Aboriginal Science Fiction, Issues 57–58 — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ed to feel Morris’s pain — he knew that he should, and he despised himself for the great nothingness inside him where, as a human being, his sympa- thy for Morris should have been. Yet he could only report. He found himself already planning ahead: he would reopen the file later and flesh it out a bit to turn it into a report for transmission. Who would be interested? Perhaps he should make several versions. A dry, factual one for the historians; a more chatty ver- sion for the general readership ... Eventually Wilf said, “People will soon be about, Mr. Taylor.” Taylor checked his inner clock. “True,” he said. “I doubt we will get any more out of Morris.” He looked down at the broken, twisted body, which they had been careful to keep alive. Two tortured, animal eyes stared back up at him. “You have been a great help, Morris,” he said. He shook his head, genuinely baffled. “Amazing. You really do believe it, don’t you? And you don’t see any contradiction, any conflict ... mad. Quite, quite mad.” He turned to Wilf. “He will soon be dead. Come, Wilf.” Wilf was already heading for the door. With a calm, smooth motion Taylor pulled out a knife from his cloak and plunged it into Wilfs back, piercing his heart. Wilf arched backwards and cried out, once. Then he toppled over rigidly, like a falling plank. Taylor casually stepped over the body. He stopped when he saw Edward standing in the entrance to the barn. The correspondent was pale and trembling. His instinct when Taylor called a halt to the ses- sion had been to walk back to Oxford, now that the report was over. Walking instead into the barn to confront Taylor had been like walking through treacle. “Hello, Edward,” Taylor said. “Kill him,” Edward said. “Why?” “Kill him!” “You kill him.” Edward paused, then unsteadily walked for- ward, keeping an eye on Taylor. Taylor’s hands were both free, but he might have had another knife hidden away. Edward stopped by the brazier and studied Morris carefully. “Tm sorry,” he said, “but you wouldn’t want to live. Sixteenth-century medicine will never make you whole again.” He put a hand to Morris’s neck, spreading his fingers out-over the throat. Morris whimpered weakly. “I’m sorry,” Edward said again, and squeezed. Once Morris was dead, Edward kicked the brazier so that it toppled over and its coals spilled out onto the straw. The fire caught and spread around the body. “He is doing you a favour, Morris,” Taylor said. “The flames will speed you to heaven.” He turned to go. Edward took one last look at Morris and fol- lowed. As they left the barn, the flames were climbing up the walls. They walked for a minute without saying any- thing. Then Taylor stopped and looked back. “Quite a sight, isn't it?” Taylor said in the Home Time tongue. Edward carefully positioned himself so that he could see Taylor and the barn. It was burning merrily, and the flickering lit up the countryside all around. “Why did you do it?” Edward said. “You don’t know what to think, do you, Edward?” Taylor said. “You know you ought to be feeling horror and revulsion towards me, and you want to, but you can’t. Your conditioning won't let you. Morris and Wilf were both of this time, you think, so why should their fate bother you?” “Why did you do it?” “Why? Curiosity, really. I wanted to see what makes a man like that tick. I don’t file reports anymore, but I still have this urge to find things out. I can’t help it.” “Wilf?” “Wilf was just as bad as Morris, but a Protestant. I’d already had a long conversation with him about his faith, and I couldn’t hang on to him after tonight, could I? He may not have known the exact word for blackmail, but he would have understood the concept. So, Edward! What are you going to do with the report you've been compiling? Will you be transmitting it? Of course, that will make you seem like an accomplice to the Home Time, especially after killing Morris —” “The report is over,” Edward said, in a voice that was not his own. | “Sorry?” Edward swung round to look at him. “The report is over,” he said, then, in a more normal but frightened voice, “Richard, there’s something inside me —” Edward was looking out of his own eyes as if his body belonged to someone else. From the back of his mind, the sealed-off bit, something had come forward and taken over. The words that came out of Edward’s mouth were not of his own volition. He heard himself say something that was almost, but not quite, the words that trig- gered the Death Sentence. They did not trigger his — : — they triggered Taylor’s. He heard the corre- spondent gasp, once, and then the man collapsed. Edward stared down at him for a moment. He knelt to check the vital signs. Taylor was dead. “What —” Edward murmured. “His conditioning had broken down,” said the stranger in his mind. “Our correspondents must 30 Aboriginal Science Fiction — Summer 1998 (co) aXFalexsxo) Cans)