The hill commanded a magnificent view of Happiness City, on the moon-world of Hesperia. The new town’s plump, prefab houses were arranged in patterns hypnotic to the eye when seen from a distance. The River Jaylam traced its sinuous route through the heart of the city, reflecting the white wings of the kabuki birds as they twisted and spiraled over its waters. The isabella trees, genetically engineered to grow only in this fertile valley, swayed lazily in the warm breeze, their leaves dancing and glistening in the sunlight. The gas-giant Magnus, three times the mass of Sol’s Jupiter, filled one quarter of the noonday sky; its cloud-bands alive with powerful, churning hurricanes of yellow, purple, and tan; its slowly changing patterns freckled with tiny disk-shadows, indicating the presence of other satellite worlds.
Shakey Havkak sat on that hill, with easel, canvas, and brush - painting a banana. He used a considerable amount of blue (having long since run out of yellow during his previous rendering of an eggplant).
Havkak ruminated on his current assignment as he waited patiently for the paint to dry. The Guys Upstairs had decided to drop the Big One on Happiness City – on the whole moon, in fact. Strictly top secret, of course. Predictive analyses showed that the gentle folk of Hesperia would almost certainly vote for the Opposition in the next election, and it wouldn’t do to have a disaffected electorate mucking up the business of Government. So, before the tragic and “accidental” demise of this tranquil little world, the Guys Upstairs wanted to do the fiscally responsible thing and collect on delinquent accounts – while the collecting was good.
Thence came Shakey Havkak.
Havkak was a Servant of the Bureaucracy who had risen up through the ranks with alarming regularity. He possessed the uncanny ability of obtaining - through logic, coercion, or pillage – overdue funds from citizens who had the staggering shortsightedness of putting their own petty interests above the ne’er-ending necessities of the State.
Being a conscientious civil servant, he’d arrived a day early and (per policy) checked into one of the seedier establishments on Hesperia, where he would be perceived as taking less dubious advantage of the public’s generous, if not altogether voluntary, goodwill. After a good night’s sleep and a greasy breakfast, he had rented a nice cherry-red Grav-A Convertible (disappointed that the economy models were already taken) and headed for the overlook, where he had spent the morning in creative mode. Having thus girded himself for the day, he would spend the afternoon fleecing unsuspecting (but he was sure ultimately thankful) customers, taking the red-eye out of Happiness City a few days before it would be stricken from the political map.
#
Havkak gathered up his stuff, carefully placing the unfinished portrait in the trunk of the vert. His first stop this afternoon would be a visit to one Mr. DeLano, a wealthy accountant who lived in a spacious customfab on the other side of the hills. This unannounced appointment would score big-time credits for the Office, and would further solidify Havkak’s reputation as a ruthless remora for the State.
As Havkak arrived at the DeLano residence, he was greeted by a furious commotion. Mr. DeLano was running repeatedly from the house to the family sedan and back, each time carrying a hastily gathered armload of possessions. The car hovered on four grav units, which whined in ever-rising tones as lamps, books, clothes, toys, appliances, and other bric-a-brac were crammed into the trunk and back seat. Two household droids whirred and sputtered in DeLano’s wake, nervously snatching up any kibble or morsel of debris that happened to fall from his overburdened arms.
Mrs. DeLano kept their two jabbering children in check, as the family fox terrier orbited Mr. DeLano, barking and slapping the ground with her front paws, tripping him up and biting at his pant legs.
“Ah, Mr. DeLano,” opened Havkak, sticking to protocol. “Good afternoon! Shakey Havkak, Servant of the Bureaucracy, Department of Revenue, Office of Delinquent Collections - at your service.” He extended his right hand expectantly.
“What?” shot DeLano over his shoulder as he again headed for the house. “You’ve got to be kidding! We’re getting the hell outta here! Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard?” Havkak blinked nervously, unsure of what to do with his unrequited hand. “Heard what?”
“Good God, man! The Guys Upstairs are gonna tap a Big One – right here on H-City! Somebody leaked it! Now the Opposition newsfeed says they’ve moved up the timetable. A Force cruiser will hit orbit any minute now. The spaceport’s jammed, but I got a private...” DeLano cleared his throat. “Anyway, mister, I got a lot more to worry about than some damned audit. You better get the hell outta here, too, if you know what’s good for you!” DeLano went back into action.
