Fortuna Page 11

  “What’s happening?” Carolyn whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Felix whispered back. “It looks like people are robbing the place.”

  Six men dressed in police uniforms were standing at different points in the café. They were brandishing guns and pointing them all over. One of them, a giant moose of a man, was again yelling something at the room in Swedish. Four “cops” started scanning the crowd with blue lights in hand. When a woman closed her eyes, she was hit with a rifle and knocked to the floor.

  “They’re seeing if we’re fitted for ERR,” Felix said.

  “How do you know?” Carolyn asked. She was clutching a fork. While she looked ridiculous, Felix knew she could use it. Her face was hard and her voice was drained of emotion.

  “ERR is a big deal here,” Felix murmured. “The theos hate it and worship God; the rats love it and believe in reason. When I was in the subway? Some guys scanned me with lights like these. Luckily they were theos and left me alone.”

  “What about these thugs? Are they rats or theos?”

  Felix eyed them closely. By now they’d tested out half the crowd and found six victims who’d failed the test. These diners had been forced to their feet and escorted to the door. All looked frightened and three were crying.

  “They’re after people who are ERR-free.” Felix gulped. “So they’re rats, not theos.”

  “Will they nab you, too?” she asked.

  There wasn’t time to answer. Three men drew up and aimed their rifles at them. Clutching Carolyn’s chin, one thug scanned her eyes with practised ease. An instant later, he freed her with a grunt of approval. He then grabbed Felix who tried to drain himself of feelings. Hardening his features, he acted as if nothing fazed him, not the plague, not his mission, not his father’s guilt …

  He didn’t fool anyone.

  “We’ve got one,” his “inspector” yelled — at least that’s what Felix thought he said. Hearing this, the other two hauled him to his feet and marched him to the exit with the other victims. Carolyn made to intervene, but Felix signalled no.

  As abruptly as they’d entered, the gangsters left, herding their victims out into the snow. Four ladies were wearing only their gowns and trembled in the cold. An older man skidded in a pile of slush, causing a guard to slap him roughly. The group was led a distance down the street until they reached an alley where a van lay waiting. A scan van, Felix guessed.

  The leader halted and addressed his henchmen. They opened the double doors to the van, revealing two stools and two helmets dangling from the ceiling. These devices were more primitive than the ones back home, but their purpose was clear: they were neuro-implants. A woman wailed upon seeing them. Put off by her show of fear, the head guy searched for a calmer target. Spying Felix, he pointed him out. Two men pushed him to the start of the van. The leader spoke.

  “I don’t speak Swedish,” Felix answered in English. “I’m from Toronto.”

  “You are Canadian,” the leader spoke, in English, too. “Welcome to Sweden. When you leave our country, you’ll be a different person.”

  “I’m not a theo,” Felix said. “Where I come from, we don’t worship any god.”

  “In that case, you won’t notice if your feelings go missing. Ta sig till arbetet!” he called to his men. Felix assumed he was telling them to get to work.

  “You have no right!” he yelled, as he was shoved into the van and slammed down on a stool. He tried to argue further, but a goon thrust one of the helmets down.

  “We have every right,” the leader said. “As men of honour, we must fix your wiring. If we don’t turn you into a rat like us, you’ll one day turn us into theos like you. And we’re doing you a service. You’ll see what the world is like when emotions aren’t clouding your every impression.” There was a metallic click as a switch was thrown.

  The next few seconds were otherworldly. Felix’s mind was suddenly clear and sharp as a computer. Click click click. These men would free him once the ERR kicked in. Otherwise why turn him into a rat? And Clavius? Click click click. He had to get into the concert hall. That meant … click click click … they needed tickets to get past the guards, but stealing them wasn’t the best solution. So … click click click … they would have to disguise themselves as security men. This in turn would require them … click click click … to “borrow” uniforms from these rats. And once inside the hall…? Click click click. They would need nice clothes to blend in with the crowd. Where would they acquire these? Click click click. Enar and his sister were the perfect source. How would they procure them? Click click click. They could “buy” their outfits with the rest of the tobacco….

