Free Ruin Nation by Dan Carver Page B

speak in public?”
    “I had hoped. I thought you might have some form of psychotropic wonder-drug that might make him smarter, more adept at communication? ... If such a thing exists?”
    “It does and I do but the administering process is ridiculously complicated and smells appalling. Have you not thought of punching him in the throat and playing his words from a tape player? No one will notice. We are a nation of drunks, remember.”
    “Truly, Doctor, I’m rather glad I came to see you.”
    “And I am glad you are glad, mysterious Sir. Not least, for my wallet. On a coarser topic, however, I am trusting our financial agreement still holds firm?”
    “Indeed it does, my good man. Half now, the remainder upon return of my suitably modified moron. I have a packing case outside. You may deliver him in that. And, if all our meetings are to conclude this successfully, well, I predict many future collaborations.”
    “Perhaps, then you will be revealing your identity?”
    “I fear not, Doctor. For, whilst I detest lying, I share an equal if not greater revulsion to telling the truth.
    “I understand, Sir. Discretion is the better part, as they are saying, yes? But one thing, if I may ask you? You are choosing a cretin to front your campaign. Would it not be better to be selecting a man who can go for long periods of time without soiling himself? There are many actors and models out there. They can look handsome without invasive surgical interventions. Some are even capable of thinking for themselves.”
    “Which is the last thing I want. Show me an actor and I’ll show you a vacuum searching for a cause, someone with half an opinion and the desire to broadcast it to all and sundry. Couple that lack of understanding with the near religious zeal of the recent convert and you’ll find yourself with the type who delivers speeches about starving orphans at the opening of supermarkets; who berates schoolchildren on sportsday because they’ve never trodden on a landmine and they don’t appreciate their legs; who spreads white-liberal-guilt like typhus. Turn your back for ten seconds and there they are, telling the world God sent them to cure AIDS, the bleeding-heart scum. Give me someone happy in their own skin and dumb enough to trust I’m right and behave accordingly.”
    “You are critical of our thespian friends, yes?”
    “I move in political circles, Doctor. That should tell you all you need to know. But I digress. Please. Take my card. You’ll notice there’s no name. Have the idiot delivered to this address. You’ll find it’s a bawdy house but …”
    “A ‘bawdy house’?”
    “A brothel. A place where kidnapped women rent their internal friction for the stimulation of lonely gentlemen. I prefer to do my dealings in whorehouses. Visitors with something to lose keep quiet. Those without, well, it’s a professional hazard, isn’t it?”
    “What is?”
    “Why, being shot and mutilated in an alleyway, of course. My idiot knows the place. In fact, they treat him as some kind of mascot there. And you might find it somewhat educational yourself. On a purely physiological level, of course. You being a married man and all. ... Well, now, must be going.”
    “You are leaving? I shall see you out. Stemset is
    a big facility, yes?”
    “No need. I have the plans to the building and an airship equipped with thermal imaging equipment tracking my location. I might take the scenic route, though. You don’t mind?”
    “A-hah! There is nothing here you could try to steal which would not be tearing your throat out first. Speaking of which, be wary around the West wing, enclosure 247:B. That is where we are keeping the Gulls.”
    “Gulls? Carrion Gulls? Still breeding them, are you? Christ!” 
    “I may be sounding defensive, but please do tell another way to clean up incriminating battlefield mess?”
    “Yes, but when there aren’t any dead soldiers, the Carrion Gulls migrate inland and eat children.”
    “It