The Simulacra

  Ian Duncan kicked the NP man in the groin.

  With a curse the NP man groped in his coat, whipped out his pistol. 'Damn you, you're under arrest!' His face had turned green.

  'What's going on here?' another NP man, higher in rank, demanded, walking up.

  'This jerk just kicked me in the crotch,' the first NP man said, holding his gun pointed at Ian Duncan and trying to keep from being ill.

  'You're under arrest,' the higher-in-rank NP man informed Ian.

  'I know,' Ian said, nodding. 'I want to be. But eventually this tyranny will fall.'

  'What tyranny, you jerk?' the higher-in-rank NP man said. 'Obviously you're confused. You'll cool off in jail.'

  From the office in the centre of the lot Al appeared; he walked over sombrely. 'What are you doing here?' he asked Ian. He did not look very pleased to see him.

  Ian said, 'I'm going along with you and Mr Kongrosian and Chic Strikerock. I'm not going to be left behind. There's nothing here for me, now.'

  Opening his mouth, Al started to say something. But then a government ship, a gleaming silver and yellow offtrans vehicle, appeared overhead and began, with a tremendous series of noises, carefully to land. The NP men at once cleared everyone back; Ian found himself herded along with Al, over to a corner of the lot, still under the dark scrutiny of the first NP man, the one whom he had kicked in the groin, the one who now had it in for him.

  The offtrans ship landed and from it stepped a young woman. It was Nicole Thibodeaux. And she was beautiful slim and beautiful. Luke had been wrong or lying. Ian gaped at her, and, beside him, Al grunted in surprise and said under his breath, 'How come? I'll be darned; what's she doing here?'

  Accompanied by an NP man of evidently colossal rank, Nicole bobbed across the lot to the office, she hurried up the steps, entered and approached Richard Kongrosian.

  'It's him she wants,' Al said in an aside to Ian Duncan. The piano player. That's what all this is about.' He got out an Algerian briar pipe and a pouch of Sail tobacco. 'Can I smoke?' he asked their NP guard.

  'No,' the NP man said.

  Putting his pipe and tobacco away, Al said wonderingly, 'Imagine her coming here to Jalopy Jungle Number Three. I never would have figured on that.' Suddenly he grabbed Ian by the shoulder and squeezed violently. 'I'm going over to her and introduce myself.' Before their NP guard could say anything Al started off at a trot; he threaded his way among the parked jalopies and in a split second he had vanished.

  The NP man cursed impotently and prodded Ian with his gun. A moment later Al reappeared, at the entrance to the small office building in which Nicole stood talking to Richard Kongrosian. Al opened the door and pushed inside.

  Richard Kongrosian was saying as Al opened the office door, 'But I can't play for you; I smell too bad! You're far too close to me -- please, Nicole, dear, stand back, for chrissakes!' Kongrosian retreated from Nicole, glanced up and saw Al, and said appealingly, 'Why did you take so long demonstrating that jalopy? Why couldn't we just have taken right off?'

  'Sorry,' Al said. To Nicole he said, 'I'm Al Miller. I operate this lot.' He held out his hand to her. She ignored the hand, but she was looking his way. 'Mrs Thibodeaux,' Al said, 'let the guy go. Don't stop him. He has a right to emigrate if he wants. Don't make people into wooden slaves.'

  That was all he could think of to say; it spilled out and then he was silent. His heart laboured. How wrong Luke had been. She was as beautiful as he could possibly imagine; it confirmed everything he had seen before in his original brief one-time glimpse from a distance.

  Nicole said to him, 'This is not your business.'

  'Yes, it is,' Al said. 'Literally. This man is my customer.'

  Now Chick Strikerock found his voice. 'Mrs Thibodeaux, it's an honour, an incredible honour, to -- ' His voice wavered; he gulped air, trembled. And he could not continue. He backed away from her, frozen into silence, as if he had been turned off. Al felt disgusted.

  'I'm a sick man,' Kongrosian mumbled.

  'Bring Richard along,' Nicole said to the high NP official who stood beside her. 'We're returning to the White House.'

  To Al she said, 'Your little lot can remain open; we're not interested in you one way or another. Some other tune, perhaps ... ' She eyed him, without malice, and, as she had said, without interest.

  'Stand aside,' the high-ranking grey-uniformed NP official ordered Al. 'We're going out.' He shoved past Al, leading Kongrosian by the arm, businesslike and tough.

