… and then Buronto wasn’t Buronto any longer. Buronto was a slug, segmented and pulpy. There was a laser weapon in his pseudopods. Slithering, hissing, he moved toward the bed and…
… and then the slug was Buronto once more, leering and…
… and then it was the slug, slithering…
Buronto-slug-Buronto-slug-on-off-on-off—
He woke, squeals of terror stuck in his throat, squirming to pass the constricted muscles in his neck and emerge as full-bodied screams. But he knew! He knew how they could fight the Central Being even though they were not violent men. He had the whole goddammed answer!
“Sam!” Coro was saying, shaking him.
With more than a little effort, he forced the grogginess from his mind, sat up. “Andy, I’ve got it! I know how we can stop the Central Being! I know just exactly what we can do!”
“I hope you do,” Coro said. “ ‘Cause I just picked them up on our screens. They’ll reach Hope about two hours after we do.”
XII
The Inferno was just as he remembered it. It assaulted the senses like a thousand pile drivers pounding concrete. It washed, slithered, scraped, chipped, sanded, sheared the mind, split the senses open to an expanded, brighter awareness. Letting the atmosphere of the place pick them and carry them like flotsam in the winds of eternity, they moved along the wall toward an empty table. A clown in an imagi-color suit that was purple to Sam, green to Coro, and blue to Lotus, sprang from the floor, wiggled insanely large plastic ears, and popped out of sight just as an ebony and silver cloud passed with two naked acrobats performing a complicated series of head-, hand-, and shoulderstands.
“Here,” Sam said, raising his voice above the music, and squinting through the perfumed clouds. He pulled out a chair for Lotus. She was wide-eyed, taking in the wonders of the bar. She had forced herself to recover — externally, at least — from Crazy’s death, and she seemed a bit more like her old self. If old selves can be resurrected from the ashes of pain and change. Sam and Coro sat down also.
“What—” Coro began.
“Drinks first,” Sam said, holding up his hand.
“We only have two hours,” Coro said. “Less than two!”
“And drinks will relax our nerves, which are, as you bear testimony to, nearly ready to snap.” He took their orders and punched the robotender for them, depositing the correct change. He also pressed the button requesting a human waiter’s attention. A few moments later, a thin man with eyes like those of an eagle and a long nose pointing to a longer chin, came to their table. “I would like you to find someone for me,” Sam said.
“Sir?”
“Buronto.”
“Who is—”
“Black Jack Buronto. Is he here?”
“Yes,” the waiter said reluctantly, and suspiciously.
“I’d like to see him. Would you tell him that, please?” He placed a bill on the table and shoved it toward the waiter.
“Look, Buronto isn’t just a tourist attraction, mister. He’s—”
“I know all about him. I once knocked him out in a fight.”
The waiter drew back, started to say something, grabbed the bill, and scurried away through the crowd.
“What was that all about?” Coro asked. “Who is this Buronto?”
Sam explained the nature of the man they were after. There was no police force on Hope, no army, no navy, air force, or marines. No fighting force at all and absolutely no possibility of putting one together. But there was the masochist killer, Buronto. Wasn’t he their only chance?
“And you knocked him out in a fight?” Lotus said. Her eyes pierced him as if they were electronic knives, cutting into his bone marrow, flipping through each cell of his mind.
“I was… more or less… under hypnosis at the time. Delirious, really.”
“And this is the killer,” Coro said, visibly shivering.
Buronto was shoving his way through the crowded room, heedless of whether men fell off chairs when he passed or not. He was still the giant Sam remembered, eyes wild and flaming as they had been in the dream, huge jaw set grimly, hands constantly clenching and unclenching.
“His voice,” Sam said swiftly, suddenly realizing these two knew nothing of the anachronism, not wanting a scene like the last one he could remember in the Inferno. “It’s… well, girlish. Don’t laugh. He’d just as soon kill you as let you laugh at him.”
“Oh now, just for laughing—” Coro began.
“I mean it. He would kill. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
“You wanted to see me?” Buronto asked, stepping next to their table, fists balled and rammed against his hips. “What do you—” He paused, his eyes widening, his nostrils dilating. “I know you!” He coughed with rage, choking on his own gall. “You’re the damned punk who—”
“Sit down. Sit down. That’s over and done with. I have a proposition for you now.”
“You’re the squirt who—”
“Sit down and talk this instant or I’ll kill you on the spot!” Sam hissed.
The big man looked startled. It was a long gamble, but he didn’t know that Sam had been hypnotized. As far as Buronto was concerned, this was a killer, like himself, a man who fought back harder and better than he could. He sat.
“That’s better,” Sam said. “Now, I’m going to ask you to do something for me.”
Buronto laughed, still playing the role of the man who is too big to be bought, too powerful to want to bargain, too awesome to shove.
“Shut up,” Sam said evenly. He had to impress Buronto with the arrangement of things the way he saw them. That was: Sam as the boss, Buronto as the loyal sidekick. Never for a single moment could the giant get the idea that he was more powerful than Sam. That would be dangerous. That would be deadly.
“Now look here,” Buronto said, though more hurt than angry.
“I don’t want to have to get forceful, Jack,” Sam said, placing a ridiculously small hand on the enormous shoulder. He could feel the man’s muscles looped like cables of steel beneath the shirt. “Don’t force me to get aggressive. No need for that at all, Jack. There’s something in this for you — something that I’m sure you’ll enjoy, something that will easily make it worth your time and effort.”
“I don’t need money,” Buronto said, staring around the table, his eyes fastening on Lotus and looking up and down her tiny form, his gaze lingering on her pert breasts, her slim shoulders, the graceful curve of her neck, full lips, deep, deep eyes. But he got hung up in the eyes and looked quickly away.
“It isn’t money,” Sam said, hunching over in a more conspiratorial manner. “It’s something you will really enjoy.” He dropped his voice even lower. “It’s the only thing that money can’t buy any more.”
Buronto looked at him. Their eyes met and held like magnets. Sam could feel the hatred boiling in those eyes, frothing and foaming, held back only by curiosity and willpower. “The only thing I would truly enjoy at this moment,” Buronto growled through clenched teeth, “would be gutting you and ripping out your heart.”
Lotus gasped and Coro made a choking sound. Buronto looked at them, grinned at their weakness, his broad, perfect teeth almost carnivorous.
Sam laughed. It wasn’t easy, and he was afraid it sounded a bit forced. But he laughed anyway. He brought his hand down on Buronto’s shoulder with every bit of force he could muster, trying to make it seem casual. The friendly slap jolted the giant, and he looked at Sam with fear in his eyes as well as hatred. Good. As long as he fears me, Sam thought, as long as he misunderstands my abilities and powers, some sort of order can be maintained. But if he only knew how my hand stings! “I’m sure you would like to kill me, Jack. Oh, I’m just positive of that.” His gorge was rising. Vomit stung the back of his throat. With great concentration, he forced it back down, but the bitter taste remained in his mouth. “But don’t try it unless you count on the tables being reversed and your death being the main attraction.”