Electric Church

VII GRIN ON THE TOP OF MY HEAD LIKE HEAT FROM A SUN

I’d never actually been in a Blank Room. It was all in gray. Everything, gray. After about ten minutes I started to wonder if I was going blind. I was starving; I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and felt thinned, wasted. There was an almost imperceptible hum in the air, but whenever I concentrated, it seemed to disappear.

They left me for a long time, just me and the cup of coffee. I didn’t know what they did with Gatz, and I didn’t worry over it for very long. The coffee confused me. I hadn’t had real coffee in months, and the smell of it made my stomach hurt. I’d never been brought in by the System Cops and not beaten up.

When the door snicked open I didn’t get the goon squad I’d expected. Instead, I got a single man. Short, well-dressed, wearing a pair of snazzy wrap-around sunglasses, and moving in sudden bursts. And smiling. He entered the room at a brisk walk and didn’t stop until he was looming over me, holding out one hand.

“Avery Cates, glad to meet you. I’m Richard Marin, director, DIA. You can call me Dick.”

His grin was persistent, and creepy. I stared up at him for a moment, jaw hanging and eyes burning dryly.

“It’s customary to shake a hand that’s offered you, Mr. Cates, even if it belongs to a policeman,” he prompted. “And I’m in a rush; I’m attending a Joint Council subcommittee meeting in Delhi right now.”

I reached forward and took his hand limply. This was the goddamned King Worm, and I was shaking hands with him and sipping coffee. I was suddenly very lightheaded. Blood roared in my ears.

“Pleased to meet you, Cates.” He began pacing. “Let’s see if I’ve got this right: Avery Cates, age twenty-seven, born in Old Brooklyn about five years prior to Unification. Some early education but not much-in a formal sense. Short sheet, listing some early BEs and a few bigger jobs… then, nothing.” He turned suddenly to offer me a twitchy, sudden smile. “Nothing official, of course. In reality, Mr. Cates grew up to be quite the little murderer, didn’t he? A shrine to Cainnic Orel and everything.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever had the world’s most famous Gunner in one of these rooms, Marin,” I said weakly. As I got older, I thought about Canny Orel a lot, out of simple desire to be an old man myself. Stories had it he’d been a Gunner before Unification. Although born in Philadelphia, supposedly he’d served the Irish government in the struggle for independence that followed, working for the Saoirse, the Irish Black Ops organization, murdering several early Joint Council members. When Ireland had finally succumbed to Unification forces and been absorbed, he’d survived and formed the Dъnmharъ, and had become rich and famous and retired fat. So the stories went.

Unification hadn’t been easy, I remembered. There’d been nothing but war, then nothing but bombs going off and officials being murdered, and it wasn’t until the SSF got created and funded that things began to settle down. I had a lot of vague, unhappy memories of Unificartion, the last years of struggle.

For a moment he just grinned at me. His teeth were perfect, white and straight. His skin was smooth and pale. It was like a mask being thrust into my face, and a shiver went through me. Then he whirled and continued pacing.

“Forget it! It’s true, and let’s just agree that if you are a contract killer, independent, you are a very smart one. Still, current statistics suggest that you will be dead within three years. You’re actually pretty old for a Gunner as it is.”

He paused, staring at the far wall as if there was something there. Just when I was gathering myself to try to say something, he whirled again, pinning me with his mirrored sunglasses. Just like a fucking Monk, I thought.

“Mr. Cates, why did you set up two System Security Force officers to be killed?”

He was smiling, and then, like a jump-cut, he wasn’t. “You were half-successful: Jack Hallier is, in fact, dead. Shot in the head by Monks who were, officially, defending themselves from madmen. Barnaby Dawson-the other madman-fled the scene shortly after Hallier’s demise, but we tracked him down pretty easily. I’ve had him in a room very much like this one, being beaten to within an inch of his life by a fellow I affectionately call Mongo, and while I personally believe that Captain Dawson is no longer capable of lying to me, the story he tells me, over and over again in a sort of mumble because of a few missing teeth, is so fucking unbelievable, I had to have you brought in just so someone else would be in on the joke.”

I stared at him, and he fucking smiled again. I felt shivery and weak, as if I was hollow inside.

“You’re almost a legend. I can’t remember the last time someone killed three SSF officers in the space of a few months!” I froze, cold shock splashing through me, and he nodded crisply. “Colonel Janet Hense, of course, and the unlucky Officer Alvarez found next to your friend’s corpse. The teeming masses will write songs about you. Tell me about Mr. Gatz,” he said suddenly, without pause or transition. “We have very little information on him, and he seems to be a good friend of yours.”

I cleared my throat.

“A psionic, yes?” he said happily, almost dancing as he paced around me. “One that slipped through the cracks.”

I nodded, struck dumb by the onslaught.

