The predictable problem was that he liked Gerry Knowles.
They'd met the next day, when Billy was formally introduced to the General Systems marketing team, and had hit it off immediately. Billy was invited to Gerry's house in the suburbs, where the family had treated him like visiting royalty.
Billy knew that this was exactly the route he was supposed to take: win Gerry's trust, then betray him and murder him. Or have him murdered, more like--while Billy had always lived with the maxim "Business is War" close to heart, he'd never imagined being summarily dispatched to the front lines of that war.
Now that he was here, regarding the "enemy" up close, he couldn't say he liked it much.
Gerry's kids had gone off to bed and his wife had followed soon after, pleading exhaustion. Billy and Gerry sat on the verandah, which was surrounded by VR screens. Gerry had programmed a view of a mountain lake at sunset. Cool breezes puffed out and ruffled Billy's hair.
"It's beautiful", said Billy.
Gerry looked at him. "I'd trade it all for even a tiny scrap of yard. I had one, growing up. These days you'd need an RR of 13 or more."
A warning light winked deep in Billy's consciousness. Was that a slight emphasis on 13? Did he pluck that number out of midair...or out of, say, a Mercanix job posting?
"Yards are overrated, I think. There's nothing you can do in a yard you can't do cleaner in a home gym--and you never have to weed or mow the gym."
"Fair enough," said Billy, "but I like feeling grass underfoot. Call me old-fashioned--"
"--you're an antique!"--
"but for all our technowizardry, we're arguably losing more than we're gaining. Take propspheres. I was told to create one six months ago...'purely a defensive measure, you understand, Gerry'...and it's almost ready. I can't help but think that turning it on would be a mistake."
"If it's a mistake, than Mercanix made it first," said Billy. "Your boss was right--'purely a defensive measure'."
"Two wrongs don't make a right," said Billy implacably. "I understand this is just the evolution of marketing, but it feels like coercion from where I sit. Bad enough Mercanix thinks it has to force people to like its products. Worse if we take that route."
There was a silence. Billy made a decision.
"What would you say if I told you I was--"
"--from Mercanix, assigned to kill me?" finished Gerry.
For maybe the first time in his like, Billy Madison found himself speechless. His jaw gaped.
"Uh..."
Gerry laughed. "Yeah, funny, isn't it? I read that job posting last week. It wasn't hard to figure we should keep an eye on the person they hired."
Billy was still floundering. "G.S. has somebody at Mercanix? How do they get around the propsphere?"
"No, we don't have a mole, if that's what you're asking," said Billy. "That job posting was public. Anybody with an RR over ten has their names, positions and salaries listed...remember the Sunshine Laws?"
"Okay," said Billy, "but that name would be Billy Madison, not--"
"William Martin? Geez, couldn't you come up with a better alias than that? First off, we did a search online for Billy Madison and captured all sorts of pictures of you. That was within probably ten minutes of your being hired. I went to Sheila the other day and told her to be extra-careful with new hires. Specifically to watch out for someone matching your picture. I even mentioned the initials B. or W. M...people's aliases almost always match their initials."
Billy hated the feeling of being ten steps behind. "So why was I taken on, then? Sheila could just as easily have told me nothing was available."
"Simple," said Gerry. "Mercanix is right about one thing: our mindreading technology is about three generations ahead of theirs. When you walked through Sheila's office door, you were passing through a G.S. Mentalyzer, the most advanced mental scanner in the world. It detected your motive easily...but it also detected you had serious doubts about it. It's a good thing this office is out of reach of Mercanix' propsphere, or those doubts would have been significantly harder to uncover. It would have gone badly for you."
"You mean the machine would have killed me?" Billy asked.
"No! Oh, I'm sure Mercanix would do it that way. For them, mindreading is only a means to the end of mindwriting. And mindwriting would be a great thing--a boon to humanity--if it was used to, say, pour all the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of the ages into a person. Our society being what it is, though, mindwriting is currently being used to force people to think favourably towards certain products.
