"But accurate?"
"It's going to be a very harsh world in the near future."
Lloyd-Ransom stood up. "If there are no questions I'll let you all get back to sleep."
"I've got one question."
"What's that?"
"Earlier, when you asked if any of us had any problems with the way you wanted things done, what would have happened if one of us had piped up that he or she didn't like the setup and wanted out?"
Lloyd-Ransom made a motion of his head in the direction of the remaining soldiers. His smile was cold.
"I would have had him or her shot out of hand."
"Harsh times."
"Remember that."
Lloyd-Ransom departed with his soldiers and his dogs. Everyone slumped slightly. Eggy shook his head.
"He's madder than I am."
"And he's our new bossman."
"I think I need a drink."
"You bastards never have to sleep with your fucking targets."
Debbie was standing, swaying badly. She had a large glass of straight vodka in her hand. After Lloyd-Ransom had left, nobody had bothered to go back to bed. The news had been too overwhelmingly dire. The whole group had started drinking. Uncharacteristically, Debbie had been the first to become emotional. Eggy was almost as drunk, but he was simply glum.
"I've fucked a target a couple of times. It wasn't no big thing."
"It was some casual weirdness, that's what it was. You didn't have to. They didn't give you a photograph and tell you 'Hey, get next to this one, flatter him, butter him up, suck his dick, lick his toes and only when the time is right can you turn around and zap him.' You know how that feels? You know how you get over that? You know how you keep it together when you've done it time after time, more times than you can remember?"
Fenton blearly shook his head. "Don't ask me. I'm just a thief."
"Nobody gives a damn, do they. Nobody cares a damn about how I feel."
Vickers looked at her blankly. If he hadn't been drunk he would have been surprised. He knew that there must have been all manner of strange, disturbing shit buried in Debbie's background but he'd never thought much about it. He hadn't expected that she'd start to fall apart after a few drinks. A few drinks, hell, he didn't think she'd fall apart after being told that a nuclear war was about to start. Something more than whiskey grabbed at his gut. He realized that he was refusing to believe it. He wasn't going to accept that it might be happening.
Debbie, meanwhile, was taking fast angry belts of her drink. She glared around belligerently.
"And another thing, I'm sick to my stomach of everybody calling me Debbie. 'Hey Debbie, Hi Debbie, How you doing Debbie, Smile Debbie, Show us your tits Debbie.' I've had it. My name is Debbie Rafael! You hear me? Debbie Rafael. That's what I want to be called. Fenton, Vickers, Parkwood and Rafael. No more Debbie."
"All they call me is Eggy."
"That's all the name you ever had. You don't have no more name than Eggy. I do. My name is Debbie Rafael and I want you bastards to start using it!" Abruptly she sagged, as though she'd finally run out of steam. She folded into a chair, her face creasing into self-pity. "I don't think I can handle any more of this."
Fenton tried to be drunkenly consoling.
"We all know it's going to be rough, but you can get through. We're all going to get through."
Debbie opened her mouth. At first no sound came but when it did it was a wail of pure, miserable anger.
"You don't have to survive the fucking end of the world with five women to every man!"
Debbie had such complete attention that nobody noticed Eggy grin and mutter to himself.
"Sure we do. Sure we do."
"I want to talk to you."
"You do?"
"I think we should take a little walk."
"Huh?"
Fenton took Vickers by the arm and steered him toward the door.
"Smile, make nice, nod your head real casual just in case someone's watching."
Vickers was beginning to feel the slightest bit alarmed. Fenton wasn't usually this elaborate and it indicated that there might be something major on his mind. Vickers allowed himself to be walked down to the nearest arterial corridor. They continued to walk with golf carts and freightlifts humming past them until they found an empty golf cart parked with its Vacant light on. Fenton slid behind the wheel and indicated that Vickers should get in. Vickers shrugged and did as he was asked. Fenton pulled out into the slow moving traffic.
"I expect you're wondering what this is all about."
"I'm curious."
"I just wanted to make sure that we had a little privacy."
"So what's wrong?"
"Not so much wrong, more interesting."
"So what's interesting?"
"There was another murder here last night."
"There was? Nobody tells me. I seem to be the forgotten man of profesional assassination."
"I did it."
"An official murder or a piece of your own moonlight?"
"Oh, it was quite official. A security officer called Hodding. They told me that he was a Red spy and he had to go."
"Hodding?"
"That's right."
Fenton was half grinning at Vickers. Vickers hoped his impassive expression was holding up.
"And Hodding was a Red spy?"
"That's what they said."
"Do the Reds have spies anymore?"
"He didn't look terribly Red. Looked more corporate to me. Also, he said the strangest thing before I shot him."
"Yeah, what?"
"When I got there, he was in the shower. A real Psycho job. Real Alfred Hitchcock. I ripped back the shower curtain and straight away he knew what I was at. He couldn't have missed, really, since I was holding this damn great automag in my fist at the time and pointing it straight at him." Fenton seemed to be enjoying himself. "He holds out his hands in front of him and says 'No, no, not me, it's Vickers that you want.'"
Despite Fenton's deadpan, almost humorous delivery, it was about as bad as it could get. Still, Vickers tried not to react.
"What did you do then?"
"I shot him. Then I walked away, pausing only to call the clean-up crew."
"What did you think he meant by 'it's Vickers you want'?"
Fenton grinned. "I thought you'd tell me."
"I spoke to him once."
"Yeah, I saw you."
"He seemed to think I was still working for Contec."
"And are you?"
"Does it look like it?"
"It could be hard to tell who you're working for."
"I'm working for Lloyd-Ransom except that I don't think he trusts me enough to give me anything to do."
Fenton didn't say anything. He went right on steering the golf cart, staring straight ahead. Vickers knew that he had to ask the question.
"Do you think anyone heard what he said? Apart from you, that is."
A slow smile spread over Fenton's face. He waited a few seconds before he answered. It occurred to Vickers that Fenton might be taking him somewhere to kill him. Fenton laughed as though he knew what Vickers was thinking.
"Worried?"
"I'm always worried."
"I don't think anyone heard him. The shower was running hard enough to confuse a microphone."
There was another pause. Again Fenton laughed.
"What's the matter? You trying to figure out a diplomatic way to ask me if I've told anyone?"
"Have you?"
"Not yet."
"Do you intend to?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"Why not? Fingering another Red agent would be automatic brownie points."
"That's if brownie points are all you're after. The way I see it, there's too much bullshit down here for me to put all of my eggs into one basket. You know what I mean?"
"I think so, but maybe you'd better go on so there's no room for a misunderstanding."