  Nicole followed slightly after the two of them, her hands in the pockets of her long leopard-skin coat. She seemed pensive now, and had become silent. Withdrawn into her moody thoughts.

  'I'm a sick man,' Kongrosian mumbled once more.

  To Nicole, Al said, 'Can I have your autograph?' It was an impulse, a whim from the unconscious. Pointless and futile.

  'What?' She glanced at him, startled. And then she showed her even white teeth in a laugh. 'My god,' she said, and then passed on out of the office after the high-ranking NP official and Richard Kongrosian. Al was left behind with Chic Strikerock, who was still trying to find words by which to express himself.

  'I guess I don't get her autograph,' Al said to Strikerock.

  'W-what do you think of her?' Strikerock stammered.

  'Lovely,' Al said.

  'Yes,' Strikerock said. 'It's incredible; I never expected ever to actually see her, you know, in real life, actually. It's like a miracle, don't you agree?' He crossed to the window to peer after Nicole as she and Kongrosian and the NP bigwig moved towards the parked offtrans ship.

  'It would be easy as hell,' Al said, 'to fall in love with that woman.' He, too, watched her depart. So did everyone else, including the squad of NP men. Far too easy, he thought.

  And -- he would be seeing her again, presently he -- and Ian, too -- would be playing their jugs before her. Had that changed? No. Nicole had specifically said that no one was under arrest; she had countermanded the NP's order. He was free to keep the lot open. The NP would be leaving after all.

  Al lit his pipe.

  Coming up beside him, Ian Duncan said, 'Well, Al, she cost you the sale of a jalopy.' By Nicole's order, the NP had let him go; he, too, was free.

  Al said, 'Mr Strikerock will still take it. Won't you, Mr Strikerock?'

  After a pause Chic Strikerock said, 'No, I've changed my mind.'

  'The power,' Al said, 'of that woman -- ' He cursed, loudly and explicitly. And scatologically.

  Chic Strikerock said, 'Thanks anyhow. Maybe I'll see you some other time. Concerning that.'

  'You're a fool,' Al said, 'to let that woman scare you out of emigrating.'

  'Maybe so,' Chic agreed, nodding.

  Obviously it was hopeless to try to reason with him. Al could see that; so could Ian. Nicole had won another convert and she was not even here to enjoy it; she was not even interested. 'Back to your job, is it?' Al said.

  'That's right.' Strikerock nodded. Back to the stale routine.'

  'You'll never make it here to this lot again,' Al said. 'This is undoubtedly absolutely the last chance you'll ever have to break away in your entire life.'

  'Maybe so,' Chic Strikerock said, nodding morosely. But he did not budge.

  'Good luck,' Al said bitingly, and shook hands with him, 'Thanks,' Chic Strikerock said, with no trace of a smile.

  'Why?'

  Al asked him. 'Can you explain to me why she affected you so?'

  'No, I can't,' Strikerock said. 'I just feel it. I don't think it. It's not a logical situation.'

  Ian Duncan said to Al, 'And you felt it, too. I watched you. I saw the expression on your face.'

  'Okay!' Al said with irritation. 'So what?' He walked away from them and stood by himself, smoking his pipe and gazing out the window of the office at the jalopies parked outside.

  I wonder, Chic Strikerock wondered, if Maury will take me back. Maybe it's too late; maybe I burned my bridges too well. At a public phonebooth he dialled Maury Frauenzimmer at t
he factory. Taking a deep shuddering breath he stood with the receiver pressed to his ear, waiting.

  'Chic!' Maury Frauenzimmer yelled, when his image appeared. He beamed, expansive and younger-looking with a radiant, triumphant joy that Chic had never witnessed before. 'Boy, am I glad you finally called! Come on back here, for chrissakes and -- '

  'What's happened?' Chic said. 'What's up, Maury?'

  'I can't tell you. We got a big order; that's all I can say over the phone. I'm taking on men right and left. I need you back; I need everybody! This is it, Chic, what we've been waiting for all these goddam years!' Maury seemed almost on the verge of tears. 'How soon can you get back here?'

  Muddled, Chic answered, 'Very soon. I guess.'

  'Also,' Maury said, 'your brother Vince called. Trying to get hold of you. He wants a job. Karp fired him or he quit or something -- anyhow he's looking everywhere for you. He wants to get on here, situation-wise, alongside of you. And I told him if you recommended him -- '

  'Oh sure,' Chic said absently, 'Vince is a first-rate ersatz technician. Listen, Maury. What is this order you've got?'

