Read Online The Mind-Riders by Brian Stableford - Free Book Online

for the title died. Not because of what Herrera did, but because of the way he was made inside. And, of course, he died decorously enough, in the hospital, long after the switch was off. He’d done his job. The death wasn’t blamed on Network—how could it be? It didn’t even harm their big advertising job. It was played down that much. The fault was in the fighter, not in the system. So said the coroner. No one was to blame.
    â€œBut the kid that died was Velasco Valerian’s son, and Velasco had his own ideas about blame and justice. He couldn’t accept what the coroner said. He had to hold his own inquiry, inside his mind, and decide according to his own tenets just who was guilty. He started from two basic and inviolable premises: that no possible blame could be attached to his son, and that no possible blame could be attached to himself. That was fundamental to his whole approach.
    â€œAnd the high court of Velasco Valerian’s feudal vanity brought back two findings. One: that Paul Herrera was guilty of destroying his son, and two: that Ryan Hart also had to take a portion of the blame. The first was necessary in order to justify the first premise: it wasn’t Franco that cracked up, but Herrera who cracked him. The second was necessary to justify the second premise: it wasn’t Network’s decision about priorities, which was partly Valerian’s, that was responsible for Franco’s being in the ring that night, but the fault of the man who should have been in his place. Velasco blames me for not being able to broadcast, for being the kind of man I am. He has to blame me, in order to avoid taking any of the blame himself.
    â€œIt’s not as clear as that in his mind, of course. He probably hasn’t worked it out. He doesn’t know what he thinks—only what he feels. And what he feels is concentrated hatred for Herrera, diluted hatred for me. Unjust, maybe—but whenever did feelings respect justice?
    â€œAnd that, basically, is it. All tied up with a pink ribbon. End of story. Except that near the end the plot sickens. Because Velasco discovers the thing that Ryan Hart knew all along—that the only way Valerian is going to engineer the ritual destruction of Paul Herrera is by matching him with Ryan Hart. A cruel twist of ironic fate, you may say. The innate comic justice of the way the world goes, maybe. Either way, a tangled knot. One that can’t be untied, but only cut. End of story—all except for punch line. But I told you there was no punch line. Not yet. In time—”
    I let it go.
    The silence that fell was limp and haggard. It extended itself slowly, tiredly.
    â€œYou’re crazy,” said Curman, finally, pouring himself another drink.
    â€œSo’s he,” I replied. “Aren’t we all?”
    But of course, we aren’t. Curman wasn’t, for one. He was okay. He knew the way of the world. He cooperated, with the occasional shrug of his shoulders. He let things go on the way they were. He probably never wondered who was to blame for anything.
    I resumed packing, leaving him to think. It probably didn’t make any sense to him. There were probably a lot of things about other people’s actions and motives that didn’t make sense to him. But he always made perfect sense to himself. He had his wants and his needs clearly mapped out in the cosy little space that was his imagination. He led a disciplined life.
    If everyone else were like him, the world would be a much easier place to live in.
    â€œBut why now?” he said, “after so many years.”
    â€œYou were there,” I said. “You heard him.”
    Curman had heard him, but Curman had been unable to comply with the demand for understanding. Curman didn’t understand.
    But I knew. For once in his life Velasco Valerian was having to compromise with the way that chance had stacked the deck. He was having to accept one of the