chapter seven

In another country, two people were talking. Andrew waited for his train of thoughts to carry him across the border, towards the voices, and away from the land of nod. The train, as usual, was running late.

"Honestly, Officer, it was a purely instinctive reaction, I didn't mean to do it; it certainly wasn't premeditated because the whole situation came right out of the blue." It was Brian.

"Never the less, I'm afraid ..." the second voice paused and there was a rustle of paper.

"Oh, Officer, you seem to have dropped something," said Brian.

"What? Oh, yes, so I have. I really should be more careful."

"You were saying?"

 "Yes, I think under the circumstances, since it was done without malice afore‑thought - as we say in the trade - we can forget the whole thing. Of course the gentleman will have to forfeit his turn as assassin."

"Oh yes, naturally," said Brian.

"All right then, sir, I'll bid you good day, and I hope your ... um er ... I hope Mr Smith makes a rapid recovery."

"Thank you Officer. Goodbye."

A door opened and closed; a few moments later Andrew heard a loud and angry exchange going on in the corridor. The door opened again and another voice, full of wrath and contempt, shrieked; "I'll get you next time, you bastard, and you won't be able to cheat or bribe your way out of it then!" The door slammed shut again.

Andrew opened his eyes and was relieved to see that he was in hospital. The way he felt - terrible - it was the best place for him. He propped himself up on one elbow and said, "What the hell happened? Oh shit, yeah, I remember; he shot me!"

"He shot at you," said Brian. "Fortunately I pushed you out of the way, and, what was even more fortunate, I pushed you under a car."

"I fail to see anything fortunate about being hurled into the path of a speeding car."

"That's what saved your life."

"Come again?"

"If I had merely pushed you to the ground, he could easily have taken another shot at you."

Andrew glanced down to see why his leg felt so strange. "Hey, my leg is broken!" It was covered in plaster.

"That's why he couldn't shoot again. Both the assassin and the victim have to be in the same state of physical health. As soon as you broke your leg, he had the advantage, and so was forced to abort his attack."

"So, now it's my turn to get him, eh? I'll show that swine how -"

"No," interjected Brian, "he retains the role of assassin because I broke the rules by interfering. But you do have a two-week respite while your leg heals."

"Will I get time off work?"

"You could claim you had Victim's Stress caused by a harrowing assassination attempt."

"Great, let's take a holiday."

"Holiday?" repeated Brian blankly.

"Yes, we could go away for a couple of weeks," said Andrew, warming to the idea.

"Away?" said Brian, apparently still nonplussed.

"Yes Brian. WE GO AWAY ON HOLIDAY," enunciated Andrew. "We could go to the seaside, or even another city. Hey, I've just realized; I don't even know the name of this city."

"I can't go on holiday," blurted Brian.

"Why not?"

"Because ... because I don't have any holiday time left this year. We'll have to wait till next year. Besides, you haven't been paid yet - you can't afford a holiday."

"I suppose you're right; I'll have to make do with exploring this place. What is it called?" said Andrew.

"Now be practical, Andrew. You've got a broken leg; you can't go roaming around the city."

"BRIAN?" shouted Andrew.

"Yes?"

"WHAT IS THE NAME OF THIS CITY?"

"It's ... uh ... it's called Newtown."

"Great name," said Andrew sarcastically. "Why didn't you want to tell me the name? In fact, it sounded as though you didn't even know."

"Don't be stupid, of course I knew, I thought you were joking. They must have told you all those kinds of things at your briefing - surely you haven't forgotten it all so soo ‑" Brian stopped in mid‑word, his massive jaw hung open. "Oh, Andrew how could you?"

"What? What have I done?" said Andrew his eyes wide, in protest of his innocence.

"You've changed," answered Brian bitterly.

"Ah, you mean my badge has changed? Well that's great," said Andrew smiling and then more hesitantly, "isn't it?"

Brian sobbed and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his head hung down, his eyes fixed on his hands resting in his lap.

Andrew sat up and put his arm around Brian's shoulder. He felt genuinely sorry for him.

"Now look, Brian," said Andrew gently, "you know things haven't been that good between us. You should be happy. Now you'll get someone who'll suit you better. We were never really destined for each other. It was all a big mistake; my badge got mixed up."

During this little speech Brian's face went from an expression of sadness, through surprise and astonishment and on to horror. By the time it had reached its peak, fear, he was standing by the door. His hand fumbled for the handle, his eyes fixed firmly on Andrew. "Yes that's what must have happened; your badge got mixed up. Now you just sit there, I'll be right back," said Brian in a shaky voice, he opened the door and stepped outside. Andrew could hear him running down the corridor.

