She said nothing, merely stared at me with those reptilian eyes.
Gestured to the sack of gold statuettes on the floor between us. "In return for finding your money and getting it to you, I expect a ten percent reward. Add that to what you owe me for finding Barkham dead, and we can round t off to five of the statuettes. We part friends, both of us richer."
She continued to stare at me and I began to get worried. Did not want Yokomata for an enemy. She had a reputation for holding a grudge. Would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for my head to get vaporized.
"Sounds reasonable," she said, finally.
Hid my relief. And my elation. Would have let her haggle me down to two statues
Stuck out my hand. She took and shook.
"Deal."
We made small talk the rest of the trip. She seemed particularly interested in the manner of Barkham's death. Had a feeling she’d’ve liked to have been there to see it herself. She seemed relaxed and affable, but I detected something ugly beneath the surface.
And then the flitter stopped: We were over the Yokomata estate, somewhere between the wall and the softly glowing Taj Mahal holo enveloping her house. All was dark below.
As Yokomata looked out the window on her left, I picked up the dose gun on my lap and gave her a good air-propelled shot of Truth in her upper arm, right through the fabric of her blouse.
She spun around and grabbed at the injection site.
"Wha…?"
Smiled at her. "Just getting even. After all, what's a little Truth between friends?"
Put the flitter on hold at ten meters and popped open the rear door on Yokomata's side. There came a breathy hissing from below, interrupted by loud clacking sounds: jaws with dozens of giant teeth snapping together with bone-crunching force. I made her push the bodies of her dead thugs out the door one by one.
She didn't seem to mind. And as the last tumbled down into that gnashing darkness I said to her:
"Yoko, old girl, tell me true: Did you really mean it when you said you'd let bygones be bygones?"
As her head swung around toward me her face became a mask of unfathomable rage. Spittle flew at me as she screamed.
"You putrid lump of street dung! Do you think I'd let you get away with killing my men and walking away with a percentage of my take? I'd rather sell my ass in Dydeetown! The first thing I'm going to do when I get inside is send a hit squad after you and that clone! You'll both be dead before sunrise!"
Pointed the blaster at her face.
"Jump."
Her eyes reflected the horror she felt. She could hide nothing.
"At least you've got a chance if you jump," I said. "That's more than you were going to give me."
She looked out the door into that hungry darkness, then looked back at me. If she hadn't had the Truth in her, she might have caught me off guard. But her face told the whole story.
Put a deep penetrating blast into her upper chest as she started to leap at me. She reeled back and fell out the door.
Didn't wait to hear the chomping from below. Hit the "All Secure" button, then told the console the coordinates of my compartment building. Had to get a clean intact jumper before I went to Elmero's to turn all this gold into more manageable credit.
-13-
Scanned the L.I. Port mall near the shuttle ramp but saw no sign of Jean. Walked on, passing someone in a Suki Alvarez holosuit, when I heard a familiar voice say, "Hello, Mr. Dreyer."
Suki Alvarez flickered off and there stood Jean.
Didn't recognize her at first, what with her hair cut close to the scalp and all. She was standing by the chute to the shuttle ramp, all her belongings in a single bag on the floor beside her, her face a tight, anxious mask.
"Afraid I wouldn't show?"
"I knew you would," she said with conviction. "Just afraid you'd be late. I'm on the next shuttle."
"Where to?"
"The Bernardo de la Paz platform."
"Oh." That had been Maggs' first stop. It had taken me a while to trace her itinerary, but I finally learned—
"Have you got it?"
"What?" I came back to the present. "Oh, yeah. Here." Had the greencard in my hand. Passed it over.
She grabbed it away like a starving man grabs food, and sighed like he would with his first bite. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you."
"Means a lot, huh?"
A little-girl smile: "Oh, yes!"
"Like what?"
"Somebody believed in me enough to help me pass as Realpeople."
"How do you know it's not a fake? How do you know you won't get red-lighted when they check your genotype as you try to pass through Emigration?"
