“Apparently that is not a necessary qualification.” Fewick smiled broadly. “After considering these many onerous proposals, most of which begged us to spend obscene quantities of other people’s money at our discretion, dear Francesca and I decided to form a production company to develop projects which she would star in and I would produce.” He ran a finger around the rim of his glass.

“I had never considered the advantages of a career in show business. For one thing, I can now act like the bastard I have always been, the difference being that in my new profession I am openly admired for it. Nor is it important that I am overweight and physically unattractive. All that matters is where I park and at what tables I sit in certain restaurants. The parallels with the ancient hierarchical structures I used to study are quite striking. For example, I have found some of the similarities between the social structure in Hollywood and that of ancient Assyria most enlightening.”

Carter downed half his glass. “What about pleasing and impressing your parents?”

“Oh, them.” Fewick sniffed disdainfully. “Their approval is no longer vital to my self-esteem. As there are more psychotherapists and psychiatrists per square mile in Beverly Hills than anywhere else on the planet, I have been able to avail myself of excellent professional help. I no longer care whether Mum and Pater approve of my life-style or not. They are no longer what is happening.

“Actually they consider Hollywood to be a step down from archaeology. I expect their attitudes to change when they see how much money I am making.”

Carter stared at Fewick for a long moment, then turned to Da Rimini. “What about you? What about all the injustices you told me you wanted to right, the embarrassments you’ve suffered all your life, the anger and frustrations that built up inside you as you matured?”

“Oh, those.” She sipped delicately at her drink. “A condo in Los Angeles, a pied-à-terre in Manhattan, and a home in Miraflores have taken away much of the anger. It is so won’erful when so many people on the street recognize me from Day Becomes Tomorrow. You should know, querido. Besides, I’ve spent my whole life actin’. Is better to do it for a living than for some cheap revenge thing.” She regarded him out of half-lidded eyes.

“You been doin’ pretty good from it yourself.”

“Which brings us to the reason for our visit.” Fewick shifted in his seat, the rattan squeaking beneath his silk-encased bulk. “All of your films have been successful. You are, as the film lingo says, a draw. So we would like for you to work for us.”

Carter could no more than gape.

“For a percentage of the net … well, gross, if you insist. Points, up-front money, other participatory perks. The usual star treatment. I have taken the time to study your films in detail and as a result I have boundless confidence in your natural ability to appeal to the great indiscriminate ticket-buying public. My people can cobble together a contract … provided you feel that you can work with Francesca, here.”

Her expression switched to sultry as effortlessly as one would change slides in a projector. “Dear Jason. I do so hope you won’ let it threaten a promising working relationship because I once say something about letting some ants eat you alive. I’ve changed since then, though dear Bruton says I’m still basically the same vacuous maniacal airhead I was when you first meet me. Of course, that only his opinion.”

Rising from the couch, she gyrated over to place her arms on his shoulders, portions of her body several inches closer to him than the rest of her. Fewick looked on with amused insouciance.

“What do you say, querido?”

“You’ll … have to talk to my agent first.” Carter found himself drowning in Francesca’s eyes … or at least slipping into dangerous waters.

“Mahvelous,” said Fewick. “When you get back to L.A. we’ll all do lunch.”

“After all,” said Da Rimini huskily, “it not as if we haven’ work together before.”

“You wanted to kill me.”

She disengaged herself, pouting. “Why mus’ you bring up silly old things? Everything is difieren’ now. You are difieren’, I am difieren’, everybody difieren’. Much better.”

He considered. From the very first he’d found Da Rimini attractive. If one disregarded her homicidal tendencies, partnering with her on a set could be a lot of fun. It was always hard for him to find an actress he could interact with eye-to-eye.

“This isn’t a trick? You’re not trying to recruit me into some crazy project to take over the world or unsettle society?”

“Unsettle society?” Fewick looked nonplussed. “My dear fellow, why would I want to do anything as absurd as that? I am making entirely too much money from society as it is presently constituted. The last thing I would want to do is unsettle it. When people are unsettled they don’t go to the movies.

“As for taking over the world, nothing could be further from my mind. For one thing, if I were successful I wouldn’t have the faintest notion what to do with it. The administrative details alone would be stressful beyond belief. My therapist would have a fit. I don’t want to run the world: I merely want to own a substantial portion of the preferred stock. No, no. I am a loyal supporter of the present inequitable status quo.”

A bemused smile lit Carter’s face. This wasn’t exactly how he’d expected things to turn out. On the other hand, it wasn’t a bad way for things to turn out, either.

