The Assassination of Billy Jeeling Read online

  Suzanne Lansbury had stringy brown hair secured at the back and a puffiness to her face. A black collar peeked around the neck of her dowdy sweater, and the cuffs of a yellow shirt could be seen at the wrists. She was forever cold and complaining, and layered on clothing in such eclectic abundance that it made her appear heavier than she really was. Only in her mid-twenties, she’d been pretty a couple of years ago, and had taken care of her personal hygiene better, but she’d gotten lax and let herself go. Yürgen didn’t blame her entirely; the two of them had lost their enthusiasm for one another. They’d been quarreling incessantly, and each had been threatening to move out on the other.

  This was going to be a bad fight over the job. He could tell by the furious look on her face. Her eyes were wild.

  “How could you be so stupid?” she shrilled. “You lost your job at the factory? How idiotic is that? An argument over Billy Jeeling? That old fool in the sky?” She thrust herself out of the window seat, letting the book tumble away, then brushed past him, leaving a stench of body odor in her wake as she headed toward the kitchen.

  “It was unavoidable. I couldn’t stand the things they were saying about Billy.”

  Yürgen removed his eyeglasses, tossed them on a side table. He was about to tell her about the exciting job offer on Skyship, but was having second thoughts, in view of her attitude toward the renowned Hero of the Sky.

  “I think I’d better move out,” he said, “and get this relationship over with. For your sake, Suzanne, and for mine—before one of us kills the other.”

  She was focused on something else. “Billy, Billy! This place is overflowing with Billy Jeeling memorabilia. Honestly, I wish you’d grow up. I should clean it out and throw it all in the garbage.”

  Yürgen glowered at her, then rummaged through a drawer in the side table. “Do you know where my spare eyeglasses are?” he asked. “The zoom isn’t working very well on those.”

  “How should I know where your junk is? You’ve got so much crap around here that’s it’s a wonder you can ever find anything.”

  “I bought two extra pair and both were in this drawer. Are you sure you didn’t move them?”

  “I didn’t touch them!”

  “Did you hear me? I’m moving out.”

  “So hurry up and go. Don’t stand around talking about it.”

  Zayeddi located a package of contact lenses, pulled out a set and spread his eyelids open one at a time to insert the lenses. He didn’t care much for contacts, as they didn’t have the zoom-vision feature. But at least they were the liquid-suspension type that he could leave in for months and forget about.

  “Don’t expect me to pay your half of the rent now,” she said, thrusting open the refrigerator door. “You signed the lease along with me, so you’re on the hook, too. You’d better hustle right out and get your job back.”

  “What do you know about getting a job, Suzanne, living off your divorce settlement? That’s how you’ve been paying your share of expenses.”

  Increased anger moved across her face. “I read books, keep up on current events. And I manage my investments... that’s my job, and I do it very well, thank you.”

  “You’re a loser,” he said, “a parasite looking for the next person to leech onto.”

  She said something in response, but he didn’t hear it.

  The next few minutes became a blur to Yürgen, as he packed hurriedly, not bothering to find everything he owned. Just priorities. Later he recalled seeing Suzanne banging around the kitchen, stuffing food in her mouth, with her shrill voice going constantly, never stopping. She was worse than ever.

  At one point, following a shrieking cacophony of senseless noise from her, Yürgen hurried out the door and made good his escape, without bothering to say good-bye. It was too bad. At one time, they’d been quite close, but things had gone in the wrong direction for both of them.

  Maybe they could become friends again, once they were not living together. But he doubted it. Both of them had said things that could not be taken back—things that hurt and would never be forgotten.

  CHAPTER 6

  How did Billy Jeeling get away with using government funds to construct that huge Christian cross on top of Skyship? And we pay for the incredible amount of power required to illuminate the cross, too, so that it can seen from space and AmEarth. It’s a gross misuse of public funds, and a violation of the separation of church and state doctrine.

