"All I felt was the sweats and a headache. I've got a really high tolerance to suggestion. I just get psychosomatic fever."
"You're lucky."
"Maybe."
"But why should they go to so much trouble to convince us that the end is at hand?"
Vickers stood up and went to get himself another drink.
"I would have thought that it was obvious. It's straight back to your mad prophet theory. Lutesinger and Lloyd-Ransom can't wait for Armageddon. It would make them kings of the world."
Parkwood pursed his lips.
"Of course. You're right. I was simply holding off from the ultimate."
"At least they're in no position to start a nuclear war themselves."
"Unless there's something we don't know."
Vickers raised his glass.
"That's always a risk."
Parkwood nodded. "Isn't it just."
The thought hung in the air. Vickers finished his screwdriver and decided he didn't need any more orange juice. He glanced at Parkwood.
"I'm going to switch to scotch, you want me to get you one?"
"Sure, why not."
As Vickers was pouring the whiskey, the main door to the group's quarters opened and Eggy walked in. His face was a picture of satisfaction.
"Still up?"
"Sure are."
"Drinking?"
"Uh-huh."
"Mind if I join you?"
"Go straight ahead."
Eggy poured himself a huge belt of Wild Turkey and dropped a couple of ice cubes into it. He turned and found that both Parkwood and Vickers were staring at him curiously.
"What do you guys want?"
"We want to know where you've been."
Eggy laughed, swallowed about half his drink and belched.
"I'll bet you do."
"Ah, come on, you can't come walking in here at this time of night and just grin at us like the cat that got the cream. Where's the cream, Eggy?"
"Yeah Eggy, what you got going?"
Eggy sat down.
"You want to know where I've been? You really want to know?"
"Sure we want to know. That's why we're sitting here staring at you."
Eggy leaned forward like a conspirator.
"I've been up in the women handlers' quarters. You wouldn't believe it. Some of those women take the five-to-one ratio very seriously."
"How long has this been going on?"
"A week. I ought to have thought of it earlier."
"You realize you're most likely under surveillance the whole time?"
Eggy shrugged.
"Fuck them. I hope they enjoy themselves. I'm not the only one. There's quite a few guys who drift up that way when they've got nothing to do."
Vickers and Parkwood glanced at each other. They both looked a little bemused. Eggy took another king-sized slug at his drink and looked around the room contentedly.
"You know something? I could almost get to like this place."
There was clearly something in the wind. Lamas and Deakin had arrived together. Both were immaculately turned out. Lamas with his height and his somewhat condescending casual sophistication, Deakin, ramrod stiff and more puffed up than usual. There was no doubt a major announcement was about to be handed down.
"What the fuck do you think Mutt and Jeff want?"
"I figure they'll be telling us pretty soon, the way Deakin's bouncing up and down."
The group gathered around the pair of uniformed officers with a single questioning expression. Lamas had obviously decided to let them sweat on the news for a few moments. He carefully fitted a cigarette into a black and silver holder.
"Gentlemen and lady…"
Debbie regarded him sourly but didn't say anything.
"… you'll be pleased to hear that, as of tomorrow, you'll be fully operative Phoenix Bunker security personnel."
"What did we do to deserve that?"
Lamas exhaled cigarette smoke straight at Eggy.
"Sometimes I wonder."
Parkwood stepped in before the exchange could be extended.
"Will we be assigned to a regular set of duties?"
"Actually no. In many respects you're all spare parts until such a time as the bunker is sealed. You'll be given missions from time to time but otherwise you'll be able to continue your life of leisure. As it happens, though, your first mission is tomorrow."
Debbie still looked distrustful.
"What kind of mission?"
"Very routine. A major celeb will be coming down into the bottoms with an entire entourage. There'll be blanket security. You'll all get individual briefings."
Fenton raised an eyebrow.
"Individual briefings?"
"You'll all be fulfilling slightly different functions."
Parkwood wasn't quite satisfied.
"How is this group going to be organized? Is one of us going to be put in charge or what?"
"You'll all have equal status under my command for the time being."
Eggy spat on the floor.
"All for one, one for all?"
Lamas smiled coldly.
"Look at it this way. You'll get to see the bottoms for the first time. They really are very impressive."
SIX
THE BOTTOMS WEREN'T impressive, they were magnificent. For a full five minutes after the group stepped out of the passenger elevator, nobody said a word. They moved as though in a dream, craning their necks like awestruck tourists. It seemed impossible that such opulence could exist in a place that had survival as a basic function. The centerpiece of this lowest, most exclusive strata of the bunker was a wide soaring airshaft that, as far as Vickers could see, extended almost to the surface and was at least a hundred feet across at its base. The style went back to the futurism of the first half of the twentieth century. Flying sweeps of molded glass, scrolls of white concrete balconies and catwalks, expanses of stainless steel and towering pylons. Much was made of lights and mirrors. Red and yellow laser beams crisscrossed between the walls of shaft and fiber optics hung in gently waving cascades. It was a luxury condominium off on a billion dollar fantasy. At the same time as with so much of the rest of the bunker's house style, there were echoes of the grandiose dictatorships-no dictator, though, had ever managed to piss away the astronomical sums of money that must have been consumed by this place. Even Adolf Hitler and his tame architect Albert Speer had done little more than dream about raising cathedrals to themselves. Lutesinger hadn't been kidding when he'd compared the bunker to the building of the pyramids. They were equal in their transcendental waste.
The floor of the bottom level was an expanse of black and white marble, an open piazza liberally dotted with rocklike abstract statues with titles like Courage, Industry or Fortitude, elaborate fountains and indoor trees kept alive by banks of growlites. There were even animals. Squirrels clung to the trunks of the trees, parrots and other bright tropical birds roosted in the top branches. Peacocks stalked across the polished marble, fanning their tails and letting go with their ugly squawks. The animals surprised Vickers, possibly more than anything else. He knew the bunker had an extensive zoo backed up by vast sperm banks. He hadn't expected to see critters running around loose. Directly beneath the center of the shaft there was a tall black obelisk and an eternal flame. It was a final and not very pleasant resemblance to a tomb.
"It's like a temple to mankind."
Deakin was positively glowing. Fenton parked his gum in his cheek.
"It's something, that's for sure."
Eggy glanced around. He seemed wide-eyed with glazed horror. He clearly didn't approve of the bottoms. There was something in its luxury that he took very personally.
Both Eggy and Fenton were hefting big.60 caliber frag guns, as indeed were Debbie, Eight-Man and Carmen Rainer. In the latter case the weapon coordinated perfectly with today's outlandish leather sado-suit. The guns worried Vickers. They were so totally inappropriate for indoor escort work. In fact, coupled with Lamas's "individual briefing," they radically curtailed Vickers' gosh-wow rubbernecking. The "briefing" had been so short and concise that it was virtually non-existent. Lamas had come into Vickers' private cubicle while he was still dressing. He'd closed the door and sat down on the bed.