COSMOS magazine

Wednesday, May 21

The Delmar Public Library was quiet this evening, and Payback had his pick of the three computers. He chose Wayne's favourite machine, set off by itself, back behind the bound copies of old magazines. Wayne belonged to several Internet forums, including Nature Forever and the Green Guerrillas. Payback found Nature Forever unbearably dull, with their ten page articles full of words he didn't understand. He usually slept or faded out when Wayne visited their web pages or laboriously read their bulletin board. Green Guerrillas was more interesting. They never came right out and told people to do stuff like spraying herbicide on test fields of genetically altered wheat or setting corn fields on fire, but they had a page that told you how to do it, even where to get the chemicals.

Payback had his own fish to fry. Judging by what he'd seen Wayne do on the Internet, he should to be able to use the Green Guerrillas' web site for his own purposes. Fuck genetically altered wheat. His interest was in cancer researchers, the bastards who were responsible for the horrible way Melody died.

He'd signed the library register as Wayne Elliot, but when he went to the Green Guerrillas Forum online, Payback registered as a new member, using the name Earthsavior. Because this was the first time he'd used a computer he had to work slowly, but knowing everything Wayne did helped a lot, and Wayne was slow anyway. It'd just take a little practice. Without reading any of the other messages, he posted his own, picking out the keys and entering the letters one by one, using his left index finger:

The earth is dieing at the hands of evil men who only want to pile up money and dont care who or what they have to kill to get rich. The very worst ones are the people that pretend to be working to save lives. Instead what they are reelly doing is kill people. If they are not stopped they will destroy the whole human race. They made the final days of my beloved wife hell on Earth. The most important thing in the world to me right now is put a stop to their evil work. Does anybody out there know which companies are tampering with human genetic enjineering?

He clicked Send and waited. When he noticed he was tapping one foot nervously, he made himself stop it. A couple of new messages came in. Someone called margotlee talked about polluted rivers. Wolf443 advertised yurt kits. Payback was about to give up and leave when Linda Comstock posted a message:

Earthsavior, your right. The genetic engineers are the worst. They want to mix animal genes with human genes. Did you ever see The Fly? Remember what happened Jeff Goldblum in that movie?

To answer your question, I heard of at least 1 company bragging about some kind of cancer treatment using genetic engineering. I think somewhere in California.

Almost immediately there was another message from Ed Wedeck, whose name Payback recognized as a general know-it-all:

I saw on TV about genetic engineering on the Discovery Channel couple months ago. MTJ Labs in San Antonio TX is working on a cancer treatment that uses altered human DNA.

San Antonio! Less than a three hour drive from Delmar. He'd take Fern's car, tell her he had another appointment with Dr. Pritchett in Houston. Elated, Payback clicked on "Search' and typed in MTJ.

Saturday, May 24

Payback sat in a park in the morning sunlight, against a wall, reading about the explosion at MTJ Labs. Security guy killed instantly. He was dreadfully tired; soon he must sleep. But if he slept, Wayne would be back.

Shit.

Payback was depressed, reading the article. Wayne the crybaby would've felt sick at his stomach, but hey-this was a war. Okay, he'd fucked up; he hadn't intended to hurt the guy. But hell, it wasn't his fault. Sometimes there was collateral damage. Couldn't be helped. And anyway, the MTJ sons of bitches were doing worse than killing one innocent bystander. That Drew Chang prick and his pals were going to fuck the whole planet.

The sun was in his eyes.

It went away.

---

Wayne found himself sitting near a tree with his back against a brick wall; he was soaked with sweat and breathing hard. Newspaper sheets blew randomly near his feet. He had been sitting in Dr. Pritchett's office talking about how to read faster, like he used to be able to. Then there were nightmares. Huh? He wondered if the doctor had given him some sort of drug, that's what they did, that's what Dr. Rutherford-

Blank.

