The War of Immensities (22 page)

“Only bit of
the equipment I haven’t really tested yet,” he said, as if by way
of explanation.

His penis was
huge! She stared for a moment and then craned her head back and
closed her eyes and indeed his penetration caused her some pain,
but the rest of her senses understood it as pleasure. As he thrust,
she was forced up the rock until her head and shoulders hung over
the edge of a thousand feet of thin air.

Terror replaced
the pain—as first she gripped the fabric of his shoulders in
desperation but then, strangely, she began to relax. Somehow there
was a surety with which the stone gripped her back and buttocks and
she knew she would not fall. She released her grip and threw her
arms wide over the edge and opened her eyes.

Upside-down,
the glorious multi-hued vista opened up to her and the blood rushed
to her head in a way not unlike the orgasm shortly to follow.
Throughout, it was as if the stone rather than the man was the
force that gripped her passionately. “Hey, Honey, where you goin’?”
he asked, between panting breaths.

When she was
done, he withdrew—she had no idea whether he had come or not, so
little attention did she pay him. He grabbed her by the ankles and
dragged her back to a more secure position on the stone.

“Thought you
were going right over the side,” he gasped, once his breathing
returned to him.

She did not
reply. The stone’s rough loving hands cried for more of her and she
rolled over onto her belly and pushed herself against it as tightly
as she could. She spread her hands and clutched the basalt and
pushed her cheek down until it pained and her belly and breasts
tried to absorb the rock inside themselves.

Perhaps he
mistook it as an invitation but in any case he entered her from
behind and began to thrust again, and the more he crushed himself
down upon her, the more she was squashed against the stone but her
desire to be part of it became all the more unquenchable.

When he finally
grunted out his orgasm and departed, she felt completely splattered
upon the rock, like an old blob of birdshit or the contents of a
dropped bottle, or perhaps even a part of it, like a growth of
moss, but certainly not anything separate and discrete.

All the way
from her toes to her fingertips, she sought a totality of touch. “I
love you, I love you, I love you,” she breathed.

It never
occurred to her that the man might have thought she was referring
to him.

They were
waiting for him. He returned the truck to the yard and walked home,
ambling along hands in pockets, through the chill of the night,
along suburban streets where no one ever strolled at night. These
nice safe streets with good lighting and good footpaths, nature
strips, low fences if any, only a few cars not slipped into garages
with automatic doors. There was no one else. In such places,
everyone drove and no one walked. You could be murdered or
assaulted and no one would know—unless your screams for help were
able to carry the distance and overcome the television voices. But
no one was ever murdered, nor assaulted. Not here. The only fatal
incidents possible were motor accidents and illness. No gangs of
kids hung out at the local milk bar and even the packs of domestic
dogs that once foraged out here were now locked up at night.
Everyone was locked up at night, in brick veneer houses with
burglar alarms, thinking themselves safe. While the very planet
they lived on was shaking itself to pieces.

As was his
life, he realised, when he arrived at his house and saw Larry’s car
parked on the driveway. He let himself in and tried to slip into
his chair in front of the television as if it was just any other
evening. The X-files was on—bloody perfect. How could he make what
he had to say believable under these circumstances? Judy sat at one
end of the sofa, Larry at the other. Cups on the coffee table said
tea and chocolate cake had been served and a glass for Larry’s
scotch. He wondered if they had sat so far apart all evening—it was
a set-up anyway—he had telephoned to warn them he was coming.

No one spoke.
Perhaps they were waiting for an ad. Feeling decidedly like an
intruder in his own home, he decided to head off toward the
bedrooms instead.

“Where are you
going?” Judy asked sharply.

“See the
kids.”

“They’re
asleep. Leave them alone.”

“I better be
going,” Larry interjected, slapping his thighs as he stood.

“We’ll all stay
here and talk about this,” Judy demanded. Mulder and Scully were
entering a dark building with torches flashing—how could anyone
talk about anything at such a time.

