Conscience of the Beagle Read Online Free Page A

tiles never fail. But I didn’t want it bad enough. We could have had an apartment on a restricted M-6 Level. A spacious apartment. With security cameras. Neighborhood security gates. She wouldn’t have . . .
    “You’d never know it,” Vanderslice says.
    I’ve clenched my fists so hard that my hands have cramped. Never know what? I’m lost. Nothing he’s saying makes any sense.
    “When Ed the Chosen died, Marvin managed five True Prophecies, three more than his closest competitor. He forgets how many times he was wrong. A few years ago he told me that when he opens his mouth, God speaks.” The green eyes lift to mine. “I think Marv’s crazy.”
    I stretch the ache out of my fingers. Vanderslice has finally come to the point. “So that’s the gossip.”
    He leans toward me. Backlit by the morning sun, his brown curly hair is a halo. “No. Listen. If Marvin thinks he’s the right hand of God, he has to believe in mercy.”
    Wide sidewalks, green lawns flash by. Marvin and Vanderslice were born here. Of course they believe in mercy. The people on M-6 might believe in it. On M-4 ceiling lights fail.
    “‘Into Thy hands I commit my spirit,’ remember? Marv takes that to heart. He’d punish a sinner. He’s done it before. But he’s absolutely incapable of hurting someone to save himself. No matter how many thou-shalt-nots Marvin’s made of, no matter how inflexible or self-righteous or even silly he might be, God commanded submission. And Marvin isn’t going to let Him down. Once you understand Marvin, really understand him, you’ll see the conclusion my investigation reached is all wrong.”
    He pauses for my question, but I’m not interested in his answer. Vanderslice is gullible. Too sheltered to buck the system. I ask anyway. “So what was the conclusion?”
    Vanderslice presses his lips together. Gives me a shrug that is more nervous tic. “That Marv is behind the terrorist acts. And the murders are part of a government conspiracy.”

MY MOUTH opens in astonishment. What? I want to ask. What? But then the limo whines to a halt in front of the hotel. The doors slide open. Vanderslice jumps out and walks up the sidewalk to the entrance.
    “Wait a minute!” He ignores me. Angered, I catch up to him and jerk him around. “Wait just a fucking minute!”
    “Oops. Watch that language.” There’s a bemused look on his face. “Lucky there’s not a God’s Warrior around here, he’d fine you.”
    The grounds of the hotel and the spacious sidewalk where we’re standing are empty. Along one side of the huge hotel is a pine forest, a gazebo placed in it like a shrine. It’s empty, too. I don’t understand these huge places where nothing at all happens.
    “What do you mean, ‘government conspiracy’?”
    A girl suddenly appears at my shoulder. If she had a knife I’d be dead now. Her smile is bright, wide, and vacant as the hotel grounds. A Bible is clutched to her breasts. “The planet of Tennyson was colonized one hundred and fifty years ago by Harold and Mimi Tennyson, of Earth . . .”
    Where did she come from? How could I let her sneak up on me like that?
    “When the God’s Warriors started looking into the terrorist acts,” Vanderslice says, “they probed the DEEP program in the net of one of the first victims, and found plans for a coup hidden in a subsub file. The Warriors got scared because this wasn’t just some malcontent or blasphemer they were dealing with. This conspirator had status.”
    The girl prattles an upbeat counterpoint to Vanderslice’s minor- key tale. “. . . could found a society free from crime and sin . . .”
    Vanderslice doesn’t look at her. Is she really there? Does he want to make me believe I’m seeing things?
    “So that’s when Marv asked me to take over the investigation, because the God’s Warriors are just cops — no offense — and even Marv was starting to worry. You could nail him to a cross. He’d let you. But he never had any burning