Breath burning. He must have left the doctor's office and wandered around and then fallen asleep here, wherever the hell here was. Must have been hours ago. Morning light. Fern was going to kill him. He'd borrowed her car for his appointment with Dr. Pritchett since it was doubtful his old truck could handle the trip to Houston and back. Where the hell had he left it? Not here.

He leaned his head against his raised knees, fighting dizziness. The nightmares had taken a different turn this time. "Just a dream." He spoke aloud, and the high pitched, shaky sound of his voice embarrassed him. A fat woman who had been sleeping on a bench looked at him, looked away. "Nothing but a dream," he repeated, this time in deeper, more confident tones. The pounding of his heart slowed, his jaw began to unclench. He could handle it. This sort of thing had happened to him before, when he was younger. Lost time he simply could not remember. He could handle it now, as he had then. First step was to get up, start walking, figure out where he was.

"I have to phone Dr. Rutherford," he said aloud. No, what am I talking about? It's Pritchett. Dr. Nathan Pritchett.

No, Dr. Pritchett's office would still be shut at this hour; he rejected that avenue before it was fully formed in his mind. No matter what he decided to do next, the first necessary step was to find out how much time was lost, what he'd done during in the interval that was now a blank gap in his memory.

 

For an instant, a wedge of memory opens:

One night in Wayne's despairing, drunken rage after Melody's death Payback beats another drinker savagely in a bar fight. The judge suspends his sentence in favour of aggression-control therapy for six months. He struggles to find work enough to pay for food and a cheap room in a sleazy rooming house. When his money is entirely gone, he takes the offer from the smooth Blick Pharmaceutical representative to participate in an experiment. The Marines want to try building a few better men. Dr. Rutherford-

Blank.

---

Wayne opened the front door, found Fern waiting for him, eyes red and swollen, hair unbrushed. During the first second or two her expression flickered from relief to anger to furious rage. He stood paralysed, unable to speak, one foot inside the mobile home, the other still out on the deck. Gretchen looked uncertainly from one to the other, then slunk away. Fern broke the silence at last.

"Just where have you been? Five days!" Although her tone was angry, Wayne exhaled with relief. He'd halfway expected her to shriek like a banshee.

"I went to Houston for my appointment, Fern, and the car broke down." The story had sounded pretty good when he rehearsed it; now it seemed embarrassingly ridiculous.

Fern glared at him. "Wayne Elliot, if you're going to tell me a pack of lies, you can just turn around and walk right back out that door. You hear me? I got a call from the DPS. They found the car, my car, Wayne, parked in front of somebody's house in San Antonio."

His first impulse was to turn around, get the hell out. But he had no place to go. He'd stood by the side of the highway for two and a half hours, in increasing despair, trying to hitch a ride, wondering if the cops were looking for him because of something horrible he'd done. Vague scraps of memories had the quality of his nightmares: that Payback creature, as always, only this time he had set off a bomb. Killed people, maybe. A man shouldn't have to suffer such bad dreams.

They stood silently glaring at each other until Wayne couldn't take it any longer. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth," he said lamely.

"Try me, Wayne. It couldn't be any more unbelievable than the whopper you just finished telling me." She held her hands belligerently on her hips, but her tight mouth eased, eyes grew a little less hostile.

Desperately he sought after something convincing, but his mind was entirely blank. Finally he shrugged. "The truth is, I was in San Antonio, but I have no idea what I did there." He hated exposing his weakness, hoped she would not believe him; he could see by her face that she did not.

"All right, Wayne. I think I understand. What an idiot I've been! All this time you've been telling me you were looking for work... you've been seeing another woman, haven't you?"

"No." It was an outrageous accusation, so unfair. "No! I..." He wanted to defend himself, but it suddenly struck him that for all he knew he might have been with another woman. Better screwing some tramp than killing-

"Do you care about me," she was saying, "about us, at all anymore?" She studied his face intently. "Because if you do, there are still some sessions left with Dr. Pritchett, already paid for. He also does marriage counselling, Wayne. If you still care at all, I'd like for us to go together. Try to work things out."