  —Excerpt, anti-Jeeling propaganda broadcast

  Billy’s apartment was small and austere, overflowing with piles of documents and books, all in printed form because it was the way he preferred to read them. As Lainey Forster sat naked on the bed waiting for Billy to return, she recognized the printout of an e-message she had sent to him three years ago—it was on top of a pile, as if it were current. She found this troubling. After pulling a sheet and blanket over her chest, she sipped a glass of expensive pinot noir. It had a fine bouquet and a beautiful red color, as well as a subtle, fruity flavor. Billy only rarely enjoyed fine things such as this, but he had saved some of the modest salary he allotted to himself, enough to buy this nice wine for her, because he knew she liked it. He was so thoughtful at times, and always insisted on paying for “extras” such as this that he used.

  Lainey heard him outside the bedroom, talking on a radiocom with his son the Security Commander, about a deep-probe of robots Billy had ordered—investigating to see if their operating systems had been compromised by a saboteur. A written report had arrived by courier, just when she and Billy were heading for the bedroom carrying glasses of wine, feeling tipsy because both of them had a low tolerance for alcohol.

  Before that they had shared a romantic private dinner in Billy’s quarters, albeit at a small dining table, next to an electronic wall that projected the image of a full moon. His apartment didn’t have a real view—just this projected one, but it was live. The moon really was out. All evening long, she had been in the mood for lovemaking. Billy had been feeling that way, too, until he was interrupted by the courier, and the radiocom system—Devv suddenly talking loudly through speakers in the small apartment, asking questions about a copy of the report he had received. So far there was no evidence of interference with the robotic operating systems. And Devv had other matters to discuss, which he considered important.

  Feeling annoyed, she sighed while waiting in the bedroom. A mindwave transceiver in Billy’s brain would be much more efficient than couriers or radiocom calls. He was a robotics expert who picked and chose which technologies he used—as if he were selecting from a smorgasbord table. She didn’t always understand the choices he made.

  Lainey had her own mindwave implant, and so did Billy’s son. So did almost every other person she’d ever met. Except for Billy, she’d only heard of exceptions for medical reasons. But he was stubborn about many things, and his wishes were treated by his underlings like edicts from God-on-High. They jumped to complete whatever he wanted—and not only the humans. The robots who attended to him were also sycophants—programmed to be that way, she’d heard. Some robots were middle managers (even supervising low-level humans), but mostly the automatons performed the most rudimentary, repetitive tasks.

  Lainey was not a yes-person, and neither was Devv. Curiously, neither were any of Billy’s top management team on Skyship—every one of them human. All spoke their own minds to the master of the vessel.

  He stopped talking now, and poked his head in the doorway of the bedroom. Billy wore a white robe with an emblem on one lapel, a stylized version of Skyship surrounded by much smaller skyminers, as if a hive were spewing forth little bumblebees with bulbous tanks trailing behind them.

  “Sorry about the interruption,” he said to her, “but things have been coming up, more than usual, and important stuff I can’t ignore. I’m on the radiocom with my son—I’ll only be a few more minutes.”

  “I’ve been listening in. The robotics investigation, and Devv wants you to beef up security around the ship
. I think that’s a good idea, in view of the danger of sabotage. Did I hear him say he wants more human officers?”

  “Right. He feels there are a disproportionate number of police and security ‘bots. I don’t agree with him. I can make the robots do anything he needs, but he’s insistent.”

  “Just do whatever he wants and come to bed,” she said.

  He smiled. “Maybe that’s a good idea. It will get both of you off my back.”

  She took a sip of red wine, watched as he went back to the radiocom and continued the conversation. It took him longer than promised, so she drank his glass of wine as well as hers.

  When he still had not returned, she glared at the empty doorway. Lainey noticed his black and tan uniform jacket on a chair, a jacket he’d worn earlier in the day. It had a lump in one pocket, making her curious about what it might be.