“What do you
want me to say?” Carrick asked, still standing, still on his way to
see the kids.

“Who were those
people?” Judy demanded.

Carrick could
not help smiling at the way a man like Thyssen might have described
himself.

“Who they said
they were,” he offered.

“They were
doctors. Looking for you. They just walk in here and take over and
give no explanation. Off they go. What the hell is going on,
Brian?”

Carrick
shrugged. He would have liked, had he been able, to give Thyssen’s
explanation right now, but could hardly remember any of it.

“I have a
condition. They are studying it.”

“What
condition?”

“That’s what
they’re trying to find out.”

“Well I want to
find out too. But I’m using doctors we can trust—not strangers from
foreign countries. It’s all arranged.”

“What’s
arranged?”

She paused,
glancing at Larry who stood with his head bowed, unable to raise
his eyes. Judy lowered her own voice and tried to adopt a
reasonable tone.

“When you went
this time, I said: that’s it. You need treatment, right away.”

“I don’t need
treatment. I’m perfectly...”

“Keep your
voice down. You’ll wake the kids.”

He shut up. In
his agitation, he knew that everything he said and did now would
only serve to prove her contention. Think of the kids, he told
himself. Keep it simple. He moved to confront them directly, trying
to look as unthreatening as possible.

“What, exactly,
have you arranged?” he asked softly.

Again she
needed to look to Larry for aid, and this time Good Old Reliable
forced himself to meet his responsibilities.

“You gotta
understand, mate,” Larry said. “You just can’t go on like this.
Causes all sorts of problems. Tryin’ to explain to the kids and the
neighbours. Stealing trucks. It’s gotta stop.”

“I put your
bloody truck back!”

“Sure. I ain’t
worried about that. It’s you we’re worried about. What’s good for
you.”

“Just leave me
alone.”

“We gotta think
of your wellbeing.”

“I’m okay.”

“No, mate. No,”
Larry said and moved to stand directly in front of him, gripping
his shoulders. “You ain’t even nearly okay, mate. You got a problem
and we’re all here for you. You gotta believe that’s why we done
what we done.”

Carrick eyed
him suspiciously. “Just exactly what have you done?”

“You gotta...
You are to report to the local cop shop, mate. That’s all.”

“Why? Are you
having me arrested?”

“Not arrested,
no. You gotta be put somewhere where you can get some
treatment.”

“Like where?
The loony bin?”

“Nothing like
that. It’s called a Trauma Centre...”

“You can’t do
this.”

“It’s done,
mate. Judy signed the papers and the cops are waiting. Either you
go there or they come here and get you.”

“This is
totally unnecessary. Call Doctor Campbell and ask her.”

“I did,” Judy
put in. “She tried to tell me there was nothing wrong with you. But
I also spoke to Dr Mangels and we are following his advice.”

Carrick sighed.
Was there a way out of this? It was too silly for words, but he
knew he needed to keep control now or else it would get right out
of hand. He burned to smash Larry’s sympathetic face, and Judy’s...
No. Nothing like that. Stay calm.

“I want to see
the kids first.”

“You can’t.”
Judy said firmly. “They aren’t here. We had them removed when we
knew you were on your way.”

“What? There’s
no danger...”

“We can’t know
that. This is how hostage situations develop. We had to take
precautions.”

“You think I’m
that bad?”

“It wasn’t
worth the risk.”

“There’s no
risk. None at all. I’m calm. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Then there
won’t be any problem, Brian,” Larry was saying. “Sooner we start,
the sooner we finish.”

Carrick eyed
them, one then the other. Larry was right. The sooner this ended
the better. The two people he trusted most had betrayed him
completely. There was nothing to be done after that. The numbness
of shock had a firm grip on him, enfeebling him in every way.

“What do you
want me to do?” he murmured.

When a man
walked into his office and shot him in the middle of the chest, Joe
Solomon was forced to make a determination. The young man had shot
him with a paint-ball gun, splashing red dye all over his
shirt.