"Shit, why didn't you remind me?" said Andrew turning accusingly to the Adviser. But the Adviser wasn't there to be blamed, the column was still protruding from Andrew's shoulder, but the black ball had gone. He slid off the bed, landing on his 'good' leg and hopped over to a wardrobe which stood in the corner of the room. He flung the door open and was pleased to see that it contained men's clothes. He grabbed for the trousers and then realized that, with his leg in a cast, he would be far better off with a skirt. There wasn't one so he made do with a bath robe. On a shelf above the hanging clothes, he noticed a black sphere. "Hey Adviser, are you working?"

"There you go again, referring to me as if I were some kind of household appliance," complained the annoyed sphere.

"Look, there's no time for this crap. I made a big mistake, I said some things about the badge. Now Brian thinks I'm completely psychotic; he's gone off to tell the doctors. I've got to get out of here right now," Andrew explained urgently. "Do you want to come?"

"Forget it! You'd never make it; you can't even run. Put me back on, get back into bed and do everything I say. Remember you're the only one who can hear me, so don't keep looking at me as if I'm saying something."

"But you said they'd turn my brain into a telephone exchange."

"They will if you don't do exactly as I say," warned the Adviser.

Andrew picked up the Adviser; there was circular hole in it; he placed this hole over the column on his shoulder and pushed; it clicked into place.

"Good, now quick, get back into bed," urged the Adviser.

Andrew was still pulling the sheet up to his chest when the door opened. A tall man in a white coat stood at the doorway. Behind him were two other men, also dressed in white. They were shorter and looked as if they would be more at home standing outside a night club wearing dark suits and bow‑ties. The tall man gestured for them to stay outside. "It's all right, you can come in, it's quite safe," he said to Brian who was standing nervously behind the two other men.

"Are you sure, Doctor?" said Brian.

"Trust me," said the doctor. He held the door open as Brian entered, then shut it behind him. Both men moved to stand at the end of the bed.

"Is that you, mother?" said Andrew in as pathetic a voice as he could muster - as instructed by the Adviser.

"No, my name is Doctor Edwards. Why would you think it was your mother?"

"She's the only one who can help me, the only one who isn't against me, and it's no good trying to pretend you're not because ... I know."

The doctor picked up a clip‑board which hung at the foot of Andrew's bed. "Hmm," he muttered, "new immigrant ... first encounter with assassin ... transvestite and married ... to you?" he queried turning to Brian.

"He is," Brian replied, "but his badge is beginning to change so I don't know how long it will last."

"So he'll have nowhere to live. Has he got any money?"

Brian shook his head.

"My life," said Andrew gravely, "has always been a peanut and raisin-flavoured porcupine."

"Yes, it's as I thought," said Doctor Edwards ignoring Andrew's outburst. "I've seen this kind of thing a hundred times. Did you really think I was that dumb, you slimy scheming fraud?" He stared venomously at Andrew.

"What are you talking about?" said Andrew forgetting to wait for the Adviser's prompt.

"Hah!" said the doctor and turned to Brian. "It's not a new trick by any means. They come in here, make a few insane remarks about life, or, in this case, his badge, fake some form of psychosis. Most do it better than him. Then, if we don't spot them in time, we spend a fortune of taxpayers' money putting them through a thorough psychological test only to discover there's nothing wrong with them. After that, they get a year's stress rehabilitation, no assassins, free board and lodgings at some holiday resort. There ought to be a law against it; I know if I had my way ..." his voice faded away as if his preferred course of treatment was far too ghastly for polite conversation.

"What will happen to him now? I couldn't bear to have him back at my house," said Brian.

"No, we'll keep him here. I'll put him on Accelerated Bone Repair Therapy. It's expensive, but at least it means we can throw him out in five or six days."

"Thank you, Doctor. The very idea of having to play nurse‑maid to a miserable low‑life like him, makes my skin crawl."

"Brian!" said Andrew shocked by the force of Brian's hatred.

Brian didn't say anything but gave him a look that Andrew felt should have been reserved for an habitual child‑molester.

The Doctor and Brian left the room.

"Wow, that was a bit heavy," said Andrew still reeling from the animosity of his visitors.

"Better than having your brain connected up to a few thousand telephone lines," consoled the Adviser.

"They don't really do that, do they?"

"Sure they do. The human brain is the cheapest computer on the market, and the most powerful. A little bit of micro‑surgery and you can get it to run almost anything."

"Well, your electronic one is pretty good, too. That was a brilliant plan."

"It's a pity it didn't work."

"How can you say that? It worked perfectly."

"Thanks to your atrocious acting, we missed out on a year in some charming seaside resort," said the Adviser, obviously irked.

"Well, at least I don't have to spend the next six months pretending to be a celibate Gay, which I think must be a contradiction in terms."