  She slid out of bed, walked naked and unsteadily to the chair, then reached a hand into the pocket and brought out a round, black object, the size of a tennis ball. It was cool to her touch, and had small indented places on it. She turned it over, wondered what the indentations were. Buttons? Was this an electronic device of some sort?

  She was about to stick a finger into one of the indentations when Billy burst into the room and snatched the object away from her. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Snooping in my pockets? I didn’t think you would stoop to anything like that.”

  He slipped the object into a pocket of his robe.

  “What is that thing?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” His eyes were steely.

  “Nothing? Then why are you so upset about it?”

  “How would you feel if you found someone going through your pockets?”

  “But Billy, you and I are so close, it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  His expression softened, and he smiled slightly. “No, I guess it doesn’t. Sorry, I’m just irritated by the interruptions—it isn’t the first time for us, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “There never seems to be enough quality time for us, Lainey. Sometimes I wish I could just retire and stop worrying about everything it takes to keep Skyship running. That would make my enemies happy, wouldn’t it?”

  She nodded somberly, didn’t want to irritate him more by asking him what the strange, round object was. Maybe another time, when he was in a better mood.

  “I’m sorry I took so long with Devv,” he said.

  Billy removed his robe and slid naked into bed with her. Lainey felt her anger fade as he massaged her back gently. She warmed to his touch, and shivered as she felt herself being carried on a wave of passion, drawing her closer and closer to him. “I love you, Billy,” she whispered.

  “And I love you, my darling.”

  It was not first occasion on which he’d said these words to her, but this time she thought she heard a note of deep sincerity that had been missing before. It gave her hope that they might get even closer. Sometimes their personal relationship seemed superficial, that they had little more than a professional association on Skyship, with intermittent moments of intimacy.

  Now the great man seemed ready to say something more, but Lainey pressed her lips to his, and held a long, tender kiss. When she finally withdrew, she said, “Billy, I want to have your baby.”

  His eyes opened wide, and he pulled away from her.

  “I’ve told you this before,” she said. “You know I’ve been trying to get pregnant.”

  “Yes, Lainey, I know. But I’m afraid we can’t have children, and I think you need to face the cold, hard facts. It’s been almost five years, with no results.”

  “It’s still possible for us to conceive,” she insisted. “I know it is!” And she really believed this, with all of her heart and all of her being.

  CHAPTER 7

  To kill him, or not to kill him. That is the question.

  —General Rivington Moore VIII

  “Billy Jeeling will never leave gracefully,” said the little man at the head of the dining room table. “I know the stubborn son of a puta-whore, and there’s only one good way to bring him down. Public opinion!”

  Jonathan Racker cleared his throat, adjusted his bifocals. He was an old man, a Latino who was one of the most famous industrialists in the AmEarth Empire. His words were sharply delivered and concise, with a slight Spanish accent. He wore a tuxedo with an open-collar shirt and no tie—Racker could get away with this in posh surroundings, because he was so rich.

  Maureen Stuart was one of the invited guests for lunch in an elegant private dining room, in Imperial City’s vine-covered Tomaah Club, a haven for good old boys where women were hardly ever invited. She felt out of place here. They were in the midst of the luncheon, with clinking silverware, glittering crystal wine glasses, and the murmur of conversation.

  She had her left wrist in a medical wrap, from falling in Founders’ Park while jogging two nights ago. It had been late in the evening, not a safe thing to do at that hour, but she was a fast runner and decided to risk it anyway, needing to wind down after a long day at the law firm where she worked. But on one of the dimly-lit garden paths she’d heard something rustling in the bushes, and had increased her speed. Looking back, she saw a man running after her, and shouting crazy things, accusing her of trespassing. It was impossible, of course, because it was a public park, but this guy had staked out at least part of it as his personal turf. At the top of a rise Maureen fell and sprained the wrist, but got up quickly and ran on, managing to outdistance him.