It was a form of reprieve. At least he would have a roof over his head, food to eat. He wouldn't be out on the streets where the police, even now, might be looking for him. "Okay, Fern. I'm willing to try." She kept watching him as if waiting for some obligatory password. "I love you, babe. I want to try and work things out." The lines of her face smoothed, her eyes filled with tears. She held out her arms to him.

Friday, May 30

"No! Leave your hair down, you idiot!" Carol Glassman made a grab for Jill's hairbrush.

"I always wear it up except when I'm hanging around the house."

"Up is fine for a day at the office." Carol stepped back to admire her work. "Please tell me you weren't planning on wearing that."

"What's wrong with it?" Jill was wearing the same grey woollen skirt she had worn to work, but she had taken off the jacket and substituted a blue cardigan.

"Everything's wrong with it. Shit, girl, are you trying to look like my old sainted mother? Let's see..." Foraging in the closet, Carol reeled back, comically aghast. "Damn, Jill, when was the last time you went shopping for clothes?"

"I don't know. Four years ago?" Leaning against the dresser, Jill critically examined her acne scars in the mirror. Usually she avoided looking directly at her face, it was simply too depressing. 'What difference does it make, anyway? My skin'll still look the same regardless of what I wear." When Jill's face first broke out after Alex was born, Carol constantly reassured her that it wasn't all that noticeable; once the inflamed pustules had faded, she generally chose to ignore Jill's complaints about her appearance.

"Your selection is sadly limited, but maybe we can-" Items started flying from the chest of drawers. "Ah! Here we go! Not perfect by any means, but it'll have to do." She brandished a bright red pullover sweater. "This with a pair of jeans. What do you think?"

"It's so bright. It'll make me look fat. Something more subdued."

"Jilly, why don't you try not looking like you're going to a Puritan funeral."

Surrendering, Jill threw the cardigan on the bed. Despite her worries about Alex and the office work piling up during hour after hour of medical appointments, Paul Gibson strayed compulsively into her thoughts. I do want to look my best when I meet him at the door, she admitted to herself. Yet she felt stupid for trying, when it was impossible for her ever to look good again. "It's not a date."

"Okay," Carol said, "it's not a date. But you never know, maybe Mr. Right'll be sitting at the next table at... Where?"

"El Gallo. Paul wants to try Mexican food. He's picking us up at six." Jill pulled the red sweater over her head. "Nobody goes on a date at six. Besides, you left out one minor detail. He's married."

"You don't know that. Did he tell you he's married? Did he have on a ring?"

"No. But he was carrying a diaphragm around in his pocket. Maybe not married, but a girlfriend for sure."

"Hmm. Still, he asked you to go out to dinner with him."

"Well, yeah. But in the first place, he may not have been thinking about it as a date. In the second place, you don't take a ten year old kid on a date."

"Maybe you do, if you happen to like someone who has a ten year old kid. So what does Alex think of Paul?"

"He keeps asking when Paul's coming back. See, that's another reason I shouldn't get too close. When the guy dumps us, Alex will be heartbroken."

Carol rolled her eyes. "You should write a book about how to have successful relationships, Jilly. Step one: work out a comprehensive dumping plan before the first date."

"Mom, it's past six." Alex was standing in the doorway. "I Love Lucy just ended."

Carol ruffled his hair. "You still like those ancient TV shows, huh Alex?"

"Yeah. Hey, Carrie, come see what I added to my space station today." He took her hand. Jill glanced at her bedside clock and frantically powdered her nose as a car engine drew near and stopped.

Carol's head poked back around the door. "I wonder who that could be?"

"How do I look? Oh, god, Carol. I'm so nervous. I haven't been out on a date in more than ten years."

"I thought you said it wasn't a date."