  Even as his mind worked like a machine, he could feel something precious slipping away. Everything seemed sharper, yes, but far more removed. He didn’t care that he was being handled roughly or that the tearful lady was set to go next. He didn’t care about Clavius, or Carolyn and Stephen, or the troubling issue of his father’s guilt. He felt no worry, no fear, no satisfaction. Wait. There was a glint of sadness, but suddenly … it was gone. His emotions seemed like a sheet of light, which, with each passing instant, was receding further and further. There. It was a point in the distance. Any moment it would shatter and …

  It didn’t shatter. Instead it hurtled back at him and trapped him in its folds. He felt all sort of stirrings, fear, concern, worry, jubilation. At the same time, hell was breaking loose outside. The ERR helmet was snatched away and tossed against the wall of the van. There were shouts and grunts and roars of pain.

  He opened his eyes. He saw Carolyn punch the head rat in the jaw. Her leg knocked a second rat down, causing him to drop his gun, which she retrieved and pointed at the leader. His henchmen froze. They saw that she was fast and resistance was useless. When she motioned them to drop their guns, they did so quickly.

  “Tell the captives they can leave,” she yelled in Common Speak.

  Felix shook his head. While he hated what these thugs were doing, he couldn’t cause a butterfly effect. It was the “fate” of these theos to be turned into rats. At the same time …

  “You said you’re men of honour?” he asked the leader.

  “We are,” the man answered. “Not that you would understand….”

  “I’ll return your gun,” Felix continued, realizing the weapon had a future of its own, “but you must give me two uniforms and swear you won’t attack us.”

  “What about these theos?” The leader motioned to the captives.

  “Treat them as you please.” Felix said this coldly, but his guilt had him on the verge of puking. A lady overheard him. She wailed and her tears made him feel like a heel.

  “Then I swear to abide by your conditions.”

  The exchange was concluded. A minute later, Felix and Carolyn were walking off, with two uniforms in hand. For their part, the rats were back at work on the theos. Two of them were being placed in the van, sobbing at the thought that they would lose their emotions.

  Knowing he’d resigned them to their fate, Felix thought that he was guilty of murder.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The hall almost cracked apart as the Stockholm Philharmonic brought their performance to a climax. Horns, violins, trumpets, and drums blended together in one wall of sound, lifting the audience off their plush-lined seats. The roar was sonorous and brilliantly ordered, yet conveyed a wild range of emotion: rage and triumph and sadness and joy. While Felix had heard lots of music on disc, he’d never seen a live performance before and the effect was … stupefying. He’d never felt so moved and had to wrestle back his tears.

  His plan had worked out beautifully. After leaving the rats, they’d hurried back to the café where they’d swapped his tobacco for a tuxedo and an evening gown. They’d changed into the uniforms which they’d taken from the rats and hurried to the concert hall where they’d mixed in with the security staff. Getting inside had been a breeze. In a changing room, they’d slipped into their fancy dress: Carolyn had helped Fel
ix with his tie, while he’d fiddled with the zipper on her gown. Finding two seats at the back of the hall, they’d watched the ceremonies slowly unfold. There’d been speeches, presentations, and lots of music. Felix felt paralyzed, he was so deeply stirred.

  But he had a job to do. As the orchestra fell silent and the audience clapped, he scanned the hall for the hundredth time. Blue and yellow lights flooded the stage, which was crowded with dignitaries on throne-like chairs. Above them was a balcony with the Stockholm Philharmonic. Towering above the players was a massive organ whose array of pipes rose up to the ceiling, thick with spotlights, catwalks, and speakers.

  The audience was standing. They numbered in the hundreds and looked … beautiful. The men were handsome in their black-and-white tuxedoes, while the women were stunning in their flowing gowns, the bright lights toying with their necklaces and bracelets. There were flowers everywhere, banners everywhere, and the hall was fragrant with soap, roses, eau de cologne, cognac, peppermint, chocolate, and perfume.