“We’ll talk,” he said decisively. “I don’t suppose you have a script in mind for our first coproduction?”

“Certainly. I commissioned a story from one of the top names in the science-fiction field, which I then naturally had rewritten the instant I got back to Bel Air. A fine, moral, uplifting tale full of insight and human understanding. We’re going to call it Technoslaves of the Ginza. I am confident it will appeal to you. The toy licensing potential alone is unlimited.”

Carter sighed resignedly. “More crap.”

“Yes,” Fewick admitted, “but wait until you read it. This is aesthetic crap. It will make buckets of money and you get to emote like crazy as well as bare your pectorals. Come now. Any role is what a good actor makes of it.”

“You don’t bear any grudges for what happened?”

“Grudges are bad for business. To this day I do not understand how I allowed myself to become swept up in such foolishness. That is not like me. It is almost as if I was under some kind of external control.” Moe hopped up into his lap and he began to stroke the cat reflexively.

“More nonsense, of course. I consider my participation in what happened to have been a temporary aberration, never to be repeated.” He smiled. “My therapist says it is all right for me to feel good. You have no idea what a relief that is.”

Carter picked up the pitcher. “This is getting watery. How about I call for a fresh one?”

“That would be sweet.” Da Rimini pursed her perfect lips and blew him a kiss.

Ashwood, Carter reflected as he reached for the house phone, was going to have a cow.

XXI

The Renegade’s patience was paying off. He had managed to delude the Monitors into thinking he had perished during the confrontation, when in reality he had at the last possible instant slipped away via an unsuspected, almost invisible gap in the spatial continuum.

His mind had been working furiously ever since. They had not found him and, not finding him, could not hurt him. He was nothing if not resourceful. Given time he could, he would, construct a new plan of disruption more fiendishly clever than the last. On the ruins of the old he would erect an entirely new game, one he could not help but win.

Already the groundwork had been laid, and neither the Monitors nor the poor simple creatures whose welfare they were charged with protecting were aware of his ongoing ministrations. He was quite pleased with himself.

Moe the cat glanced around to make certain no one was watching him before he jumped lightly from the balcony of the cabana to the ground below. He shook himself, taking stock of his surroundings. The alley behind the hotel was deserted. There was nothing to observe or interfere with his exercise.

Turning to his left, he strolled up the broken pavement. He did not see the other cat perched atop the telephone pole he passed beneath. Its eyes followed his progress.

Then it leaped.

At the last instant he sensed its proximity and jumped. Jumped impossibly far, farther than was physically possible for any member of the genus Felis.

Moe did not belong to the genus Felis.

Jumped in fact the length of the alley, landing on the curb of the street it intersected. Furious beyond measure, resolving this time to kill or be killed, he prepared to retrace his path with another, far deadlier jump. Orange fur began to ripple tenebrously, giving way to streaks of gray like shot silver.

His incredible senses detected a distinctive curve in the continuum, one that if athletically accessed should bring him up and around behind his tormentor and put him in position to strike a lethal blow. He smiled to himself. No more hiding, no more stalking. It was time to make an end of it. He would finish the travesty … now!

He jumped.

Simultaneously a fourteen-year-old boy balancing on his shoulder a radio-cassette player the size of a small armored vehicle came tearing around the corner on a skateboard with the face of a crazed bull painted on it and intersected the space continuum curve exactly at the point where the Renegade intended to enter. From this nexus there emanated a peculiarly loud bang involving the boy, the boombox, the skateboard, six small coins in the boy’s pocket, his three gold fillings, something that looked like a cat, and something that looked like a distorted blob of jaundiced mercury.

The boy was thrown clear across the street, where concerned passersby relievedly ascertained that his injuries consisted only of bumps and bruises. The boombox had been reduced to a mass of melted plastic and wiring that coated the smoking skateboard.

The odd little bang intensified as it rippled across the city of Manaus, reaching the proportions of a rattlingly good-sized sonic boom by the time it reached the metropolitan outskirts, where it confused the air traffic controllers at the international airport no end, since their screens showed no aircraft as being in the vicinity. The source of the noise was attributed to a low-flying air force jet whose pilot had decided to take an unauthorized joyride over the jungle. Curses in English and Portuguese filled the airwaves on the appropriate frequencies.

The cat which had leaped from the top of the telephone pole now relaxed in the center of the alley. Sitting back on its haunches it daintily licked clean first one paw and then the other.