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Read Ebook: The Furious Rose by Evans Dean Thorne Illustrator
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Ebook has 140 lines and 7643 words, and 3 pages
The Furious Rose
Illustrated by THORNE
This world was a setup for any man who wanted to get along--provided one had enough victims to toss to the wolves!
Tony Radek leaned back in his chair and frowned. One-fifteen in the morning. At one-fifteen in the morning no man, no matter who, should be going to his Neg-Emote. Why not hang a man instead? Or electrocute him? Or gas him the way they used to back in the old days? In those old days his grandfather used to talk about, where twelve ordinary citizens said the word that peeled the life off a man like skinning an onion.
He sighed softly and folded his hands across a tiny paunch that was just beginning to show. Tony Radek was getting old. He was a "safe" now. That meant he needn't worry about the war any longer. He was a nice, mild, peaceable gentleman who stayed at home and thought beautiful thoughts about the younger men out in space. A man his age didn't feel anger and hate and retribution and lust and treachery any more. He was just a little old fat guy. He was the Federal Executioner.
At once the Emote Neutral lights in the office flickered wildly. Tony pulled his eyes from the screen and glared up at the lights. That's progress for you. Let a man go on one little momentary emotional binge, like this, and right away spies in the joint start screaming. In a moment now, the one on his right--the Master Screen--would blink into life and old hell-hips himself would start poking around asking questions. Just see if it didn't.
He turned his head to the right, stared at the Master Screen and waited.
The screen blazed into life. A narrow-faced man with washed-away eyes that looked as though they'd seen sin and hadn't liked it peered angrily over toward Tony behind the desk.
Tony worked up an innocent look. He spread his hands on the black surface of the desk, smiled, and said mildly: "Out of your mind. My lights have been as steady as old Emote Neutral herself. Probably that blonde you got Central Direction kidded into thinking you need as an assistant--probably you sneaked up on her when she was in Personal Lok and...."
"What?" The Master Screen trembled a little and the narrow-faced man's eyes seemed to jerk out of registration for a moment. "Look here, Radek, I've stood just about enough of your insinuations!"
"Look who's making the lights flicker now," said Tony calmly. He waved an arm around the office. Emote Neutral was flickering rapidly as though controlled by an interrupter switch. "Central Direction should see this," he observed.
He stared briefly at the contorted face on the screen. That face was working convulsively now, getting red like the ritual roses over in the cooler.
He snorted disgustedly, reached forward and touched the matswitch which threw the Master Screen into visi-lok. At once the screen darkened and all sound left the office.
That was more like it. Let old hell-hips up in Supplies and Control stew if he wanted, there wasn't anything in the Constitution--not even the old Constitution--that said a man had to sit and look at him.
Tony Radek jerked, spun around. He swallowed quickly, said nervously: "Yes, sir?"
"Radek, you're violating Ordinance Six, Code 325, Division of Security! Unlock that visi-screen at once!"
"Yes, sir." Tony's hand flew to the matswitch, pulled it. "Sorry. Elbow must have hit it accidentally. Didn't know it was locked...."
"Radek, there's a war on. That visi-lok must be used only in emergency. You know that."
"Yes, sir. Like I said...."
"I heard. In the future, be a little more careful. And, Radek--"
"Yes, sir?"
"Ready Cell Two. Execution at one-twenty-seven. John Edward Haley. Convicted of mass interference of morale, City of Greater New Denver, as outlined under Congressional Act of April 12, 2250. Decision rendered equally on all three Final Master Machines."
"No appeal?" asked Tony very softly.
"No appeal. And, Radek--"
"Yes, sir?"
"The condemned is married. Check with Supplies and Control for bill of divorcement. His wife is a young woman, will have to marry again in the morning as outlined under Congressional Act of May 28, 2211. Got that?"
"Yes, sir."
Then he sighed, punched the button on Supplies and Control.
"Hell-hips!" he growled. "Snap it up. Execution at one-twenty-seven. Bill of divorcement."
The narrow face peered sourly out at him from the Master Screen. It didn't have much emotion in it now. It was almost blank, like the face of a humanoid robot somebody'd left something out of.
"Been hittin' the bottle again, huh?" said Tony.
"Sure, sure. Nice name. Lovely name. Sounds like a stone-boat going over ground glass. Whip up that bill of divorcement."
Tony's hand reached out for the button on Supplies and Control. "Watch those lights," he said tiredly.
He got up from the desk, stretched a little and went across the office to the cooler in the opposite wall. His feet made no noise; he had that quiet tread that all cats, a few men and some women achieve. His hand interrupted the automatic cellgard and a tiny, almost hidden door in the wall swung wide. He reached up, poked his hand in the cooler, felt around. A little smile came into his eyes. He took his hand out of the cooler, got up on tiptoes and looked inside. No roses. Not even one rose.
Chuckling, he went back to the desk and jabbed a finger at the button over Supplies and Control.
"Hell-hips!" he rapped. "Where's all that well known and demonstrated efficiency I've had to rake out of my ears?"
"Yeah. Something." Tony's voice dropped, got deadly soft. "How many weeks since you checked the cooler, boy? There aren't any ritual roses."
"There--there aren't any?"
"That's right, Mr. Clacker. Now get away from that screen. I'm reporting this to Central Direction." His finger jammed down on the Supplies and Control button. He watched the Master Screen go blank and grinned. He thought, "Shake a little, Mr. Clacker, shake a little," because he didn't dare even whisper to himself.
She was still there, hunched up in one of the chairs like a small child somebody had left in an interplanet waiting room and then gone away and forgotten. Tony frowned once more. Damn that dame, she was spoiling his nights.
She was there, just as she'd been on the screen upstairs, only clearer, more vivid, something witnessed instead of second hand, something with dimension to it. She was in a big chair that could have accommodated two like her. She had her legs tucked under her and her brown eyes that looked up at Tony's approach weren't any larger than two full moons.
He said, "Are you Mrs. John Haley?"
The girl nodded. "They--they've got Johnny...."
"I know." Tony dropped into a chair opposite the girl. "It's late," he said softly. "You shouldn't be here this time of night, Mrs. Haley."
The girl thought about that. "You're Mr. Radek, aren't you? In the Execution Office?"
"Call me Tony, Mrs. Haley."
"All right, Tony. Yes, it's late. I hadn't noticed, but I suppose you're right."
"You should go home, Mrs. Haley." He stopped, then lied a little. "They'll let you know. You don't have to worry."
As if he'd deliberately telepathed the thought, the girl said suddenly: "Tony, is--is it true about the furious roses? I mean, if a man is found guilty, do they--?"
"The 'furious' roses, Mrs. Haley?" He smiled. "I see. You mean because they're so red. Yes, it's true. Ritual roses, we call them, but that's nothing. Nothing at all. A custom only. A symbol handed down. It means nothing."
"I know." The girl nodded again. "When we were children, we always called them the furious roses because they were a furious red. We always used to say that if an innocent man was executed, the furious red rose would right away turn white, Tony. To show they'd been wrong about him."
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