  “What do you think?” he asked Carolyn. By now the audience had sat back down.

  “It’s very busy,” she reflected. A moment later she added, “But it is spectacular.”

  “I’m glad we no longer go to war,” he mused. “But why is there nothing like this where we come from? Why don’t we have orchestras still?”

  “They’re impractical,” she answered with a shrug. “Besides, the music is just a lot of stirred-up feeling. If they existed in our time, we would still be at war.”

  Felix was going to say what a pity this was, but a gentleman took centre stage and called for quiet. He was a tall, bearded man with a dignified bearing and had lines of medals pinned to his tuxedo. A near-transparent screen was lowered from the ceiling and floated just above his head.

  “What’s that screen for?” Carolyn whispered.

  “I’m not sure. We’ll soon find out.”

  “And why’s he holding a stick?”

  “It’s a cane. He’s old and uses it to help him stand. But shh, let’s listen.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the old man spoke in Swedish. Instantly his words were translated on the screen, in English, Russian, Chinese, Arabic, Spanish, French, German, and Hindi. “That rendition of the New World Symphony was a fitting introduction to our next Nobel recipient, a young gentleman whose intellect is as rare as it is rarefied. Before receiving his award from our beloved king,” here the gentleman bowed to a seated figure on his left, a clean-shaven thirty-year-old who smiled at the audience, “our young laureate would like to speak a few words. Without further ado, I give you Dr. Johann Clavius.”

  The crowd stood and applauded madly as a young man mounted the podium. Even from a distance, Felix recognized his features. Johann Clavius. His build was average and his face was plain, but the very air seemed to crackle around him, as if charged by the enormity of his scientific prowess. At the same time his posture was slightly bowed, as if he were shouldering a great disappointment.

  Felix felt on edge, the way he would before a game of Halo Ball. Carolyn felt the same. She was sitting up straight and her muscles were strained.

  “That’s him,” she said.

  “Yes. Keep your eyes open. If the assassin’s going to strike, it will happen any moment.”

  Carolyn nodded. Felix was surprised to see how focused she was. A moment before she’d seemed half asleep, whereas now her every sense was primed. He smiled at her. Again to his shock, she smiled back. She actually smiled.

  “Your highnesses, ladies and gentlemen, fellow Nobel laureates,” Clavius began, once the crowd had settled, “as you know I’m being honoured today for my work in ERR — a shorthand form for Emotional Range Reduction — which my research has made possible. While I can’t express sufficient thanks to the Nobel Committee for awarding me this prize, I confess I suspect a mistake has been made and they have chosen someone who is most unworthy.

  “In the past most discoveries have allowed humans to lead better lives. They have empowered us to produce goods cheaply, to travel places quickly, to communicate long distances, and to control our surroundings. My implants have had some benefit, too. The wars that began a century ago are showing signs of dying out, partially because ERR has tamed our passion and rendered combatants less likely to kill. We are, generally speaking, a more rational lot, and as ERR spreads, peace will flourish. So far, so good.”

  He paused here and tugged at his collar, as if his tuxedo were like a noose about his neck. Felix felt sorry for the guy. He seemed hopelessly embarrassed and conscience-stricken.

  “But over the last few months I’ve developed doubts,” he continued, his milk-white hands rolled into fists. “While I’ve achieved my goals and curbed our worst habits, my fear is I have gone too far. I have cured the symptoms, but killed the patient. In many places, even here in Stockholm, ERR is being applied on an involuntary basis. The so-called rats are trying to ‘convert’ the theos, and the theos are out to ‘liberate’ the rats. And while the ERR protocols are narrow still, I fear there’ll come a day when our emotions will be restricted further or, worse, they’ll up and vanish altogether. Yes, violence will become a thing of the past, but so will joy, generosity, and exhilaration….”

