm sorry, I can't leave the liquor here. It would cost us our license, you being a minor. But," he rushed on hastily, "we'll fill the fridge with soft drinks of every kind you can imagine. And we'll leave the jumbo glasses and you can fill them from the ice machine there. And we'll put fresh milk here every day. And ice cream?" he pleaded.

  Then Vantagio was showing Heller the various hid­den closets and drawers around the bar. He stopped and came close to him. "Listen, I was only kidding about sandwiches. We don't have a dining room because it's all room service. But we got the fanciest chefs and kitchen in New York. You can order anything you like. You want anything now? Pheasant under glass?"

  He didn't wait for an answer. He yelled into the bed­room and the cleaning people came hurrying out. He escorted Heller in, throwing his hands to indicate the place. "I hope this is all right," he pleaded.

  It was a vast bedroom. The entire ceiling was mir­rors. The walls were all mirrors, set in black onyx edg­ing. The enormous bed was circular. It occupied the center of the room. It was covered with a black silk spread that had gold hibiscus worked into it in patterns. There were red, low footstools all around the bed. The carpet was wall-to-wall scarlet.

  There was an inset of sound speakers, quad, around which curled naked girls in a golden frieze. Vantagio

  rushed to the wall and showed Heller buttons and se­lections: Drinking Music, Sensual, Passionate, Frenzy, Cool Off.

  Vantagio rushed Heller into the bathroom. It was rug-covered. It had a huge Roman bathtub, big enough for half a dozen people. It had separate massage showers. It had lots of cabinets with things to be explored. And it had a toilet and two bidets surrounded with various douche devices. Heller was looking at Automatic Hot Towel and pushed it. A steaming hot towel came out in his hand and he wiped his face.

  Vantagio led him back to the sitting room. "Now, is it all right? This was the suite that was made up for the Secretary General, the old one, before he got assassi­nated. I know it's a little plain but it's more spacious. We almost never use it, so you won't be moved around. It hasn't been used for so long, we had to clean it up quick. The others are fancier but I thought, for a kid, this would be better for you. Do you think it will do?"

  "Gods, yes," said Heller.

  Vantagio whistled with relief. Then he said, "Look, kid, all will be forgiven and we can be friends if you get on that phone and call Babe. She's been waiting to hear all afternoon!"

  Heller almost got run into by a houseman who was responding to a signal from Vantagio and rushing a cart with Heller's baggage into the room.

  He picked up the phone. The switchboard immedi­ately connected him to Bayonne, evidently on a lease-line.

  "This is me, Mrs. Corleone."

  "Oh, you dear boy. You dear, dear boy!"

  "Vantagio told me to call and tell you that the new suite was okay, Mrs. Corleone. And it is."

  "Is it the Secretary General's suite? The one with the original paintings of Polynesian girls on the walls?"

  "Oh, yes, it's quite beautiful. A lovely view."

  "Hold on a minute, dear. Someone is at the door."

  The sound of voices in the room, dimly heard through a covering palm. A sort of squeaking, "He what?" Then very rapid Italian, which was also too muf­fled to be heard clearly.

  But then Babe was back on the line. "That was Bang-Bang! He just arrived here! I can't BELIEVE it! Oh, you dear, dear, dear boy! Oh, you dear, dear, dear, dear boy! Thank you, thank you! I can't discuss it on an open line. But, oh, you dear boy, THANK YOU!" The sound of a torrent of kisses being shot along the wire! Then a sud­den roar, "Put that Vantagio back on!"

  I suddenly figured it out. She had just learned of the destruction of two million dollars' worth of her rival's booze, etc., and the demise of Oozopopolis, her nemesis!

  Vantagio had evidently not liked what he could hear from his end. He timidly took the phone. ". . . si... gia ... si, Babe." He looked a bit haggard. "... no ... non ... si... Grazie, mia capa!" He hung up.

  He took the hot towel out of Heller's hand and wiped his own face. "That was Babe." Then he looked at Heller, "Kid, I don't know what you did now but it must have bee
n something! She said I could keep my job, but, kid, I don't think I'll really hear the last of putting you in a maid's back room." He braced up. "But she's right. I wasn't grateful enough and you did save the place and my life. I didn't show respect. So, I apologize. All right, kid?"

  They shook hands.

