“It is quite all right, Mr. Carter,” Fewick assured him. “My verbal affectations reflect an admiration for a world of elegance lost to time. I am inured to criticism of both my speech and appearance. That explained, you will both now do me the courtesy of departing.”
“Did you have to insult him, Marjorie?” Carter slid behind the wheel of the rented car, turned the ignition.
“Nope. But it sure was fun. The cheap son of a bitch promised a thousand bucks reward. He got off on cheating us.” She held up the check. “I had half a mind to wad this up and throw it back in his face. Fortunately the other half of my mind stayed in control.” She dropped the check into her purse. “Hey, how about we go back through Valdosta? We got time.”
“What’s in Valdosta?” He turned out of the driveway and onto the main street.
“I dunno. But the name always intrigued me.”
As the wrought-iron gate closed, the rotund shape standing at the second-floor window lowered the drape it had been holding aside and returned to the gilded desk. Seating himself, Bruton Fewick opened the file drawer and carefully removed the prodigal disc.
It slid easily into a slot in the side of the computer that emerged on command from within the desk. Not until several complex passwords had been processed did the screen fill with precious information. Only when he was certain nothing had been damaged did he allow himself to relax.
He’d been utilizing the research library at the University of Georgia when an acquaintance had mentioned that there might be an open spot on a forthcoming excursion to a nearby movie set. The result of letting himself be talked into participating had been near disaster. Months of work, of reading and poring over maps, would have been lost forever if not for the resourcefulness of the simple people who had found his disc.
Now his efforts were about to enter a new stage. It was time to begin final preparations. He could have survived the loss of the disc, but it would have set him back many months, and after years of research and toil the delay would have been painful.
Soon the whole world would know his name, would stand in awe of his accomplishments. Especially his parents, who had barely condescended to speak to him ever since he’d announced his intention while a junior at college to pursue a field of endeavor outside the family business.
He stroked the big tom, listening to it purr contentedly. He had the cat to thank for that. It was Moe who had accidentally dislodged the book in his father’s library which had so intrigued the studious young Bruton and changed the course of his life. Prior to that he had been at best an indifferent student. Subsequent to his change of direction he had applied himself to his studies with a vengeance.
It did not bother him that his parents disapproved. Their attitude toward their only son had always been lukewarm at best. They had raised him as one might a pedigreed dog for which they had overpaid, cozening but rarely touching, admiring formally while still regarding him with a distinct air of vague disappointment.
That would change with the fulfillment of his work. They would have no choice but to admire and recognize his achievements because their snooty society friends certainly would. He smiled down at Moe, mentally thanking the cat yet again for the providential accident which had so changed his life. Fewick had encountered the stray on campus and it had immediately attached itself to the hefty pre-law student. They’d been together ever since.
We’re both outcasts, he thought. We belong together.
Pulling a book from the pile on his desk he began comparing its contents with notes recorded on the disc. Soon his parents would be able to ignore him no longer. They would have to admit that he’d been right all along, that they’d been wrong. His growing fame would soon eclipse their anger and disappointment.
Even his haughty, supercilious father would be forced to confess that having a famous archaeologist in the family might not be such a bad thing after all.
The Renegade was reasonably content. While another creature might have reacted ebulliently now that plans long in the making were nearing fruition, he remained restrained. His sense of time was very different from that of the ordinary sentient.
Not that he wasn’t enjoying the game. In the end, it was all that made existence worthwhile. If not for it, he surely would have expired long ago of inconceivable ennui.
Events were progressing according to plan despite the presence of the Monitor. Her futile attempts to locate him and put a stop to his activities only added to his enjoyment. Nothing was going to interfere with his little amusement. Boredom could be allayed only by the introduction of unexpected anomalies into the developmental scheme, and if millions died as a result, well, it promised some real excitement at last. He looked forward eagerly to the culmination of his gambit.
Slip-sliding boredly through the planes of existence had led him to stumble on this unique opportunity to unhinge normality. He had immediately grasped the dynamic possibilities. Only recently had the local Monitor even begun to sense his presence. Her subsequent attempts to confront him were a continuing source of amusement.
He had been patient and would continue to be so. Of course, there was always the possibility of local interference, but he was confident he could cope with that without revealing himself. The local sentients were entertaining but not very perceptive. They no more suspected his existence than they did that of the Monitor. Their tendency to spend so much of their time looking inward was one of the things that made them so much fun to play with.
Nothing would stop him. He had committed too much time, too much effort, to allow that to happen. The key to local destabilization was a gift from a sardonic cosmos, one that he intended to put to optimal use.
If developed to its utmost it might even provide him with a power base with which to challenge stabilities elsewhere. That would truly complicate the work of the Monitors. A pity none of the other Shihararaneth shared his passion for chaos and disruption. He found their obsession with ordered progress and evolution sickening. It was up to him alone to do something about it.
Even if it did mean having to start small.
IV
The pat on his backside didn’t startle Carter. Years in the business had resigned him to uninvited contact. But the identity of the perpetrator did surprise him.
Marjorie Ashwood was grinning up at him, a drink clutched loosely in one hand. Not the cheap champagne the producers had magnanimously provided for the wrap party, but hard liquor the hue of burnt acorns. She was happy, not drunk.
“Hi, good-lookin’.”
“Hello, Marjorie.”
She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I gotta secret. Wanna know my secret?”
“I don’t know, Marj.” He replied carefully, wondering what she was getting at. If she’d been any younger he’d have known automatically, but that conclusion didn’t fit the maternal if testy image he’d formed of the wardrobe mistress.
“Hey!” The complaint reached him above the din of the party.
He looked back at his companion of the moment, an actress who’d played one of the picture’s numerous accessory southern belles. Watery champagne notwithstanding, she was far more tipsy than Ashwood. Beautiful blue eyes, severely glazed, stared back at him. She was swaying on her feet, and not for emphasis. Her body didn’t need any extra emphasis.
He regarded her tolerantly. In addition to the champagne, she’d been indulging in some controlled substance of unknown potential. Her current equilibrium was about as stable as her speech.
“Get rid of the old bag, Jase, and let’s go.” Her speech was heavily slurred. She reached out to grab his hand.
He pulled away. “Not now, Kimmie.”
She frowned at him. “Don’ tell me you’d rather be with that …”
“I don’t want to be with anyone,” he said sharply. “I’m really tired and I’ve got to catch a plane tomorrow.”
She gave it one last try. “You can sleep on the plane. You don’t wanna sleep here. This is partytime.”
“I’m kind of partied out, Kimmie.” He smiled apologetically and walked away from her. Her frustrated muttering was quickly swallowed by the noise of the crowd.
