The others looked at Kafka. “We’re working out every contingency.” the roach said.
“Up to and including getting everyone killed? Because there are over a million soldiers under arms right now, and lots of wild cards out there who will fight for the government, and — how many do you have here? A few thousand, and you’re all concentrated on a very small target?”
“We’ve got the fog, and the radar spoofers, and--”
"How many million rounds of artillery ammunition do you have? How many rockets? How many fuel-air bombs? One fuel-air bomb could kill everyone here! That’s what Zappa told me, and he’s right. You can’t hide underground — a fuel-air bomb will suck the air right out of the caverns. Everyone below ground will asphyxiate, everyone in the open will bum to death. And if that doesn’t work there’s nerve gas, and even tactical nuclear weapons…"
“We’ve got Herne and the Wild Hunt,” one joker said.
“We can kill anyone…”
“How well did that work with Hartmann?”
“Enough,” said Kafka. “We’re planning for everything.” But the other jokers in the room looked stricken.
A moment ago they’d been congratulating themselves on a battle won. Now Modular Man had told them their victory was meaningless.
The android pressed his advantage. “I think you should call that 800 number and work out the best deal you can.”
’We have our governor,” Kafka said. “He gave us the Rox, and he’ll keep us safe.” He looked at his staff. “I’ll prove it to you,” he said. “Come with me. To the Great Hall.”
The jokers began filing out.
“Hold on!” Patchwork clapped a hand to her missing ear as if trying to hear better. “There’s something going on!”
For a few seconds the big reel-to-reel was the only thing moving in the room.
“It’s that Katzenback guy,” Patchwork said. “He’s talking about security breaches. Wondering about how we knew where so much of their equipment was parked…”
“Hide your eye,” Kafka said.
“I am. I’m just hearing this.”
“Katzenback, Horace.” One of the jokers read from computer printout. “Former AID official, now college professor, assigned to Zappa’s staff with the rank of--”
“Will you shut up!” Patchwork said. There were overtones of panic in her voice. Her head moved back and forth as if aiming her ears at a sound source. “Vidkunssen is agreeing. He’s wondering about whether their communications are se cure. Maybe somebody’s broken their cipher.” She took a breath. “Good,” she said. “that’s”
Her head jerked up. It was clear that someone else was talking. “Oh, shit,” she said. “Katzenback’s talking about bugs. And Zappa’s come out of his office. He’s listening. He’s — he’s going to call the techs for a sweep.”
“Good,” Kafka said. “They won’t spot you that way. You don’t transmit on FM.”
“Shit!” Patchwork screamed. “Katzenback’s telling everyone to give a visual search first!”
“Get your stuff out of the way,” Kafka said.
“It is, it is.” She put her hands over her invisible eyes. “But it’s just lying there on the top shelf, behind a stack of folders. My eye can roll around, but the ear…” Her voice trailed away. “Oh, shit, I can hear them moving stuff around. Zappa’s telling everyone to be thorough.”
Modular Man stepped to her couch, sat by her, and took Patchwork’s hand. She clutched at him. “I’m going to be blind,” she muttered. “Blind, with half the U.S. shooting at me. Shit!” Terror filled her face. “They found me! Oh, fuck…”
“Run for it!” Kafka urged.
“Eyeball’s rolling!” Patchwork shouted. “I’m off the shelf and trying to get under a desk!”
The android’s olfactory sensors could scent her terror. She seized his hand in both of hers.
“They’re jumping around and yelling! Oh, fuck. I hope I don’t get stepped on!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Jesus they’re moving the desk they’re moving the desk…”
Her body swayed in a circle, imitating the frantic rolling of her eye. “I’m getting covered in dust, I can’t see. I’m rolling — oh fuck they shut the door!”
She shuddered. Her face showed total defeat. “Everything just went dark. They dropped something on me. A wastebasket or something.” Rivers of sweat poured from under her bandages. “I can still hear, though. Something’s touching my ear!” She gave a little wail. “Somebody get in there and get me!”
“I’ll go,” Modular Man tried to make his voice soothing. "Just keep listening and looking, and find out where they put you. Then I’ll see if I can get you out.”
“They dropped me!” Patchwork gulped air. “They dropped my ear into a container or something. I can feel cold, like glass or metal.” She bit her lip. “They’re all gathering around the… around my eye. I’m trying to creep the ear out while they’re not looking but it’s not working — the container’s too slick. Daylight!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “I’m rolling — oh, shit!” Her free hand pounced the sofa. “They’ve got me! They’ve got their fucking fingers on me!”
Modular Man kept up his reassuring tone. “I’ll get you loose.”
Patchwork’s voice changed. She stared defiantly into an empty space where she assumed Kafka and the jokers were. “I want the other eye now! There’s nothing going on at Aces High for me to see. I never should’ve let you make me blind in the first place.”
“I’ll get it,” Modular Man said. “But let’s see what they’re doing with your other eye and ear first.”
“I’m in a jar. There’s slime all over everything and it’s hard to see.” A spasm of disgust shuddered across her face. “It’s a peanut butter jar! And there’s still peanut butter in it!”
“What can you see?”
“Not much. I’m looking through peanut butter smears. Everyone’s staring at me. They’re passing me from hand to hand.”
“Just wait.” Modular Man stroked Patchwork’s arm. “They’ll have to put you somewhere. And once we figure out where that is, I’ll go get your eye and ear for you.”
Zappa’s staff searched his room and office for at least ten minutes. Then they stood around staring at the peanut butter jar for another few minutes, conversing in low tones so that Patchwork couldn’t hear.
“Somebody picked me up.” Her voice had grown calmer by now. “I’m being carried out the door. I think it’s that Katzenback guy. He’s walking down a corridor. We’re outside of the stadium — I see a burned-out tank. We’re walking up to one of those jeep things —”
“A humvee?”
"I guess.”
“He just jammed me under the passenger seat. I can’t see anything.
“I’m gone.” Modular Man didn’t bother to stand up; he just levitated up and started moving for the door. He paused in front of Kafka.
“You’ve just lost your edge,” he said. “From now on, jokers die.”