5

REICH FOUND HIMSELF IN a spherical room designed as the heart of a giant orchid. The walls were curling orchid petals, the floor was a golden calyx; the chairs, tables and couches were orchid and gold. But the room was old. The petals were faded and peeling; the golden tile floor was ancient and the tesselations were splitting. There was an old man lying on the couch, musty and wilted, like a dried weed. It was D’Courtney, stretched out like a corpse.

Reich slammed the door in rage. “You’re not dead already, you bastard,” he exploded. “You can’t be dead.”

The faded man started up, stared, then arose painfully from the couch, his face breaking into a smile.

“Still alive,” Reich cried exultantly.

D’Courtney stepped toward Reich, smiling, his arms outstretched as though welcoming a prodigal son.

Alarmed again, Reich growled: “Are you deaf?”

The old man shook his head.

“You speak English,” Reich shouted. “You can hear me. You can understand me. I’m Reich. Ben Reich of Monarch.”

D’Courtney nodded, still smiling. His mouth worked soundlessly. His eyes glistened with sudden tears.

“What the hell is the matter with you? I’m Ben Reich! Ben Reich! Do you know me? Answer me.”

D’Courtney shook his head and tapped his throat. His mouth worked again. Rusty sounds came; then words as faint as dust: “Ben… Dear Ben… Waited so long. Now… Can’t talk. My throat… Can’t talk.” Again he attempted to embrace Reich.

“Arrgh! Keep off, you crazy idiot.” Bristling, Reich stepped around D’Courtney like an animal, his hackles raised, the murder boiling in his blood.

D’Courtney’s mouth formed the words: “Dear Ben…”

“You know why I’m here. What are you trying to do? Make love to me?” Reich laughed. “You crafty old pimp. Am I supposed to turn soft for your chewing?” His hand lashed out. The old man reeled back from the slap and fell into an orchid chair that looked like a wound.

“Listen to me—” Reich followed D’Courtney and stood over him. He began to shout incoherently. “This payoff’s been on the fire for years. And you want to rob me with a Judas kiss. Does murder turn the other cheek? If it does, embrace me, brother killer. Kiss death! Teach death love. Teach Godliness and shame and blood and — No. Wait. I—” He stopped short and shook his head like a bull trying to cast off a halter of delirum.

“Ben,” D’Courtney whispered in horror. “Listen, Ben…”

“You’ve been at my throat for ten years. There was room enough for both of us. Monarch and D’Courtney. All the room in time and space, but you wanted my blood, eh? My heart. My guts in your lousy hands. The Man With No Face!”

D’Courtney shook his head in bewilderment. “No, Ben. No…”

“Don’t call me Ben. I’m no friend of yours. Last week I gave you one more chance to wash in decency. Me. Ben Reich. I asked for armistice. Begged for peace. Merger. I begged like a screaming woman. My father would spit on me if he were alive. Every fighting Reich would blacken my face with contempt. But I asked for peace, didn’t I? Eh? Didn’t I?” Reich prodded D’Courtney savagely. “Answer me.”