Free The Reproductive System (Gollancz SF Library) by John Sladek

Morocco? For France? Or was he playing some even deeper game?
    —What kind of game was Suggs playing? Scott wondered. Had he killed Haroun because the merchant knew too much? Had Haroun called him outright a double agent? There was no doubt Suggs was a wheel within a wheel, but for whom? He wondered how he could have let Suggs fool him for so long. Why, everything about him gave it away—the half-picture, the over-casual way he seemed to be looking at the ashtray, while his other hand was out of sight, going for a gun.
    —There were no ashes, Suggs noted, but there had been ashes yesterday. Someone had cleaned this ashtray. Why? He saw the over-casual way Scotty was yawning. Was he getting ready to make his play?
    —Was Suggs making his play?
    —Yes,
now
!
    —
Now!
Fire through the newspaper !
    —
Now!
Suggs stabbed the question mark button on the typewriter.
    Fire and steel exploded. Scotty slumped forward, dead.
    ‘I’m really sorry, Scotty,’ Sugg murmured, standing over the corpse. ‘I wish you could get a hero’s funeral, at least. But I gotta protect myself, old shoe. The noise of that shotgun blast will bring the police. I’ve got to make sure the hotel will pay them off and cover up your death.’
    He opened an emergency kit and dug out a black lace brassiere and a lipstick. He fastened the brassiere about the cadaver’s torn chest and drew red upon the discoloured lips. Then he looked hard at the half-photo, memorized the address on the back, tore it in bits and swallowed them.
    Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs as he left by the balcony. Suggs took a last look at the body.
    ‘Don’t worry, Scotty,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’ll get the bastards for making me do this. So help me.’

TOE END OF THE WORLD
     
    ‘What are little girls made of? Contain dextrose, maltose, monosodium glutamate, artificial flavouring and colouring; sodium propionate added to retard spoilage.’
    Old Saying
     
     
    Though the television newscaster seemed hysterical, Susie Suggs was not agitated in the least. She was not really watching the screen of her portable TV; it served only as a flat weight on her tummy, while she did her deep breathing exercises according to
Lady Fair
magazine. The exercises made her sleepy, and the voice of the little figure seemed to dwindle to a mosquito hum. It was almost as if he were a little man growing right out of her tummy; but this idea was so vaguely disquieting that it brought her fully awake. Forgetting to count her breaths, Susie began actually watching.
    ‘Is it a Russian sneak attack? Is it one of our own secret weapons gone somehow horribly wrong? Or is it something we are even less prepared to face—an invasion of beings not of this planet? We’ll have the whole story in just a moment, after this message from the Vortex Corporation.’
    The screen went white, then displayed a large white missile sitting in a mesh of black iron railings. Fire swelled from under it as, trembling, the giant cylinder rose into darkness.
    ‘This is … the Moloch !’ intoned a solemn announcer. ‘America’s newest power punch ! Just look at this baby go !’ The missile rose, tilted, and headed off into the night. ‘Now watch the Moloch destroy this mock-up of an enemy village !’ Something white flashed downward into a grass village, and both exploded together—‘
Wow!
’ said the announcer—in one instant of blinding glare.
    The scene changed to a complicated laboratory, where a group of men in white coats listened to earphones and watched, on a dozen little TV screens, the destruction re-enacted.
    ‘These capable, experienced men designed Moloch. They are the members of Vortex Missile Group, just one of Vortex’s “Keep America Tough” programmes. Every man here is a genius, dedicated and committed to our ever-expanding missile
    programme. They have solved the launch and guidance problems of the Moloch—and of
seventeen other
military missiles. Yes, at Vortex, retaliation is a