“Get it?” she asked.
“I hope you’re on opaine.”
“That’s my kick, Dick.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
He handed the mixed drug to her, and she quickly swabbed the inside of her thigh, kicking her thin skirt aside.
“Happy,” he said.
“Ditt.”
She fired and an exultant look took her face. “Oh, God,” she said. He watched the vial as it kicked the drug, each new spurt sending a violent spasm through her body. He swabbed his arm and popped off when the gauge clicked. It wasn’t happy time, but he enjoyed it anyway.
“I needed that,” she said.
“These Sensos leave you limp,” he agreed.
He took the empty vials, brought them to the receptacle and dropped them in. When he walked back to Liz, she was leaning against the swab dispenser, and her eyes were glazed.
“Hey,” he said, “what brews?”
“Whoo, that was powerful.”
“Guv inspected, the clerk said.”
“But strong. Mother!”
“Let’s walk it off.”
She nodded blankly. The drizzle had begun again, touching their faces lightly. They walked slowly, enjoying the rain and the power of the drug. They did not see many Rees in the streets. This was a residential level, inhabited mostly by Vikes. The lights in the shop windows blinked at them, and Van began to really feel the strength of the drug. It had been powerful, much stronger than he was used to, and it distorted the streets, made the passing cars look like speeding tear drops, joined the lights in a wild medley of streaks against the sky.
When he heard the shouting, he thought it was the effect of the drug. It started in a dim corner of his mind, started with the repeated word, “Rabbit!”
He shook his head, and the shouting persisted, and more words joined it. The words ran together like molten lead. “Ree... rabbit... ree... rabbit... rrrrabbbittt... rrreeeebbbitttt...”
And then the shouting exploded, and he opened his eyes wide.
“Ree!”
“REE!”
A boy darted from behind one of the buildings, passed no farther than three feet from Van. Van backed away instinctively, felt Liz’s hand tighten on his arm, shook it away.
The boy was a Ree. He wore long trousers, and a flapping shirt. His hair was mussed, falling into his eyes, and the eyes bore the unmistakable stamp of fear. He darted past them, ran into the gutter. A speeding car swerved aside, and the boy curved around it, leaped the barrier into the low-speed lane.
Another group of boys erupted from the mouth of the alley alongside the building. Vikes. Twenty of them. Young kids, with hair in sparse patches on their chests. Tight breeches. Shouting, “Reel Ree! Ree!”
The Ree turned, and the fear was large on his face now. It showed in his eyes, and in the grim set of his mouth, and in the whiteness of his face. A slowing car pulled aside, and the boy turned to run.
The Vikes were in the speed lane now. They waited while a car rushed by, and then they started after the Ree again.
“Van, what is it?” Liz said. Her hand was on his arm again.
“A Ree,” he said blankly.
“But... but what are they doing?” Her eyes were still glazed from the drug. Her mouth hung slackly, and she stared at Van in confusion.
The robot policeman on the comer lifted a mechanical hand, and a red light gleamed hotly in his metal chest. A car slowed to a stop, and the Ree looked at it frantically and then ran to it. He clawed at the door handle, found it locked. Van saw the driver edge away from the door, saw his hands tighten on the wheel. The light was still red.
“Mister, open up, please!” the Ree pleaded.
The driver glanced at the robot. The red light looked back at him. He looked again at the white-faced boy outside his car. He gave it the gun. The car lurched ahead, and the Ree clung desperately to the door handle. He lifted his feet, scrabbling for a hold on the smooth, shining surface of the car. His feet dropped to the pavement, and Van heard the angry scrape of his shoe soles against the ground. The driver slammed the car into whirl, and it shot ahead through the red light, ignoring the camera that automatically photographed its license tab. The Ree clung to the handle until his trouser legs were shredded, and then he released his grip and dropped to the concrete. The car surged off into the distance, its atomic engine whining.
“He’s down!” one of the Vikes shouted.
They leaped the barrier into the low-speed lane, and Van saw now that they were carrying sticks, and bottles, and open knives.
“Oh God,” Liz said hoarsely. “Van, what is it?”
Van watched in horror as one of the Vikes lifted a bottle and brought it down on the boy’s head. The Ree got to his knees, began crawling away. A Vike kicked him in the ribs, and he fell to the concrete again. They were all around him now, shouting, laughing, cursing. Van saw the garbage can then.
He saw it in the hands of a big Vike boy. He saw the can go up over the boy’s head, high, higher, and sudden realization knifed through him.
“No!” he tried to shout. The word came through his lips like a parched whisper instead. He took a step forward, and felt the strong pressure of Liz’s hand on his arm.
“Van don’t. They’re wild. They’ll...”
The Ree screamed, up, down, and the screams hung on the air, rending the night, up, down, up, down. Vikes shouted and cursed and the Ree’s screams faded and died until they became part of the murmur of the crowd.
Van stood rooted to the spot, a sick revulsion inside him. He had wanted to help the Ree. Or had he? He wondered now if he’d have gone to the Ree’s aid if Liz hadn’t stopped him. He wondered, and the doubt gnawed at his mind.
The wail of a siren climbed into the night sky. The police. And too late, Van thought. The Vikes began running, mingling with the crowd, leaving the Ree in the center of the lane. A line of cars slowed, pulled aside and stopped to let the police cars through.
Van looked at the broken, crumpled body on the pavement.
Liz began trembling. “Let’s go, Van. Please, let’s go.” Her body shook, and her breast shook, and her chin shook. Her eyelids blinked. “Please!”
He allowed her to take his arm. They walked rapidly, not turning to look back at the crowd dispersing before the shouts and gestures of the two policemen. Two Vike boys were walking in front of them. Van heard a young voice say, “Did you see me pop that illidge with the bottle?”
The other boy laughed, and Van felt Liz’s fingers curl on his arm.
They did not speak at all on the way home. When he’d dropped Liz off at her place and was back in his own apartment again, he shot up three vials of morph, enough to send him to bed blind.
Chapter 7
Jo Houston called Brant at the office the next day, shortly after noon. Van had almost forgotten the Ree incident by that time, though not quite. He had awakened late this morning, still feeling loggy from the triple fix the night before. He remembered the fix, but he couldn’t put his finger on the exact impulse that had prompted it. The Ree boy had still been vivid in his mind when he showered and depilled. After a light breakfast, the image had begun to fade. He’d taken a late fix, and then gone to the office.
He sat now and looked at Jo’s troubled face, his weary eyes. For a moment, he thought Jo had gone without a fix, but then he noticed the empty vial on his accountant’s desk.
“What is it, Jo?” he asked.
“I’m having a rugged go, Van.”
“Spell it.”
“Your holdings. I can’t get rid of them.”
Van looked at Houston’s face hard, to see if he was kidding. “What the hell are you talking about, Jo?”