Free Watson, Ian - Novel 06 by God's World (v1.1) Page A

           “Da,
to free himself from death. If he was free, why did he tear his clothes to pieces
as a way of removing them? Why take them off at all? Clearly he was still
bound.”
                 “He
was mad,” says Trimble, uneasily.
                 “Someone
seduced him, in his craving and his childish greed and vulnerability.”
                 “This
is monstrous,” protests Wu.
                 “Dirty
bastard,” mumbles Ritchie, bright beads on his forehead. (Meaning Jacobik? Or
the unknown murderer? Or Captain K for unwrapping the manner of the crime?) He
glares at Salman momentarily, as though he suspects him of homosexual assault
or fears something of the sort in himself and associates the idea with the
handsome, lambent-eyed Persian. (We are hermaphrodites, because of High Space.
How we enter into each other, even sexually!)
                 “If
someone wanted to kill him,” says Rene reasonably, “surely it was simpler to
strangle him while he still lay tethered on his bunk? This is a most peculiar
way of killing somebody.”
                 “It’s
symbolic of execution,” says Peter. “Death by hanging. Otherwise it would just
have been furtive murder. This way, somehow, it’s justice. The unconscious mind
justifies it.” “Seduced to death.” Captain K turns slowly, fixing us all with
his glare. “I do not personally know much of these erotic quasigravity
effects. Only at secondhand. Hmm, about four hours ago, I think . . . No, it
must have been longer. Damn this twisted time! There was a tug, a surge. Who
was making love recently ?” The
trouble is, none of us really knows what ‘recently’ means. No one owns up.
                “Love, it sickens me to say, has
been used to kill. The little death became the big death.”
                 “Thanatos
and Eros hand in hand,” nods Natalya.
                 “What
real proof have you got?” blusters Trimble. “This is very harmful—”
                 “I sense it, more than anything. I sense
the manner of his death. Bruises and tampered locks are secondary. I know. But
I do not know who. It carries the
flavour of us all. So did that tug of quasi-gravity—recently.”
                 “Yeah,
I guess I noticed that,” admits Ritchie. “Some time ago. Since I last woke up.
I think.”
                 “I
too,” says Wu.
                 Some
of us are less sure. “I must have been asleep,” says Heinz firmly. So must I.
                 “Maybe
we’re all responsible,” says Zoe. “Though, as with the ghost battle, one person
must be the channel—a catalyst.”
                 “Does
that console us? Does that absolve the person responsible? As to our peace of
mind, though, Colonel Trimble, the probability has begun to rise again. The
thin green line creeps nearer to the summit even as I speak.”
                 “If
it’s true,” confirms Heinz.
                 “Whoever
is responsible will be even more eager to arrive—as will we all. Yet something
precious has gone from the journey now, for me—much worse than the misfiring of
the missiles. I bring this out into the open, rather than covering it up as you
no doubt would have preferred, for the simple sake of honesty and truth.
Irrelevant virtues? Well, they seem to apply here. Let us not feel glad that
Jacobik is gone, lest that gladness poison us. Let us genuinely mourn him. And
always remember that one of you . . . And to be fair I must include myself in
this circle of accusation—”
                 Why
include himself? Surely the impeacher is the one person whom we can confidently
rule out? Especially given the grotesque sexual bias of the killing . . . which
seems more like a sadomasochistic fantasy every moment. Unless ... Captain K
wishes to suggest that he himself might be responsible!