“And he took limited control over Dawson and Hallier and forced them to act contrary to standing order 778 concerning legal representatives of a legally recognized religion-a religion that has a lot of members, and thus, a lot of influence. Mr. Cates, what you and Mr. Gatz did was very, very bad for us.”

His manic grin made him seem almost happy about this. As I stared up, his expression switched off again, and he leaned down, putting his hands on the table in front of me.

“Dawson and Hallier are the worst of the SSF, Mr. Cates. They’re ignorant and arrogant and too willing to hurt people. But I don’t care about them. What I care about, Mr. Cates, is the reason you were found by these two assholes in the first place. What you saw the night Officer Alvarez was killed.” The grin came back, exactly as it had been. “I tried to get to you first, but those assholes had nothing better to do.”

Suddenly he straightened up and stared over at the corner for a full six beats of my straining heart. Then it was back to me again. The motherfucker was crazy.

“Let me tell you what you saw,” he said cheerfully, standing up. The lights dimmed suddenly, and one of the gray walls bloomed into bright light, a Vid. It hurt my eyes at first, but I welcomed the change of scenery.

“You saw a Monk recruiting a new member by killing him. The Monk shot him and would have had the corpse retrieved within moments. The victim would have reappeared the next day as a Monk-happy, content, and complete with cover story concerning his epiphany. This is how the Electric Church operates.”

The screen flickered and a chart appeared, boring cubes and gridlines.

“The Electric Church is the fastest-growing organization in the world. It is growing so quickly, Mr. Cates, that it is currently estimated that it will be the world’s largest religion in five years. In eight years, it will be the world’s only religion.”

I blinked, almost got my mouth open before he whirled back to me, his skin pale in the gloom, his glasses pitch black. “I know. A religion that did not exist seven years ago, subsuming the world in ten. Unbelievable! Is it because the idea of salvation through eternity is so seductive? No, Mr. Cates. The Electric Church is growing so quickly because it forcibly recruits new members. They murder their new members, they perform surgery on their new members, and they control their new members postprocess via hardwired circuitry.”

Suddenly he was right on top of me again, leaning down. “In other words, Cates, I believe that inside most of those Monks is a horrified, tortured human mind that is used like a puppet, with a gibbering ineffectual terror. I think that Dennis Squalor is possibly the worst mass murderer in the history of the human race. Worse,” he leaned back again, smiling. “Worse, Mr. Cates, I think that if action isn’t taken soon, the Electric Church may soon be beyond the authority of the SSF. Beyond my authority. And that doesn’t sit well with me.”

I cleared my throat. “Dennis-” I managed, and Dick Marin animated again, leaping up as the Vid wall clicked, and a picture, old and grainy, shot from some distance, appeared in place of the chart.

“Dennis Squalor,” Marin said briskly, pacing up and down, “Founder and chief prophet of the Electric Church. He reminds me of you, Mr. Cates. Not a lot of information on him past the age of twenty-three, which is when Unification was achieved and he disappeared, returning-on various paper trails, at least-only when the Electric Church applied for formal religion status within the System. The Electric Church enjoys protected status as a religion, and it isolates Squalor pretty effectively. Of course, I know more about him. I know everything, but it’s need-to-know and you… don’t need to know.”

He spun and almost threw himself at me. “Imagine, Mr. Cates-you were there, it shouldn’t be a problem-imagine, you’re walking home late at night. A Monk appears and the next thing you remember is waking up, trapped inside a metal and silicon body, with your higher brain functions looped through a container circuit. You try to move, but nothing happens. You try to speak, but the words that emerge from your mouth are not your own. Your brain has been kept intact merely to pass all known identification systems. Think on that, Mr. Cates.”

I didn’t want to. Instead, I thought about getting out of the Blank Room, getting back to a world where there was color and nuance. I cleared my throat, and when that did not start the madman jumping around again, I ventured to try my luck at a sentence.

“What is it, exactly, you want from me, Mr. Marin? I appear to be a little bit below your level.”

Marin nodded. “What do I want with you? Mr. Cates, I want to hire you.”

I blinked. The motherfucker was insane. The whole world was being run by this insane little shit. “You want me to Gun for you?”

“Of course not, Mr. Cates. You would be voluntarily choosing to do a few things, which will in turn have some unexpected benefits for you, which might, after an exhaustive and death-defying investigation, be traced back to the SSF. Not to me, mind you, but to the System Security Force in general. You’ll do this because it’ll be lucrative, and because I can have you killed just by letting your case proceed. You’re a cop-killer, Mr. Cates. I am all that stands between you and execution. Take this on, and not only will your involvement in the deaths of officers Janet Hense, Jack Hallier, and Miguel Alvarez remain secret, you’ll get paid, too.”

He stopped, and just grinned at me. Fuck the Blank Room, this cocksucker’s grin was freaking me out. I knew I’d break in no time if he just sat there and grinned at me, his head cocked to one side like a fucking ventriloquist’s dummy. I felt an almost-irresistible urge to grin back, and I knew if I did I’d never be able to stop.