  "Now," said Vantagio, "about this other thing. This is the best suite we can offer you but she says you haven't got a car. So, you're to go out and buy any car you want. We have a basement garage, you know. And I told her you didn't have many clothes. So, we have a great tailor

  and I'll get him in and you're to be measured up for a full wardrobe. Real tailored clothes of the best fabrics. Will that be all right?"

  "I really shouldn't accept..."

  "You better accept, kid. We're friends. Don't get me in more trouble! Now, is there anything else you can think of that you want?"

  "Well," said Heller, "I don't see any TV."

  Vantagio said, "Jesus, I'm glad you didn't tell her I'd forgotten that! Nobody looks at TV in a whorehouse, kid. It just never occurred to me. I'll send out somebody to rent one. All right, kid?"

  Heller nodded. Vantagio went to the door and then came back. "Kid, I know what you did here. You saved the joint. But you must have done something else. But even that... She treats you so different. Could you let me in on what you and she talk about?"

  "Genealogy," said Heller.

  "And that's the whole thing?"

  "Absolutely," said Heller. "That's all that happened today."

  Vantagio looked at him very seriously. Then he burst out laughing. "You almost took me in for a minute. Well, never mind, I'm lucky to have you for a friend."

  He started toward the door again but once more stopped. "Oh, yes. She said you could have any of the girls you wanted and to hell with the legality. See you later, kid."

  Chapter 3

  My concentration on the viewscreen was jarred by a knock on the secret passage door that led to the distant office. I had raised so much pure Hells with Faht that he had finally gotten it through his lard-padded skull that he must send an Apparatus messenger with any reports that came in from America. And here was one! I removed it from the door slit. I opened it with trem­bling fingers. Possibly Raht and Terb had gotten smart. Perhaps they would be of help!

  I read:

  We think he is done for. We traced him to the city garbage scows and he's now somewhere on the bottom of the Atlantic. Be assured we're on the job.

  The idiots! That shop had simply thrown away those bugged clothes!

  But the surge of anger hardened my resolve to act. I would carefully survey the Gracious Palms area and his rooms, note exactly where he put things, exactly what his routine was. Then I would disguise myself as a Turkish officer assigned to the UN, penetrate the place, pick his room locks, get the platen out of his baggage, plant a bomb and escape. It was a brilliant plan. It came to me in a flash. If I could do that, Heller would be dead, dead, dead and I would be alive!

  Sternly, I went back to the viewscreen. He would

  unpack shortly, of that I was sure, for the houseman had left the baggage on the cart.

  Heller was still walking around his suite. While it might not be up to his rooms at the Voltar Officers' Club, it had its own peculiar charm: girls! Each lamp stand was a naked torso, each throw rug had a golden girl in its pattern.

  He walked up to one of several paintings on the wall and stopped and stared at it and said something in Vol­tarian I didn't get. It was a beautiful painting. A brown-skinned girl, dressed mainly in red flowers, was posed against palm trees and the sea. It was, if you know paint­ing, a conceptual representation, which tends to domi­nate the modern school.

  He bent close to look at the signature. It was Gauguin.

  I know painting values: one does when he is inter­ested largely in cash. If that painting were an original, it was worth a fortune!

  I hastily played back what he had first said. I knew my own reaction would have been to steal it. Maybe I would include that in my planning. I must know what his own intentions were with regard to it.

  He had said, "The boat people!" Ah. One of the Ata­lanta races he and Krak had talked about.

  He had moved on to a second Gauguin.

  A new voice penetrated the room. "No, no, no!" It was Chief Madame Sesso. Her mustache was bristling. She was wagging a finger at him, very disapproving. "No! Young-a boys should-a not-a look at-a dirty pic­tures! You not-a goin' to do-a nasty things-a here! If-a the young-a signore, he's-a want to look at-a the naked women, he's-a goin' to-a do-a it right!"

  She fixed him in place with a finger, grabbed the phone and spoke an avalanche of Italian into it. She slammed it down. "Right away, you gonna get me-a in-a

  bad trouble if-a it ever gotta out I taught-a you to look at-a dirty pictures! Mama mia! What would-a the custom­ers theenk!"

  There was a running patter of footsteps. A small woman burst into the room in a near panic!

  She had a short nose, beautiful teeth, raven black hair, high, firm breasts. She was a golden brown. She had European stockings and a chemise on and was hold­ing a silk robe about her. She was obviously a Polynesian!

