Chapter 17
"You ... can't ... do ... that," Dunski said.
Gaunt mocked him. "And ... why ... not?"
"That's not very prosocial behavior," Blonde said.
Dunski found himself laughing hysterically at that.
"Oh, my God, prosocial behavior!" he said, choking. "We're talking about a human being here."
"Yes," Gaunt said. "But it's for the greater good. All right! No more talk! I've never seen such a gabby bunch, parrots, my God! You're supposed to be immers, but you ... you ...
Dunski had managed to get hold of himself almost literally. He felt invisible hands, coming from somewhere, placed upon something somewhere within himself. Father Tom?
Gaunt said, "I've made up my mind, and I'm the leader here. You have to do what I tell you."
"I haven't been told that you're in command," Dunski said. "What's your authority?"
Gaunt's nostrils flared; his face got red.
"Your superior didn't tell you that I'd be in command?"
"My superior tells me as little as possible," Dunski said coldly. "Apparently, he told me less than he should. Anyway ..
He turned and walked to his shoulderbag, which was on the floor in a corner. He picked it up, opened it, and put the strap over his right shoulder. Though Gaunt was furious, he was cool enough to realize that Dunski had made a threatening, if subtle, move. Gaunt had not forgotten that Dunski had a gun.
Gaunt's voice was firm, though his head shook a little. "As you said, we don't have time to discuss this. And I am in command here. We will dispose of Snick as I said we would because it's the only logical thing to do. And because I said so."
"Are you going to mutilate her or are you going to get someone else to do it?" Dunski said.
"What does it matter who does it!" Gaunt said, his voice louder. "It'll be done!"
He had looked at his shoulderbag, which was on a small table near the end of the sofa close to Snick's feet. Dunski supposed that Gaunt had a weapon in his bag. He asked himself what he would do if the man went for the gun. Was he really prepared to shoot a fellow immer to stop him from killing an organic? He would not know until the time came, and he did not want that time to come.
Time, however, was creeping or sliding or flowing or proceeding in whatever unknown manner Time used to make Then into Now. During the next few seconds, one of the two alternate futures would be chosen. Or would just happen, choice not being one of the factors in the taking of the road.
Blonde said, her voice thin, "I can't believe this is happening!"
"Neither can I," Gaunt said. He moved backward away from Dunski, coming closer to his shoulderbag. "I may have to report your emotional instability to the council."
Dunski lied. "It isn't so much the killing. It's the butchering. It makes me sick. You should understand that. I was ... am ... close to vomiting. But if it has to be done ..
Gaunt seemed to loosen a little. "It does. And I'll do it. I wouldn't ask anyone else to do it."
He looked down at Snick. "Believe me, if there was any other way ... " He spoke to Blonde. "You and this man," meaning Dunski, "put her in the stoner."
Gaunt was shrewd. If Dunski had his hands full, he could not go for his weapon.
"You can't kill her here," Blonde said. "The organics will investigate everybody in the building. They might stumble across something. I'd be implicated."
"I know that," Gaunt said coolly. "She'll be taken elsewhere. I don't even want you to know where. None of you."
Dunski lifted Snick by her shoulders. How soft and warm she was. How soon to be hard and cold. And then soft and warm again, and then torn apart. He felt numbed. As if he was sharing a little her death.
Blonde grabbed the legs, and the two carried her to the stoner. They propped her up, pushed her into the cylinder in a sitting position, and pushed again on the torso, which had fallen forward. Dunski lifted her legs and pushed them so that they were against her breasts. He raised himself up and backed away while Blonde shut the door. Gaunt turned the control that applied the power and watched the dial as it spun back to
OFF.
"All of you clear out," Gaunt said. "Go back to whatever you were doing. We'll get in touch with you when we need you."
Blonde started weeping. Gaunt looked disgusted. Dunski patted her on the shoulder and said, "There's a price to pay for immortality." That made Gaunt look even more disgusted. Dark, her eyes lowered, took Blonde's hand and said, "Let's go."
Dunski watched them leave through the door to the hail. When the door had closed behind the two, he looked at the cylinder holding Snick. The window was as empty as her future.
Gaunt said, "Well?"
He was standing by the shoulderbag, his right hand resting on it. Dunski said, "Don't worry. I'm going."
Gaunt looked at him and down at the bag. Smiling slightly, he said, "You'll see that I'm right. Get a good sleep. You'll wake up a new man tomorrow."
"I always do," Dunski said. "Maybe that's part of the trouble."
Gaunt frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
He did not care to say good-bye or anything that indicated that he would like to see him again. He started toward the door, conscious that Gaunt was watching him closely. Dunski was not sure that he was not going to make a last appeal for Snick. It would not be with words; it would be with the gun. But that would be stupid, nonsurvival. Even if he could save Snick, what would he do with her? He did not have the means that the immer organization had for spiriting her away. And Gaunt was right, logically right, though he was emotionally wrong. Or was he? What was, in the absolute sense, right?
He had just reached the door when he heard a shrilling. He turned and saw Gaunt walking to an orange-flashing wall strip. Gaunt said something softly, and the strip showed the face of a man. Dunski walked back to where he could see the strip from behind Gaunt. The man saw Dunski and said, "Is ... should he hear this?"
Gaunt said, harshly, "How would I know? I don't know what you're going to say."
The man said, "Well, this concerns all of us."
"What is it?"
"It's Castor. He's killed again!"
Dunski felt as if something inside him had turned over and died. He knew what the man was going to tell them.
"The organics have just found a woman's body in an apartment on Bleecker Street. She was mutilated, just like the other women. Her intestines were ripped out, and her breasts were cut off and glued to the wall. Her name was Nokomis Moondaughter, a tante of Wednesday. She was the wife of a Robert Tingle. He's not a suspect because he's still in his cylinder, and it's evident that the woman was killed less than an hour ago. Castor must have gotten into the apartment, destoned her, and killed and butchered her while the tenants were gone. They came back and found her. It's his handiwork, all right."
Dunski made a strangled noise and turned away. He walked to the sofa, sat down, stared at Gaunt, who was talking and glancing back at him, got up, and walked to the kitchen. He poured out coffee with a shaking hand, sipped it, put the cup down, and walked to the big window. His grief was there but numbed. He was as sluggish as a glacier from toe to scalp.
Staring through the sheers at the street scene, he muttered, "I can't take much more of this."
Gaunt coughed behind him. He said, "The woman ... she was your wife?"
Dunski kept looking through the windows as. he said, "In a way."
The bright sunshine was gone. The lighter heralds of the advancing storm had colored the sky gray.