“You’ll clear me on three dead cops?”

Marin shivered, a subtle vibration that rippled through his whole body in a second. “Collateral damage, Mr. Cates. I could not possibly care less about three dead cops, if you pull this off.”

I licked my lips, and he spun away again. “Actually, I’ve already hired others to do this job. There are a lot of Gunners out there, Mr. Cates, and I’ve hired quite a few in the last few months. Most with much better skill-sets than you, I think. They are all dead now-assumed to be, in some cases, as no body has yet turned up. I’ve been forced to shift down to the second tier, and there you are-you have a rep for being very good, physically, and smarter than most. I’ve reviewed your arrest file.”

Behind him the screen lit up with a quick flicker of my various busts, fifteen years of my life told in progressive mug shots.

“You’re smart, Mr. Cates, but something’s holding you back, yes? You fulfill your contracts and play by rules-you’re trusted out there. Which is rare, these days. Criminals fear each other, they respect force, but very rarely do we find a criminal who is trusted.” He whirled to grin at me again. “You’re unique, Mr. Cates: a thinking killer. I hope maybe your approach will be more effective.”

“So you’re hiring me because I’m a mediocre Gunner,” I croaked. This sounded interesting. My day was improving. “How rich?”

Marin nodded, once, curtly, and produced a slip of paper from one pocket, which I was amazed to think he’d had waiting for this moment, ready. I took it from his cold fingers and stared down at the unusually large sum written upon it. I thought at first it must be one of those imaginary numbers I’d heard about in school.

“Deposited into a secure account under any name you wish, within two hours of proof of completion. Do we have a deal?”

I kept staring at the number. “I have one requirement.”

Marin was silent, but I could feel that fucking grin on the top of my head like heat from a sun. “A requirement, Mr. Cates?”

“Gatz,” I said, looking up and squinting into his smile. “I need Kev Gatz. He gets out with me, and he gets a cleared file, too.”

Dick Marin laughed, a single bark of noise. “I see, Mr. Cates! A reasonable request. We have a deal?”

I didn’t answer right away, and then frowned. “Wait a sec-who am I supposed to kill?”

Marin might have blinked behind his glasses, I couldn’t tell. “Why, Mr. Cates… I want you to assassinate Dennis Squalor. Of course.”

I blinked. “Jesus fucked, why?”

Marin didn’t answer right away. He stared just over my head for a moment, once again listening to something only he could hear. Finally the King Worm shivered and returned his attention to me.

“Why? Mr. Cates, haven’t you been listening? The Electric Church is using its status as a religion as a cover. Dennis Squalor is not converting fanatics, he is aggressively acquiring slaves. If I do nothing, within the decade we’re all working for him-and digitally prevented from doing anything about it, or even complaining. Time is short. I have no evidence, which restricts my options, and he’s got the political acumen to make trouble for me if I act without evidence-highly unusual for me, and highly inconvenient. I have got to go through back channels. Buried channels. Nonexistent channels. I am seeking a loophole. If Dennis Squalor goes down, the resulting confusion will give me the leverage to order a full investigation, temporarily suspend the EC’s exempted status-don’t worry over how. You just do your part. Kill the high priest.

“Let’s be clear.” He was suddenly calmed and relaxed, orienting on me as if really noting my presence for the first time, his manner suddenly fluid and focused. “There is nothing official about this. You will be denied. I can offer you no help. On the other hand, you are free to act. I am not concerned with collateral damage. If SSF officers take notice of you, I will do whatever I can to help you. But a man like you knows how to avoid the cops when necessary, doesn’t he? And if you succeed, Mr. Cates, all will be forgiven, no matter how messy.”

I shrugged, trying to smile back at him. “I’m here, though, right? Is that how you keep things secret, by sending a goddamned hover to scoop me up in the middle of the street?”

In the face of that shining sun beaming from Marin, my own grin felt weak and brittle, and quickly faded away.

“Colonel Moje is… overly enthusiastic, sometimes, I admit. But no one knows, or would believe, that SSFDIA Marin is behind this, Mr. Cates. SSF officers often disparage the use of uniformed officers-what do you call them? Crushers? — to acquire assets, and misuse hovers and Stormers like that just to make an impression. To overawe the population, you see. A show of force is very effective for that. As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, Mr. Cates, you were picked up for questioning concerning the Dawson and Hallier incident, and released.”

I thought about pointing out the sheer implausibility of this story, since the Pigs hardly ever released anyone, but didn’t want to tempt this madman into going for a more realistic approach. Like beating me within an inch of my life, just for effect.

Marin leaped up and the door snicked open again. “We have a deal, then, Mr. Cates?”

He was walking briskly to the door. “I’ll need start-up costs!” I shouted.

And he was out the door, which snicked shut again. I waited a moment to see what would happen, but nothing did. I glanced down. My coffee had gone cold.