  As she glanced around the table now, she noticed two elegantly-dressed men staring at her... one an aged crony of Racker’s with a disapproving gaze, and the other a handsome young Army officer in dress-military uniform, General Rivington Moore VIII—who smiled at her. Each had different things in mind, she thought, because Moore was a well-known womanizer. From a patrician family, he was one of society’s most eligible bachelors, and had used his family connections to rise mercurially through the ranks. He was a five-star general now at the age of 36, and a swaggering, charismatic leader of men. It was said that they would do anything for him. There were stories of a cult of personality forming around him, a fanatically loyal officer corps. She thought he could be dangerous with such charisma, but she’d never spoken out against him. That would be a dangerous thing to do.

  His great grandfather, Rivington Moore V, had been one of the most famous and decorated generals in the Final Sweep, a huge military operation that brought every country on the planet, even the most stubborn holdouts, under one world government—the AmEarth Empire. It had involved a series of brutal, multi-pronged onslaughts, but necessary, or so the Imperial leaders claimed, to improve the efficiency of business and political operations on the planet. There was even proof that the subjugated peoples were doing better economically under the unified government than they’d done previously under the control of their own people, because of all the graft and corruption that had been occurring in those individual regimes.

  In the days before the Empire, there had also been wave after wave of genocide, of tribes killing each other for the most petty of reasons. Such crimes against humanity had ended with the inauguration of the new unified government, and Maureen had to admit that people she knew seemed happy now, and she was, too, though she did not have any point of comparison with the way it used to be here in the pre-Empire days. That was too long ago, generations past.

  For the most part, Maureen believed in the Imperial government and lifestyle, though she was intelligent enough to recognize the fault in this line of reasoning, noticing the way the Prime Minister and other top politicians justified the favored position their privileged caste held, lording over the other peoples of the world. She hoped that what she’d heard was true, that the natives were being treated with more respect now and doing better than they might have otherwise, and were really allowed to follow any religion they chose, as long as they did it peacefully. Even the most radical wings of Islam
had been destroyed, and this was the case with the radical fringes of the other major religions as well—Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Sikhism, and even Christianity—as almost all of the violent fundamentalists had either been eradicated or re-educated into the mainstream and more moderate, tolerant views.

  A muscular man, the youthful General Moore had dark brown eyes, a small moustache, and a square jaw. She found his eyes hypnotic, and held gaze with him momentarily, before he winked and she looked away quickly. Lady-killer eyes.

  Damned sexist! she thought, as she cut a piece of her prime rib with some difficulty, favoring her sore wrist, and took a bite. I’ve got to push back against him, but carefully, without blowing up. Strictly business between us, and at the end of the day I go home and forget about it. They’re paying me well for my legal advice.

  “How did you hurt yourself?” Moore asked.

  “Punching one of your junior officers who got fresh,” she said, with a wry smile. “His jaw was harder than I thought.”

  “Is that so? Maybe I could teach you some martial arts, and you’d do better next time.”

  “I already have those fighting skills,” she said, and that part was true. But she added, “I took a crash course right after meeting you, knowing I might need to defend myself against you someday.” She smiled prettily.

  His eyes burned a little before he smiled in return. “Is that so?” he said.

  “I am married, you know.” She held a cool gaze on him, made him look away first this time.

  “I hate like hell going against Billy,” a silver-haired man on Maureen’s left said, rubbing his forehead with an age-spotted hand. “We used to be close, and I remember a lot of good things about him.” Paul Paulo was quite slender, and dressed extravagantly in a white and silver suit, with a tufted white shirt, a diamond watch and glittering rings on his fingers. A stock trader extraordinaire, he was CEO of the world’s largest stock and commodities brokerage, Paulo Hoon & Benedict. He also had a vast real estate empire in the territories, and had been involved with companies that built many of the largest buildings in the capital of the Empire—Imperial City—including the tall and imposing Racker Building.