The Probability Broach (12 page)
Read The Probability Broach Online
Authors: L. Neil Smith
Tags: #Science Fiction, #General, #Fiction
Exiles can take their property and leave. Several countries still accept them, and a number of asteroid colonies. None very pleasant. The bright side is there’s no professional criminal class, no “ex-offenders.” Once you’ve made it good, you’re square. Every day is a fresh start, and that beats hell out of sitting in a concrete box, stamping out license plates.
All of this assumes, of course, that the criminal survives his initial attempt against his well-armed victim, a
considerable
assumption, and another reason there aren’t many jails and no real prisons. Now that he was safely caught, our prisoner was relying on a highly-civilized system: no
Confederate
would harm him, but he was afraid of
me.
And that was intriguing.
considerable
assumption, and another reason there aren’t many jails and no real prisons. Now that he was safely caught, our prisoner was relying on a highly-civilized system: no
Confederate
would harm him, but he was afraid of
me.
And that was intriguing.
“Screw your goddamned CLA!” I bellowed, working up a totally artificial rage, “I’m gonna get some answers the good old-fashioned way!” I waved the gun, brushing the tip of his nose. “You wanna wind up with your friends out there, face down in the driveway?” I shoved the muzzle against his left eye and clacked the hammer backward, grinning like a demon.
He screamed and struggled. The guards had to plant their feet. “Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!”
“I’m not gonna hurt you—I’m gonna
kill
you!” I made a production of slow pressure on the trigger. Sweat streamed down my purpled face.
kill
you!” I made a production of slow pressure on the trigger. Sweat streamed down my purpled face.
“All right! I’ll tell you!” He jerked from side to side, trying to evade the gun. A stain crept along the legs of his pants. “Anything you want to know—only
please
don’t let him hurt me!
please
don’t let him hurt me!
I let Ed shove me away. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he soothed.
The prisoner sobbed, head forward on his chest. “It was Madison. He said it was for the Cause! Keep that savage away!” I was suddenly afraid he’d faint before he really opened up. “Madison will get you! He’ll take care of you all! He’s—he’s got
something,
something from the other—” He stared at me, I think in sudden comprehension. “
He’ll
blast you all to radioactive slag!”
something,
something from the other—” He stared at me, I think in sudden comprehension. “
He’ll
blast you all to radioactive slag!”
With that he collapsed, and to judge from the rumblings in my midsection, my Method acting was about to claim a second victim, too.
WHEN I GOT back from the bathroom, Clarissa was tending our unconscious prisoner. Ed was bandaged and Forsyth asleep, breathing comfortably with an electronic contraption over his eyes. She glared. “Is this the way you treat wounded prisoners in Denver?”
“Not for a long, long time,” I shook my head slowly, “Back home, he’d have more rights than honest people. I’m sorry.”
“My patient in shock, and you’re
sorry?
I hope you got what you wanted
… Lieutenant!”
sorry?
I hope you got what you wanted
… Lieutenant!”
I winced. “Don’t know yet. Who’s this Madison, Ed? Let’s see what the ’com—”
“Way ahead of you, boys!” Lucy waggled a Telecom pad. “Madisons, a regular epizootic of ’em!” Rows of names and numbers flashed across the little screen.
Clarissa conferred in whispers with the guards. “Lucy, can you take over, here?” She crossed the room to me. “They tell me it wasn’t even loaded.” She looked up, wanting something. I wasn’t sure what.
“Didn’t trust myself with the bastard.”
“That doesn’t excuse you,” she said. “It was a horrible thing you did. Immoral. I’m not sure I like you very much, Lieutenant Win Bear!”
“I’m not sure I like myself very much,” I answered, tasting bile. “And what do you mean, ‘immoral’? After what he did? I’ve had about enough of this self-righteous crap. You’re all so smugly satisfied with your Confederate
status quo,
you can’t see the lunacy of it flapping right in front of your own silly noses!”
status quo,
you can’t see the lunacy of it flapping right in front of your own silly noses!”
Lucy turned, disbelief on her face. “What’s bitten you, son?”
Suddenly they were all strangers, creatures from another world. “The good doctor here—for something I already feel rotten about, thanks—while everybody in this safe, stable, oh-so-humane society carries a
handgun,
prepared to kill at the drop of a hat! What the hell are you all afraid of? How come such well-adjusted people cling so hysterically to their perverted phallic symbols?”
handgun,
prepared to kill at the drop of a hat! What the hell are you all afraid of? How come such well-adjusted people cling so hysterically to their perverted phallic symbols?”
Clarissa eyed me with cynical understanding. “I
thought.
you might be carrying a conflict or two around in there! Snuggled up against that six-gun you use so well is a regular moon-gazing pacifist—”
thought.
you might be carrying a conflict or two around in there! Snuggled up against that six-gun you use so well is a regular moon-gazing pacifist—”
“Or potential dictator!”
“Let him alone, Lucy! Win, your built-in contradictions will tear you to pieces here. I’ve known a few poor devils, afraid to let others defend—even possess the means to defend—themselves, unable to stand being alone more than minutes at a time, frightened their own shadows will betray them, projecting their fear onto others, interpreting every gesture as a threat.
“Or are you the other kind, who can’t tolerate independence, who secretly burns to control people’s lives and suffers their desire for self-defense with a twinge of guilty conscience?”
“You know better than that!” I spluttered. “But look at you, berating my society, while here, women—my god, even
children
—are weighted down with weapons!”
children
—are weighted down with weapons!”
“Sonny, anybody with his gears meshed wants to be free,” said Lucy. “Don’t matter what sex or age, and freedom
always
calls for a little hardware, even—maybe
especially
—if you’re a little kid.”
always
calls for a little hardware, even—maybe
especially
—if you’re a little kid.”
Clarissa went on, “Win, that first type, the poor wretch, battles every minute of his life against the temptation to blow his own unhappy brains out. He hates weapons—not because of others, but because of what
he
might do to
himself!
The second type, he’s simply afraid he’ll get what he deserves!
he
might do to
himself!
The second type, he’s simply afraid he’ll get what he deserves!
“You don’t wear that gun for yourself, as an act of independence; you’re
licensed.
Some bureaucrat ‘gave’ you a right you were already born with! A right you’re paid to
deny
everyone else!” I held up my hands to stop her, but she rolled right over me. “I’ve heard that phallic-symbol argument before, and always from ineffectual people driven to make everybody else as helpless as they are. Who’s more confused, those who think weapons are sexual organs, or those who want to take everyone’s sexual organs
away?
licensed.
Some bureaucrat ‘gave’ you a right you were already born with! A right you’re paid to
deny
everyone else!” I held up my hands to stop her, but she rolled right over me. “I’ve heard that phallic-symbol argument before, and always from ineffectual people driven to make everybody else as helpless as they are. Who’s more confused, those who think weapons are sexual organs, or those who want to take everyone’s sexual organs
away?
“Win,
civilized
people go armed to say, ‘I am self-sufficient. I’ll never burden others.’ They’re also saying, ‘If you need my help, here I am,
ready’
—yes, a contradiction, but a pretty noble one, I think. Independence is the source of freedom, the first essential ingredient of mental health. You’re good at taking care of yourself, Lieutenant. Why can’t you allow others the same right?
civilized
people go armed to say, ‘I am self-sufficient. I’ll never burden others.’ They’re also saying, ‘If you need my help, here I am,
ready’
—yes, a contradiction, but a pretty noble one, I think. Independence is the source of freedom, the first essential ingredient of mental health. You’re good at taking care of yourself, Lieutenant. Why can’t you allow others the same right?
“Armed people are
free.
No state can control those who have the machinery and the will to resist, no mob can take their liberty and property. And no 220-pound thug can threaten the well-being or dignity of a 110-pound woman who has two pounds of iron to even things out. Is that evil? Is that wrong?
free.
No state can control those who have the machinery and the will to resist, no mob can take their liberty and property. And no 220-pound thug can threaten the well-being or dignity of a 110-pound woman who has two pounds of iron to even things out. Is that evil? Is that wrong?
“People who object to weapons aren’t abolishing violence, they’re begging for rule by brute force, when the biggest, strongest animals among men were always automatically ‘right.’ Guns ended that, and social democracy is a hollow farce without an armed populace to make it work.
“Wear a gun to someone else’s house, you’re saying, ‘I’ll defend this home as if it were my own.’ When your guests see you carry a weapon, you’re telling them, ‘I’ll defend you as if you were my own family.’ And anyone who
objects
levels the deadliest insult possible: ‘I don’t trust you unless you’re rendered
harmless’!
objects
levels the deadliest insult possible: ‘I don’t trust you unless you’re rendered
harmless’!
“I’ll tell you something, Lieutenant. Whenever personal arms have fallen out of fashion, society has become something no sane person would consider
worth
defending. The same thing happens to individuals: they start rotting, too, becoming helpless, disdaining to lift a finger because it’s ‘beneath them.’ They’re no longer fit to live and are simply proving that they know it!”
worth
defending. The same thing happens to individuals: they start rotting, too, becoming helpless, disdaining to lift a finger because it’s ‘beneath them.’ They’re no longer fit to live and are simply proving that they know it!”
She wiped fierce tears away. “Win, is it
wrong
to be happy with a system that works,
virtuous
to be uncertain or unsatisfied? Is it
wise
to pretend you know nothing? What moral cripple, sick at heart with himself, taught you that? I’d like to find out, before I get to know you any better!” Her eyes blazed into mine, and a strange hope stirred within me.
wrong
to be happy with a system that works,
virtuous
to be uncertain or unsatisfied? Is it
wise
to pretend you know nothing? What moral cripple, sick at heart with himself, taught you that? I’d like to find out, before I get to know you any better!” Her eyes blazed into mine, and a strange hope stirred within me.
“Give the lady a drink!” Lucy wheeled by with an enormous glass in each hand. “Have one, too, Lieutenant—you earned it!”
“I never drink anything bigger than my head,” I protested, looking again at Clarissa. “Wanna fill me a thimble?”
Clarissa grinned, eyes still brimming and her nose red. “Sorry, Win, I guess I’ve been storing that up all week. Maybe I sort of overstated the case. A little.”
I shifted the drink to my left hand and brushed a damp curl away from her eyes. “Yeah, and maybe ‘overstated’ is an understatement. A little. You were pretty wide of the mark a couple times—I never busted anyone for weapons.”
She laughed. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re one of the few who could adjust to this culture without going off the deep end.”
“Compliments!” I spread my arms helplessly. “Clarissa, someday you’ll take back every syllable of that diatribe—except the bit about hosts, guests, and weapons. That makes sense.” I took a long, long drink. It burned. “And Ed? You see this revolver, my identical friend? I
will
forget being a charity case. I’ve always felt exactly the same way she put it: I’ll defend your home”—I touched Clarissa’s shoulder a moment—“and those in it, as if they were my own.”
will
forget being a charity case. I’ve always felt exactly the same way she put it: I’ll defend your home”—I touched Clarissa’s shoulder a moment—“and those in it, as if they were my own.”
He nodded and took my hand. “Perhaps you understand now how I felt about the knife attack:
you
certainly didn’t fail—I’ve seldom seen such shooting!”
you
certainly didn’t fail—I’ve seldom seen such shooting!”
“Yeah, but now I’ve gone and spoiled it, haven’t I?” I pointed toward our prisoner, who was really in bad shape if he could snooze through Clarissa’s parade-ground lecture.
“’Fraid so, buster,” Lucy absently swirled her ice, “He’ll likely sue our pants off—and you don’t have that much to spare. Ain’t that Eddie’s robe?”
“He can’t get blood out of a turnip. Does that mean Devil’s Island?”
“Asteroids. No, Winnie, it just means we can’t sue him: our claims’ll cancel out.”
Ed’s sour look wasn’t coming out of a glass. “It may have been worth it, if we can find out who the real brains are.
Them
we won’t sue. We’ll just invite them to coffee and pistols at dawn!”
Them
we won’t sue. We’ll just invite them to coffee and pistols at dawn!”
“Is he serious, or is it only the head wound?”
“You bet your galoshes he’s serious! Say, Eddie, I’m in on this, too. Those uninsurable worm-castings still owe me a front window!”
“You think this was the Frontenac bunch, Ed?” I asked.
“Seems reasonable. Only make it the Frontenac-Rezin bunch.”
“I figured as much, too. Which is
some
excuse, I guess, for the third-degree, Clarissa. You didn’t hear the big finish, did you?”
some
excuse, I guess, for the third-degree, Clarissa. You didn’t hear the big finish, did you?”
“Sonny, we all heard you barfing clear in the front room!”
“I’m not talking about that, Lucy! You know what a tactical nuke is?” Blank looks—Lucy stared deliberately into her drink. “Well, remind me to tell you when my stomach is better. Meanwhile, we’ve got to find this Madison character. Any ideas?”
Ed gingerly fingered the side of his head. “No, but I figure this concussion belongs to you, I—”
“Say, anybody feel like some food to mop up all this alcohol?” Lucy pointed at Ed’s bandaged head. “I’m gonna feel like you, in the morning, unless I shovel in some protein.” General agreement, followed by a brief session at the keyboard. Pleasant smells began issuing from the kitchen.
“Okay,” I said, “now what were you talking about, Ed?”
“Well, you know my cars are still in the shop. That machine gun did a lot of damage.”
“I know, I know!” I waved my cast under his nose.
“When I went out tonight, I caught the underground, did my security check, then headed back. These”—he indicated the prisoner finally coming around—“were waiting for me at the front gate. They’d slugged Forsyth and one was wearing his hat. In the dark I didn’t notice until—Win, they thought I was you!”
“What?”
“There was a car parked across the street, waiting—no, not the Frontenac.”
“It wouldn’t have been a white station wagon?”
“Hmm? No, no. Just as I got under the gate light, I heard somebody say, ‘That’s him—that’s the cop!’ Somebody else said, ‘Shut up, Bealls!’ The next thing I heard was BONG!—then you, blasting away with your flintlock, there.”
“Bealls?”
CONFEDERATES HAVE A sensible attitude about time, having recognized long ago that, while some folks can function in the morning, others better not even try until 2 P.M. And people who stayed up until dawn scrubbing bloodstains out of the carpet, and trying to make up with pretty physicians who think they’re uncivilized, postpone their appointments and sleep in.
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