  As much as this speech dazzled him, something distracted Felix just then. It was a movement in a balcony just to one side. He studied the space. Yes! There was a flutter of a curtain and … an arm emerged. And not just any arm. It was clothed in a rough, woollen cloak, exactly the garb you’d expect of a “guest” from Ancient Rome.

  He poked Carolyn, who seemed equally dazzled by Clavius’s speech.

  “… efficiency counts for a very great deal,” the scientist continued. “If we humans aren’t efficient, the world can prove a very cruel place. But when efficiency becomes the sole measurement of progress, a different type of wealth gets lost. Art vanishes. Friendships lapse. Love, humility, and wonder disappear. Most frightening of all, to my way of thinking, our connection to our forebears gets lost in the shuffle and all their suffering and triumph are long forgotten, as though we owe these heroic souls not a whit, we owe nothing to the giants who made our existence possible …”

  “Carolyn,” Felix hissed. “Over there.” He motioned to the balcony. By now a good part of the figure could be seen — the head alone was steeped in shadow. Not only was he wearing Roman dress; in his right hand was a dagger, thin and vicious-looking.

  The “child” assassin.

  They stood simultaneously and hurried to an exit. In a whisper, Felix explained his plan. He would take the stairs to the second floor, hurry to the balcony, and catch the assassin unawares. He only had to activate his belt, grab his target, and the hunt would be over. Carolyn should keep watch here, in case the killer jumped and attacked Clavius on stage.

  “Be careful,” she warned him. “I saw a knife.”

  “I know. You be careful, too.” Felix ran to a staircase. Peripherally, he saw Carolyn lean against a wall. A security man stood twenty feet away. Her intentions were clear. She wanted to watch Clavius, but to avoid the guard.

  Moments later, Felix was on the second floor. A corridor faced him, lined with numerous doors. Behind each was a private box. The “child” was in the second one from the front and … there it was. Twisting his buckle to activate its charge, Felix grabbed the doorknob and took a deep breath. He opened the door slowly, just a crack. There. The killer was poised two metres away. Between him and Felix were two steel speakers. They explained why this box was off limits to the public. Clavius was still talking and coming in loud and clear. “… I’m proposing that we exercise caution. I’m proposing that we study the effects of ERR before we deploy it on a major scale. I also believe that we should restrict its use, to the workplace and our schools perhaps, and insist that citizens not lose sight of their emotions….”

  Felix moved forward. The assassin had his back to him. At the same time all his sinews were tensed and his dagger was positioned between his teeth. He was
just about to spring into action. If Felix was going to stop him …

  “… do we wish to be machines? Is that our ideal? Do we crave the computer’s purity of vision, unencumbered by what our emotions might say? I find this idea of humanity repellent and, to this extent, deplore my work on ERR….”

  The assassin was on the ledge. He was inching forward. It’s now or never, Felix thought, leaping at his target, one hand out and the other on his buckle. But a hidden bar on the speaker tripped him and at the very last instant the killer sensed his presence. On instinct, he turned and threw a punch, catching Felix on his shoulder. Felix’s hand left the buckle, but he managed to grab the killer’s cloak. Yanking hard he pulled the “child” down and used his weight to pin him to the floor. His left hand was on his buckle again, even as his right was trying to grip the killer’s throat. The “child’s” face was lost in the folds but, as he struggled and cursed, it jumped into focus.

  Felix’s mouth dropped open.

  “What the…?” he gasped.

  “Let me go!” a familiar voice yelled. “Quickly! She’s about to strike!”

  Felix was paralyzed. How was this possible? He was sprawled on top of … Carolyn! But he’d left her downstairs a moment before, so how had she managed to get there first?

  “She’s a clone!” Carolyn said. “The assassin is my clone! Get off me before —”

  Two shots rang out. Screams immediately filled the hall, followed by the tumult of people scrambling. Carolyn — if it was Carolyn — lurched and threw Felix to one side. A second later she jumped from the box. As Felix stood he heard, above the crowd’s wild screams, laboured rasps emerging from the metal speakers. Johann Clavius was struggling to breathe.