"Oh, that's okay then, as long as you're all right - don't worry about me!"

"Well, I ... Um."

"I suppose you think my only purpose in life is to advise you. I'm just some labour‑saving device, with no more importance than a vacuum cleaner or an electric toothbrush!"

"Well, er yes, actually I was, sort of, thinking along those lines," said Andrew wondering if it was wise to be so honest.

"Typical! Never think of anyone but yourself. In all the time we've been together you haven't once asked me how I feel. It's of no importance to you whether I'm happy or sad. You don't care that I may have my own ambitions, my own needs and desires."

"All right then," said Andrew belligerently, "what do you want to do with your life?"

"Well," began the Adviser, embarrassed at being caught without an answer, "for the time being I'm quite content to help you get through life. But," it continued more confidently, "as soon as I've thought of something that I want to do, I shall expect you to co-operate."

"Okay, that seems fair," said Andrew and then added in a barely audible mumble; "depending on what you want to do." He quickly continued in a normal voice, "Meanwhile, what do you think I should do about my - our - present predicament?"

"First, phone your work and let them know you won't be in this week."

"I think I can manage that," Andrew reached across to the telephone which lay on the beside‑table and picked up the receiver. "Hello, can I have an outside line please? ... Yes okay, just put it on the bill, ... Thanks." He dialled the number of Dorian's office. "Hi, Dorian? ... It's Andrew ... not too good actually, I've broken my leg ... I tried to trip‑up a passing car ...  no, that's right; not until next week. I'm sorry about this ... okay thanks ... Oh, one other thing, what's the name of this city? ... yes of course ... I think I'm still shaken up after the accident. ... yeah, thanks. See you next week. Goodbye," He replaced the receiver.

"Why did you ask him what city this was?" said the Adviser.

"While you were in the cupboard, I asked Brian the same thing and he behaved as if he didn't know, I had the distinct impression that he made it up! But presumably he didn't because Dorian gave me the same name."

"So that's why your badge is changing - you're turning paranoid."

"Very funny," said Andrew dryly. "Did you know that I missed most of the briefing?"

"No, but that would certainly explain a lot. That briefing also contained certain hypnotic suggestions designed to help you adjust to this new way of life."

"Yeah, I know. I picked up at least one - an advertisement which almost got me killed," said Andrew.

"They have to put a few of them in, to subsidize the immigration program."

"Are there many immigrants?"

"Oh yes, hundreds in this city alone."

"Strange, I haven't seen any of them," said Andrew thoughtfully.

"I'm sure you have; you just didn't notice them."

"It's hard to miss someone wandering around with a black ball sticking out of their shoulder!"

"Don't forget how preoccupied you've been recently, what with one thing or another."

"Hmmm, maybe," said Andrew, unconvinced.

"As soon as your leg is fixed up, we'll go to an immigrants' club, then perhaps you'll believe me."

"I suppose," said Andrew pensively, "that if there were some kind of conspiracy, you would be the last person I should trust."

"That makes sense. Fortunately for us, there is no mysterious conspiracy. But if there were, what do you think I, and my fellow conspirators, would stand to gain by deceiving you?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"It seems to me that there are a lot of things about which you have absolutely no idea. The badge, for instance, have you thought about that?" complained the Adviser becoming irritated again.

"Well, a bit."

"Have you, by any chance, thought what a wonderful thing it is? Do you realize that, through this device, everyone - and by everyone I mean everyone who doesn't smash theirs up and attempt to rebuild it - everyone has their ideal job, everyone is married - if that suits their character - to the perfect mate; everyone has regular, guilt-free sex with matched partners and nobody gets stuck with a job, mate or sexual fetish which no longer suits them," said the Adviser getting carried away by its own rhetoric.

"Some of that had occurred to me, but I probably would have appreciated it more if it had been more in tune with my own needs and desires."

"And what of the Assassin/Victim system? Don't tell me its benefits to life have also escaped your attention? Man's basic hunter instinct harnessed to the good of all; providing the excitement necessary in everyone's otherwise humdrum existence, keeping the population at a reasonable level, continuing nature's survival‑of‑the‑fittest policy and making each moment of life more precious and so more enjoyable."

If the Adviser had had a fist, it would have been banging on the table by now.

"Yes, I recall a similar lecture on that, which you gave with almost as much fervour yesterday, or was it the day before?"

"It doesn't matter when I gave it. What matters is whether you remember it and understand it. Did I also point out the role that destiny has to play in alleviating anxiety about the future?"

"Yes you did. Please let's not go through it all again," said Andrew.

"Repetition is the key‑stone of learning."

"It's also the linchpin of boredom, not to mention the first cuckoo of brain‑washing."

"I think you should leave the metaphors to me, I don't think you've quite got the hang of them."

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