“It’s just to
show you how slack security is around here,” Cecily trumpeted. The
`assassin’ had been her boyfriend.

“The security
isn’t slack,” Gloria mused. “It doesn’t exist.”

What did they
expect? Since he had become a cripple—`physically challenged’ some
idiot always chortled when he described himself that way—and they
moved the chambers to the ground floor, putting ramps in and
opening up spaces to accommodate the wheelchair, the result was
easy access, not just for him but for anyone. Although he could not
imagine why anyone would want to shoot him, the girls insisted on
protection and so he had no choice but to call Barney Touhey. He
had won a case for Barney years ago when Touhey Security Systems
was feeling the economic pinch and Joe had accepted only slight
payment. But Barney was a good bloke and would help out anyway,
even if there wasn’t an unspoken debt.

“But who’d want
to shoot me?” he protested again when Barney arrived.

“Great bloke
like you, Joe. Not an enemy in the world, hey?” Barney
chuckled.

“Having good
friends is the basis of this business,” Joe muttered.

“A man is
measured by quality of his enemies, Joe. You sure?”

“Yeah, well, in
your line of business, you’d have to believe that, wouldn’t
you.”

“Well, Joe,
let’s see. You got elected to the City Council again, I
noticed.”

“Fifth time in
a row.”

“So there’s all
them crooked traders you defeated and all those who would vote for
them, and the opposition in every issue that you fight, and the
people that affects. How about all them for starters?”

“I fight for
seats at bus stops and unfair dismissal cases—gentle stuff. If I
was to take on the larger traders and the corruption in the
re-zoning system or stuff like that, I’d understand.”

“Why don’t
you?”

“There’d be no
one left on the council, nor trading in the city, except me.”

“But they all
love you.”

“They don’t
care about me.”

“Then there’s
all those accident compensation cases you fight in the courts for
employees against their employers—large corporations mostly—am I
right?”

“You don’t
shoot a bloke because he wins a few Workcare cases.”

“You sued the
State Government for twenty-five cents, didn’t you?”

“It was a
matter of principle.”

“But they all
love you.”

“Okay, okay,
I’m getting the point.”

“And then
there’s the Union cases against the big corps for illegal
dismissals and lock-outs and pay cuts and safety breaches and god
knows what. No enemies amongst all them?”

“I said you
made your point.”

Barney Touhey
laughed outright. Joe Solomon wasn’t used to losing arguments—he
had been winning them against the best QCs and judges in the
business for decades—but he was losing this one. That was what
being personally involved did to you. Except, it was said that Joe
Solomon got personally involved in all his cases...

“So, what
security do I need, Barney?”

“Hardly any.
You got two assets. One is that even the cruellest assassin isn’t
likely to shoot a bloke in a wheelchair.”

“That kid
did.”

“He only loaded
tomato sauce. And he was doing you a favour. Which leads us to your
second asset. No one gets past that bunch of harridans you keep in
the front of the office.”

Joe groaned. He
was losing an argument against a bloke who contradicted
himself.

“That bunch of
harridans, as you so decently call them, happen to be some of the
best legal minds and administrators in the business.”

“Never seen
such a bunch of ugly women in all my life.”

Joe groaned
again. The joke in the business was that his staff had been chosen
by his wife, but that wasn’t true. The legal profession admitted
women aplenty these days, but only if they looked great in a black
mini-suit. And for that reason, Joe was able to collect a fine
array of talented women who no one else wanted because they didn’t
have the figures and faces of film stars. He gave them a go because
no one else would, and was rewarded with a fierce loyalty and
efficiency that had made his firm the top labour legal service in
the state. And it had remained so even throughout his long period
of his convalescence.

“Look, you do
me a submission of what we need and give it to Clarissa. Let the
girls decide. Okay?”

“Sure,” Barney
laughed. “Don’t know why I’m botherin’ to talk to you anyway.”

“Let’s call it
a courtesy,” Joe said and, perhaps only to change the subject,
heard himself adding. “There’s something else I want you to do for
me.”