  A slow, secretive expression appeared on Maury's wide face. 'I'll tell you when you get here; don't you understand? So hurry!'

  Chic said, 'I was going to emigrate.'

  'Emigrate, shmemigrate. With this you don't have to, now. We're set up for life; take my word for it -- you, me, your brother, everybody! I'll see you.' Maury abruptly cut the connection at his end; the screen died.

  It must be a government contract, Chic said to himself.

  And whatever it is, Karp's lost it. That's why Vince is out of a job. And that's why Vince wants to work for Maury; he knows.

  We're now a Ge outfit, Chic said to himself with exultation. We're at last, long last, on the inside.

  Thank god, he thought, that I didn't emigrate. I drew back just on the brink, just in the nick of time.

  Finally luck, he realized, is with me.

  This was absolutely the best -- and most decisive -- day of his life. A day, in fact, which he would never forget as long as he lived. Like his boss Maury Frauenzimmer, he was all at once thoroughly, completely happy.

  Later on, he was to look back to this day ...

  But he did not know that now.

  After all, he did not have access to von Lessinger equipment.

  CHAPTER 12

  Chic Strikerock leaned back against his seat and said expansively, 'I just don't know, Vince. Maybe I can get you a job with Maury, maybe not.' He was thoroughly enjoying the situation.

  They were on their way together, he and Vince, up the autobahn by car, heading towards Frauenzimmer Associates. Their centrally controlled but private vehicle spun along, expertly guided; they had nothing to worry about in that department and it left them free for more important considerations.

  'But you're hiring all sorts of people,' Vince pointed out.

  'I'm not the boss, though,' Chic said.

  'Do what you can,' Vince said. 'Okay? I really would appreciate it. After all, Karp is going to be methodically ruined, now. That's obvious.' He had a peculiar, miserable, hangdog expression which Chic had never seen before. 'Of course, anything you say is all right with me,' he murmured.

  'I don't want to put you to any trouble.'

  Pondering the matter, Chic said, 'I think also we should settle this business about Julie. This is as good a time as any.'

  His brother's head jerked; Vince stared at him, his face twisting. 'What do you mean?'

  'Call it a tie-in deal,' Chic said.

  After a long pause Vince said wooden, 'I see.'

  'But' -- Vince shuddered -- 'I mean, you said yourself -- '

  'The most I've ever said is that she makes me nervous. But I feel a lot more psychologically secure, now. After all, I was about to be fired. That's all changed; I'm part of an expanding, growing company. And we both know it. I'm on the inside and that means a lot. Now I think I can handle Julie. In fact I ought to have a wife. It helps ensure status.'

  'You mean you intend to formally marry her?'

  Chic nodded.

  'All right,' Vince said, at last. 'Keep her. Frankly I don't give a damn about it. It's your business. Just as long as you get me on at Maury Frauenzimmer's place; that's all I care about.'

  Strange, Chic thought. He had never known his brother to be that concerned with his career, to the exclusion of any other topic. He made a mental note of it; perhaps it meant something.

  'I can offer Frauenzimmer a lot,' Vince said. 'For example, I happen to know the name of the new der Alte. I picked up some scuttlebutt at Karp's, before I left. You want to know it?'

  Chic said, 'What? The new what?'

  'The new der Alte. Or don't you understand what this contract is that your boss has got away from Karp?'

  Shrugging, Chic said, 'Sure. I know. I was just startled.'

  His ears rang from shock. 'Listen,' he managed to say, 'I don't care if it's going to be called Adolf Hitler van Beethoven.' The der Alte; so it was a sim. He felt really good, knowing that. This world, Earth, was a fine place to live in, at long last, and he meant to make the most of it. Now that he was truly a Ge.

  'It's name is going to be Dieter Hogben,' Vince said.

  'I'm sure Maury knows what it'll be,' Chic said nonchalantly, but inside he was still nonplussed. Utterly.

  Bending, his brother turned on the car radio. 'There's some news about it already.'

  'I doubt if there would be so soon,' Chic said.

  'Quiet!' His brother turned up the volume. He had a news bulletin. So everyone, throughout the USEA, would be hearing it, now. Chic felt a little disappointed.