  Luscious!

  "Wot ees eet?"

  "I catch-a this-a young signore, he's-a look at the dirty pictures on th' wall. Now, Minette, you go right-a now and you jump in-a his bed. Quick-quick!"

  "No, no," said Heller. "I just want to look!"

  "Aha!" said Minette. "A voyeur."

  "No, no," said Heller. "There are some people in... in my native land that look exactly like you. I just wanted to look...."

  "Aha, you zee, Madame Sesso," said Minette. "A voy­eur! He get hees keeks by the look, so!"

  Madame Sesso walked sternly up to her. "So you-a let-a the young signore look!" And she snatched at the robe. It came half off, baring Minette's firm, uplifted breast. Like a golden melon!

  But Minette stepped back. "Madame Sesso. You air crooel! Zee business she is nothing, nothing. For t'ree week, I have no man. Zee bed ees empty. I go half mad. All zee girls, zey talk about thees boy. Eef I do zee strip, I go wil' for heem, Madame Sesso."

  Madame Sesso was upon her. Her hand seized the shoulder of the silk robe and gave it a yank. It flew up to block Heller's vision. "You-a will do-a the strip right-a now!" bawled Madame Sesso.

  Heller was trying to get the silk robe off his face.

  "Aw right!" shrieked Minette. "I go get zee grass skirt, I go get zee flowerz een my hair. Zen I do zee strip. But only on zee one condeetion zat afterwards he..."

  The picture went into streaks! The sound became a roar!

  I could not see what was going on! I could hear only that roar!

  What a shock!

  Interference of some sort!

  It was the first interference I had seen on this system.

  The equipment had failed!

  I checked power. All fine. I turned up pin. I only got more roar. It was not the quiet blackness when he was asleep.

  I wondered for a moment if it were an emotional over­load in the subject.

  I tried to think of everything I could, made all the guesses of which I was capable. Finally, I dug out the instruction book. I had never read all of it.

  Finally, on the next to the last page, I found an entry:

  WARNING

  As the equipment is used in a carbon-oxygen body, it must, of necessity, be hyper­sensitive to the carbon atom and molecule wave configuration.

  The only known disturbance of the double-wave pattern employed can come from carbon spectrum emitters. These are extremely rare devices but the spy should be warned to stay at least a hundred feet from such an energy emission source if present in the culture where the spy is being employed.

  And that was all it said. And as Heller did not know

  he was being employed, one could not, of course, warn him.

  But warn him of what? What in Hells was a carbon spectrum emitter? It was one of the few times I was sorry
I had not done something to stay awake in Academy classes. There must be one now within a hundred feet of Heller! But on an electronically primitive planet like Earth?

  Whatever it was, it had me boxed! I turned down the gain. I looked at the jagged mess on the screen. Hag­gardly, I slumped over the equipment, helpless.

  It was midnight where I was. The days of strain were telling on me.

  I went through the secret door into my bedroom. I made the cook get up and fix me some hot soup. At length, I dropped into a restless sleep.

  Suddenly, I woke up. It was the silent hours of the night. Silence! The small ragged roar from my secret room was missing.

  I sprang through the back of the closet.

  And there was a picture as nice as you please!

  Heller was sitting there in his suite, watching TV! I looked at my watch. It must be about seven in the eve­ning there. The news was on.

  What had happened to or with Minette?

  Had she gotten her way?

  Had Heller let her do a striptease and then taken her to bed as she had demanded?

  I did not know. I could not tell.

  A Hispanic-looking newscaster was going on and on about murders, and then he said, "New York motorists exiting from the Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel, today were entertained by a massive fireball, rising into the sky. The telephone company was besieged by callers wanting to know if World War III had begun." He

  laughed lightly. "They were reassured to find that it was only the Acme Car Painting Company blowing up. Inven­tories showed thousands of gallons of stored paint were on the premises. The origin of the blaze was labelled arson by the insurance underwriters, as a hundred-thousand-dollar policy had recently been taken out. Elev­en bodies, none of whom have been identified, were found in the vicinity." The newscaster smiled. "But that is life on the Jersey side." I surmised this must be a Man­hattan channel!

  Wait, what was that? A shadow? No, a black hand and arm close to Heller's face! Coming in from Heller's left! He wasn't focused on it. It held some sort of imple­ment!