"Anyway, General Systems doesn't believe in that sort of thing. We think people should be free to make up their own minds, that products should speak for themselves. Most of all, that people should not be punished for their thoughts. So no, our machine wouldn't have killed you. It would have--it did--relay its findings to several people, including Sheila and myself. What to do with you was left up to us."
"Well, thank you," said Billy. "So I guess you're safe. Problem is, I'm not. If I don't go in to Gatlin's office with your head on a platter, I'm dead anyway."
Gerry smiled. "I've given that some thought," he said. "Here's what you're going to do..."
--------------------
Billy felt his thoughts turning inexorably towards Mercanix as he approached the head office early the next morning. The propsphere worked its subtle magic. Billy felt triumphant: he was a warrior in the pay of Mercanix, Incorporated, and dakn it all, he was going to...fix...EVERYTHING!
The elevator whisked him to the 92nd storey and he disembarked, clutching his briefcase tightly. He padded down the hallway, ignoring all the artwork, and barged through into the anteroom of J. Paul Gatlin. Without a glance at the sex kitten behind the desk, he stormed into the inner office/cottage, fixing a fierce grin on his face.
Gatlin was dictating something. He stopped, rose, and then smiled. "Mission accomplished?"
"In a manner of speaking, sir," said Billy.
"What does that mean? Do you or do you not have the head of Gerry Knowles in that briefcase of yours?"
"No, sir. He got away." Gatlin glowered. "But I do have something even better."
The president of Mercanix darkened as he drew in breath to launch into one of his legendary tirades. Before he could get going, Billy unzipped his case and drew out its contents with a flourish.
"...the fuck is that?" said Gatlin.
"This, sir, is the General Systems propsphere."
"Bullshit! There's no way they've managed to make one that small!"
"Yes, they have, and this is it." Billy fondled the device, which looked like the bell of a trumpet. "It's pretty powerful, too. They call it Morale."
Gatlin eyed the G.S. propsphere warily. "Prove it."
Billy's fingers touched the switch. "Are you sure, sir? If I turn that on in here--"
"PROVE IT!!! roared Gatlin.
Billy flicked the switch.
An invisible beam of energy shot towards the president of Mercanix. He stiffened, then rattled in his chair as if fixed there by a bolt of lightning. Everyone in the building was suddenly suffused with the superiority of General Systems. People who had been with Mercanix for less than a year felt the mother of all migraines. The brains of people more thoroughly indoctrinated simply winked out.
Gatlin continued to writhe at his desk. One of his hands fell on the switch of his Projector, which was aimed directly at Billy and the G.S. propsphere.
The air crackled as two energy fields collided. Billy dropped and rolled, and kept rolling out the door. As soon as he was clear of Gatlin's office, he was up and sprinting for the stairs.
Behind him, the fields continued to blossom and grow.
There came a colossal explosion. The ninety-second floor of Mercanix headquarters ceased to exist.
-----------
Billy, bedraggled and bleeding, stumbled down the last of one hundred and eighty four flights of stairs. His legs felt like guitar strings tuned three octaves past their normal pitch. But he was alive.
Gerry Knowles hugged him. "Well done, Billy!"
"Thanks," he panted. "I just want to go home and sleep for about a million years."
All around them, throngs of people looked as though they were waking from a dream. They were disoriented, tripping over each other, seeing the world with new eyes. The Mercanix propsphere had been destroyed.
"That was a pretty damn powerful propsphere," said Billy.
"Yup," Gerry smiled. "Hopefully the world will never see another one. You know," he added, "I spent fifteen hours tweaking that thing up for maximum power. The standard model was meant just to make you feel happy. It wasn't even programmed to make you think of General Systems. I had to add that in. I wanted Gatlin to know what killed him. By the way, Billy, they've voted to increase your RR to 15. The highest rating."
Around them, fire engines wailed and brayed. Billy and Gerry faded into the background where they belonged.
THE END
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