  ' ... a mild heart attack which doctors revealed occurred at approximately three A.M. and which has given rise to widely-held fears that Herr Kalbfleisch may not live to serve out his term of office. The condition of der Alte's heart and circulatory system is the subject of speculation, and this unexpected cardiac arrest comes at a time when -- ' The radio droned on. Vince and Chic exchanged glances and then suddenly both of them burst into laughter. Knowingly and intimately.

  'It won't be long,' Chic said. The old man was on his way out; the first of a series of public announcements had now been made. The process ran a regular course, easily predictable. First, the mild, initial heart attack, coming out of the blue, thought at first to be merely indigestion, this shocked everyone but at the same time it prepared them, got them used to the idea. The Bes had to be approached in this manner; it was a tradition, and it functioned smoothly, effectively. As it had each time before.

  Everything's settled, Chic said to himself. The disposal of der Alte, who gets Julie, what firm my brother and I are working for ... there are no loose ends, troublesome and incomplete.

  And yet. Suppose he had emigrated. Where would he be now? What would his life consist of? He and Richard Kongrosian ... colonists in a distant land. But there was no use thinking about that because he had turned that down; he had not emigrated and now the moment of choice had passed. He shoved the thought aside and turned back to the matter at hand.

  'You're going to find it a lot different, working for a small outfit,' he said to Vince, 'instead of a cartel. The anonymity, the impersonal bureaucratic -- '

  'Be quiet!' Vince interrupted. 'There's another bulletin.

  Again he turned up the car radio.

  ' ... duties, because of his illness, have been assumed by the Vice President, and it is understood that a special election is to be announced shortly. Dr Rudi Kalbfleisch's condition meanwhile remains -- '

  'They're not going to give us much time,' Vince said, frowning nervously and chewing on his lower lip.

  'We can do it,' Chic said. He was not worried. Maury would find a way; his boss would come through, now that he'd been given the chance.

  Failure, now that the big break had arrived, simply was not possible. For any of them.

  God, suppose he started worrying about that!

  Seated in the big blue e
asychair, the Reichsmarschall pondered Nicole's proposition. Nicole, sipped iced tea, silently waited, in her authentic Directorate chair at the far end of the Lotus Room of the White House.

  'What you're asking,' Goering said at last, 'is nothing less than that we repudiate our oaths to Adolf Hitler. Is it that you don't comprehend the Fuhrer Prinzip, the Leader Principle? Possibly I can explain it to you. For example, imagine a ship in which -- '

  'I don't want a lecture,' Nicole snapped. 'I want a decision. Or can't you decide? Have you lost that capacity?'

  'But if we do this,' Goering said, 'we're no better than the July Bomb Plotters. In fact we would have to plant a bomb exactly as they did or will do, however one expresses it.' He rubbed his forehead wearily. 'I find this singularly difficult. Why is there such urgency?'

  'Because I want it settled,' Nicole said.

  Goering sighed. 'You know, our greatest mistake in Nazi Germany was our failure to harness the abilities of women properly. We relegated them to the kitchen and bedroom. They were not really utilized in the war effort, in administration or production or within the apparatus of the Party. Observing you I can see what a dreadful mistake we made.'

  'If you have not decided within the next six hours,' Nicole said, 'I will have the von Lessinger technicians return you to the Age of Barbarism and any deal which we might make -- '

  She gestured a sharp cutting-motion that Goering watched with apprehension. 'It's all over.'

  'I simply do not have the authority,' Goering began.

  'Listen,' she leaned towards him, 'you better have. What did you think, what thoughts passed through your mind, when you saw your great bloated corpse lying in the jail cell at Nuremberg? You have a choice: that, or assuming the authority to negotiate with me.' She sat back, then, and sipped more iced tea.

  Goering said hoarsely, 'I -- will think further about it. During the next few hours. Thank you for the extension of time. Personally, I have nothing against the Jews. I'd be quite willing to -- '

  'Then do so.' Nicole rose to her feet. The Reichsmarschall sat slumped over broodingly, evidently unaware that she had risen. She walked from the room leaving him. What a dismal, contemptible individual, she thought. Emasculated by the power-arrangement of the Third Reich; unable to do anything on his own as a unique individual -- no wonder they lost the war. And to think that in World War One he was a gallant brave ace, a member of Richtofen's Flying Circus, flying one of those tiny, flimsy, wire and wood aeroplanes. Hard to believe it was the same man ...