Havkak stammered, uncertain as to how to proceed in the face of this unexpected glitch in the anticipated routine. “A leak? Oh my – that’s not supposed to happen! It - it can’t happen! I’ve got – I assure you, Mr. DeLano, this will only take a few minutes...”
DeLano’s mouth fell open incredulously. “Get lost, mister! I don’t have time for this.” He looked at his wife in exasperation. “Oh, screw it. Honey, get the kids in the car.”
Havkak was flummoxed. He had seldom been presented with such a persistently uncooperative customer. “Mr. DeLano, I am authorized, as a Servant of the Bureaucracy, to collect on your delinquent account – today. If you attempt to avoid your obligation, I do have the means of forcing the issue.”
DeLano laughed. “Force away, Ace! We’re gone!” With that, he hopped into the sedan, its grav units wailing, and began backing out toward the road.
“Oh dear,” muttered Havkak. He removed a portable commlink from his vest pocket. He tapped a few quick commands, and the DeLano family car stalled, the grav units slowly dying, bringing the massive load to rest on the driveway.
Despite the presence of his children, DeLano let fly an ear-searing progression of expletives - some threatening, some amusing, most anatomically improbable. He paused only to reload with ragged gulps of air.
Havkak shook his head ruefully. “Mr. DeLano. You forced my hand. I’ve been granted access to your operator’s license and vehicle registration accounts. As of now, both are suspended, and will remain so until our business is concluded. Now, if you’ll just step inside for a moment...”
DeLano exploded from the car, his face scarlet, launching an indecipherable cacophony of gibberish in Havkak’s direction. It sounded like Standard English, but it was more strung together, and accompanied by far more guttural sounds and spittle, than is customary during civilized discourse.
Mrs. DeLano, apparently the brains in the family, pulled the children from the sedan and stood in the middle of the yard, looking perplexed.
Havkak was unimpressed, having endured similar encounters in the past. “Tisk, tisk, Mr. DeLano. Please, don’t make me call the police.”
“The police!” shrieked DeLano. “They were the first to bail! They’re probably on the other side of Magnus by now!” Suddenly DeLano glanced over Havkak’s shoulder. Mrs. DeLano was pointing furtively at the rented Grav-A Convertible.
DeLano relaxed and smiled, taking Havkak by the arm. “Tell you what, Mister – Havkak, is it? Why don’t you seize my estate – right here, right now? How’s that? Surely enough to cover the delta, wouldn’t you say?” DeLano faced Havkak, grasping him by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.
Havkak was pleasantly taken aback. Now, that’s more like it. “Why, I...”
At that moment, DeLano feinted right, dodged left, and was behind Havkak before he could reply. DeLano high-stepped it across the lawn and leaped into the driver’s side of the vert, dragging the kids in after him. Mrs. DeLano vaulted, with surprising agility, into the passenger’s seat.
Trailing twin vortices of dust, the vert shot away, outdistancing the pursuing fox terrier as it topped the hill.
Havkak was stunned. Such impertinence! Well, if the police were not available, he, as a loyal civil servant, was duty-bound to give pursuit.
He tapped the appropriate commands into the link, reactivating the DeLanos’ sedan. It whirred to life, but this time the grav units protested, unable to gain the momentum to lift the car off the driveway.
He dropped the link in the grass and began throwing objects from the back seat. By now the terrier was back, going to work on Havkak’s pants as he desperately tried to lighten the load enough to get mobile.
The household droids went into action again, whizzing about, reloading the car even more neatly than before. Havkak objected, but after a while the droids refused to let him near the car, silently shooing him off by flapping their metallic arms.
Havkak threw his hands up in defeat. Retrieving his commlink from the lawn, he trotted down the road, harassed by the terrier, back toward town.
#
Hours later, as evening approached, he found himself, winded, sweating, caked in dust and grit, on the same hilltop where he’d spent the morning. Magnus loomed oppressively overhead. He could barely hear the honking horns of the cars, far below, headlights flashing, crawling slowly out of the city. He saw shuttles rising over the hills on the opposite side of the city, gleaming in the setting sun, escaping on columns of smoke.
In an instant, the sky began to boil.
“Oh dear,” chided Shakey, as Armageddon marched across the valley.
END
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий