Authors: Robert Sheckley
Inside the room, Hob came face to face with Señor Ernesto Arranque, sitting behind a large mahogany desk and looking pleased with himself.
“Come right in, Mr. Draconian,” Arranque said. “We have been expecting you.”
Hob glanced around to see who else had been expecting him. As he had somehow suspected, there was Nigel, slumped on the couch in a sitting position with his eyes closed, a nasty bruise high on his forehead, out cold.
Hob seemed to have missed the opening of this special party within a party. But he suspected he was in plenty of time for the main festivities.
Nigel suddenly stirred and opened his eyes. “Ah, Hob. There you are. Didn’t happen to bring anyone with you, did you?”
“Like who?” Hob asked.
“Like Jean-Claude and a platoon of his tough friends. No, I can see without even asking that you didn’t bring anyone. Came alone, didn’t you?”
It sounded as if Nigel was chiding him.
“Well, more’s the pity then,” Nigel said. He looked at Arranque and said, “You fellows didn’t have to crack me quite so hard.” He touched the bruise on his head tenderly.
“I apologize for that,” Arranque said. “Jaime is a new man. He still hasn’t learned finesse.”
The two men who had come in with Hob were both grinning. They didn’t seem too discomfited by what Arranque was saying. Indeed, Arranque seemed to be in a high good mood, and his two helpers shared in it with him.
“I really don’t see what you have against me,” Nigel said. “I’ll admit the paintings are not of the first water. But what do you expect at twenty pounds a throw?”
“I have no objections to the paintings,” Arranque said. “My difficulty—or rather, your difficulty—lies in your association with Mr. Draconian—something I did not know when Mr. Santos recommended you to me.”
“Ah,” Nigel said. “Thought it might be something like that. “You have something against Hob?”
“I’m afraid so,” Arranque said. “He’s been looking into a matter that I’m associated with.”
“Hob,” Nigel said, “have you been making waves again?”
“If investigating a murder is making waves,” Hob said, “I stand guilty.”
“Well, there you have it,” Arranque said. “He calls it ‘investigating a murder.’ I call it prying into my private affairs. I’m afraid I really can’t permit that. I thought I had gotten rid of Mr. Draconian in England. And now he turns up here. And now, of course, I also learn that you are his associate in this so-called detective agency of his.”
“What do you mean, ‘so-called’?” Hob asked. “If you wouldn’t call it a detective agency, what would you call it?” He was genuinely curious.
“I know all about your association with MI16,” Arranque said.
It was news to Hob. “Never heard of them,” he said. “Have you, Nigel?”
Nigel shrugged, winced, and said, “Isn’t that the name of a double carriageway in England? Or am I thinking of the M16?”
“This is all very droll,” Arranque said. “And I suppose we could go on like this for some time. But I’m afraid there are pressing matters I must attend to. So, Mr. Wheaton, if you will excuse us, I have private matters to take up with your employer.”
“Oh, certainly,” Nigel said, standing up a little shakily. “I’ll just slip off. Go down to the village for a beer. How would that be?”
“I’m afraid that’s not what I had in mind,” Arranque said. “But I appreciate your levity in this matter. The boys will escort you to where I want you to go.”
The “boys” both had automatics in their hands. Hob hadn’t even seen them draw them. The larger one gestured to Nigel. Nigel looked at him, looked at Hob, raised an eyebrow, and walked across the room.
“You can use the special entrance,” Arranque said. He went behind his desk and pressed a button. A panel slid open in the far wall, revealing a passageway. “Yes, this way will be better. We don’t want to disturb the guests. Most of them are on their way out now, but a few remain still.”
As when they had led Hob in, the smaller man took the lead. The larger man gestured at Nigel with his gun. Nigel followed the smaller man into the passageway, then turned and said to Hob, “Well, old boy, I hope you’ve thought of a way out of this.”
“To reveal it now,” Hob said, “would be premature.”
The big man behind Nigel gestured with his gun again in a more preemptory manner. Nigel said, “Ta,” and walked through the doorway. The large man walked in behind him. The panel slid shut.
“Well, now,” Arranque said, “it’s just you and me, for the moment.”
“That’s true,” Hob said turning his attention back to Arranque. But if Hob had had any thought of leaping on him and overcoming him, he dropped it rapidly because Arranque also had a gun in his hand. It seemed as if everyone had a gun but the good guys. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, Hob thought wistfully.
6
“As it turns out,” Arranque said, “I am happy not to have disposed of you in England. Little did I realize at the time that I would need you for an important role here in Ibiza.”
“Happy to be of service,” Hob said. “What can I do for you?”
“Die for me.”
“We already went through that once in England.”
“Yes, but that was at the wrong time. Now we’re going to do it all over again, and this time we’ll do it right and at the right time. That’s how the Kartel wants it.”
“Which Cartel is that?” Hob asked.
“The Kali Kartel. Indian, not South American. K-A-L-I. Not C-A-L-I. And we spell Kartel with a K.”
“I can see that you’re having a lot of fun with these ominous forebodings,” Hob said.
Just then there was a discreet rap at the door. It opened, and Silverio Vargas stepped in. He said, “Senhor Arranque, I wanted to tell you …” Then he saw Hob.
“Hello, friend,” Hob said hopefully.
“I’m afraid not,” Vargas said. “They have Etienne. Taken him from the finca.” To Arranque he said, “I wanted to tell you that you could rely on my cooperation. Just don’t hurt my son.”
“I do not intend to,” Arranque said. “As long as you continue to cooperate.”
“I will do that, of course,” Vargas said. He looked at Hob, hesitated a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Hob said, “So much for the sudden rescue in the nick of time. Could you tell me something? Why did you kill Stanley Bower?”
“It was self-protection,” Arranque said. “Mr. Bower had no right to be selling soma without an approved franchise from the Kartel. Annabelle understood as soon as I explained it to her. Not only was Bower selling our product illegally, he was also jumping the gun, bringing soma to the market before the official grand opening, before the regular dealers were ready to move. When I pointed this out to him in Paris, Mr. Bower laughed at me.”
“So you killed him.”
“He wouldn’t take me seriously. He laughed at me, Mr. Draconian. And nobody laughs at me.”
Hob fought down an irresistable self-defeating impulse to break out into giggles. Even he could see it was simply not the time.
“So what now? When do I get out of here?”
“That will not be up to me. You can take that up with your new hosts.”
“And they are?”
“Come with me. You will meet them.”
Arranque stood up and gestured with the small handgun. His demeanor was pleasant but intent. He didn’t seem to be about to stand for any nonsense. Hob decided to go gracefully.
They went down through a side door, down a long corridor, and into a large room with a high-domed roof. On the floor were heavy rugs. Incense burned in braziers set into the walls. The lighting was low and indirect, but not so indirect that Hob could not make out a small, white-robed man at the far end of the room. Hob was propelled forward until he stood no more than five feet from him.
“Mr. Selim,” Arranque said, “this is Hob Draconian, whom I told you about.”
“Very good, Ernesto,” Selim said. “Handcuff him to that chair, and then leave us.”
Arranque did as he was told, locking Hob’s left wrist to the arm of a chrome-and-leather chair. He took out another set of handcuffs to cuff the other arm, but Selim waved him off. “One will be enough. And leave the key. Thank you, Ernesto.”
7
“Our product, soma,” Selim said, “has two different aspects. As a recreational drug, the world will soon know about it. Taken by mouth it is nonaddicting—though quite habituating. It confers a sense of well-being that continues for a very long time, with a mild tail-off and no sudden drop, no ‘crash’ as you would say. It has none of the side effects of the better-known drugs—opium and its derivatives; cocaine and its chemical look-alike cousin, crack; methamphetamine. You do not go off into listlessness and dreamland, as on opium products, nor do you experience the irritability and tendency to paranoia that are peculiar to cocaine and its imitators.”
“Sounds great,” Hob said. “Maybe I’ll try some sometime—when I’m in my own house, that is.”
Selim smiled. “You’ll try some right now, Mr. Draconian.”
“No,” Hob said. “Not interested.”
“I haven’t finished explaining the other aspect of soma. On the one hand, as I said, it is a drug with a tremendous money-making potential. A drug that the existing crime cartels—the various mafias, the Yakuza, the Triads—don’t have a finger in. Mr. Arranque and his colleagues deal with that side of the matter. On the other hand, for some of us, those of the inner circle, soma is a religious rite of paramount importance and considerable antiquity.”
“Is that a fact?” Hob said, because Selim had paused and seemed to be waiting for him to say something.
“Yes, it is. I do not expect the drug dealers we have assembled to take any cognizance of that aspect of it. But we of the inner council—we of the cult of Kali—consider it the most important aspect of all.”
“That’s very interesting,” Hob said. “But what I really want to know is, what are you going to do with me?”
“I’m coming to that,” Selim said. “Obviously no one wants you around for the opening of the hotel—and concurrently, the soma trade. At our request, Señor Arranque turned you over to us. We wish you to assist us in our ceremony of worship to the god Soma.”
“Oh, sure,” Hob said. “If you’d like me to hold a candle, or even join in the singing—I’ve a pretty good voice, you know—I’d be pleased to.”
“We had in mind a more important position for you. Are you familiar with the Greek term
pharmakos?
”
“I don’t believe I’ve come across that one,” Hob said. “Does it mean ‘guest of honor’?”
“In a way, it does. It’s a Greek word, but the custom comes from India. Literally, it means, ‘the sacred sacrifice.’ ”
Hob smiled to show he could take a joke as well as the next man. But Selim wasn’t smiling. His face was grave, and the look in his eyes was compassionate.
“Believe me,” Hob said, “you don’t want me for your sacrificial goat. My screams will take away from the seriousness of the occasion.”
“There’s no thought of forcing you against your will,” Selim said. “The victim has to be willing.”
“Guess that rules me out,” Hob said.
Selim pressed a button under his desk. The door opened and two large men entered. They went directly to Hob and held him down, one on each arm. Selim opened a table drawer and took out a gleaming hypodermic loaded with a greenish fluid.
“The usual dose is oral,” Selim said. “But that’s when soma is used as a recreational drug. It has a far more powerful effect when it’s injected.”
“No!” Hob screamed. It was a trite exclamation, but he was rushed for time and not in an inventive mood. Selim pushed the needle into his upper arm and slowly emptied the syringe into him. Then he stepped back, and the two men released Hob’s arms.
“And now,” Selim said, “I think you may want a little nap. There’s still time before the ceremony begins. You might even want a bit of refreshment.”
“I’m not doing this willingly!” Hob shouted.
“If you really decide against it when the time comes,” Selim said, “we’ll try to work out something else.”
Hob couldn’t think of an answer to that. He felt the room beginning to spin around him. Lights flashed in his eyes, and he heard the chords of an impossibly deep-throated organ. Then he passed out.
8
When Hob returned to consciousness, he discovered that a wonderful thing had happened. He had changed into a god. It was the nicest thing he could have hoped for. Someone had taken his handcuffs off. That saved him the trouble of floating out of them. He stood up—or rather levitated to his feet. Though his body looked about the same as he remembered it, he knew it had become unbelievably powerful and supple. In the center of his being, that area the ancient Greeks had called the
thumos
, his guts had been replaced by a compact power conversion system. It was capable not only of creating unlimited energy but also of converting food into the most amazing substances.