She looked insulted. "Stop it!"
"How do you know he wasn't going to go up to the screening area and leave you standing there with the alarms going off while he boarded the shuttle and headed out?"
"I just know!" she said in a shocked tone. Guess the thought had never occurred to her.
"He was a crook."
"No! He was an agent"…her face clouded…"and the R.A. will catch up with whoever did such a thing to one of their top men. He believed in me and I believe in this card. It's all I have left of him."
Dumb. Dumb! Had to tell her the truth, whether she believed me or not.
"He was a crook. That's how he got these."
Handed her a small sack containing ten of the little Joey Jose statues. After almost toppling over with the unexpected weight, she looked inside, then looked at me, questioning.
"They were Barkham's and—"
"Bodine—his real name was Kyle Bodine."
"Whatever. I took a share. Figure the rest belong to you. They're worth less on the outworlds than here, but it’s enough to set you up pretty, so take good care of them."
Knew she'd have no trouble getting them out—Earth restricted only the importing of gold.
Her eyes got sort of liquidy. "I don't know what to—"
"Not going to cry are you?" Didn't want a scene here.
She smiled faintly. "Nope. I'm trying to forget how to do that."
"It's easy. I forgot a long time ago."
She was silent for a time, looking around and biting her lip. Then she said: "Well, thanks anyway for giving this to me."
"Fair's fair," I told her. "Anyway, I came out way ahead. Won't have to work for clones again."
"You never ease up, do you?" she said as her face rearranged itself into harder lines. "I was almost hoping you'd…"
"What?"
She shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know…change your mind about me…about clones…a little."
Looked away. "You've got about as much chance of seeing that as I have of changing yours about Barkham."
"Bodine," she said mechanically. "And why don't you just leave it alone?"
"Because he was a no-good dregger and that's the truth."
"It can't be. I won't let it be."
"The truth stinks sometimes. Lots of times."
"Not this time. Whatever you or anybody else thinks of Kyle—or whoever he was—I know he loved me and wanted me and no one can take that away."
"We'll see."
"No. You'll see. But in any event—" She smiled stiffly and stuck out her fight hand. "You did your job well and I thank you for it."
"Will you thank me when you find out that card's a fake?"
"Only one way to prove it to you, isn't there?"
Her eyes held mine. She was so sure. Maybe she had to be. Maybe she had to hold onto the belief that someone out of all the Realpeople in all the worlds would do right by her. Too bad she had such lousy judgment.
She picked up her bag and stepped into the upchute. As she rose toward the Emigration platform I moved back so I could watch her be processed. She walked to the counter and inserted her greencard in the slot, then slipped her arm into the tissue sampler.
Stood and watched, repeatedly rubbing my sweat slick palms on my jump while the processor checke
d the genetic makeup of Jean’s sampled cells against the data in the central bank.
And then with a smile that must have been blinding at close range, Jean was passing through, triumphantly waving the greencard in my direction, and heading for the shuttle.
Gave her an elaborate shrug and turned away.
-14-
Stood at the edge of the platform for the Brooklyn tube and watched the shuttle rise blueward, a black dot against the rising sun. Someone who went in for that sort of thing would probably think it was beautiful.
Thought about that greencard…and the few tense moments I'd had there wondering whether it would work.
Don't ask me why I did it. Don't know. Haven't become an oozer or anything like that. Nothing's changed. Just happened that when I returned to my compartment for a fresh jumpsuit I came across the one with Jean's bloodstains on it and the idea hit me.
The challenge appealed to me. The challenge and nothing more. So after I gave the astonished Elmero twenty of the statuettes—his fifty-percent share of what I'd found—he was more than willing to arrange the fix as a favor for his dear good friend Sigmundo. Said the blood on the jumper would enable his contact in CenDat to locate Jean's genotype and change her status in no time. True to his word, he handed me a new, genuine greencard in a tenth.
Watched the shuttle disappear from view, well on its way to the first stop to Out Where All The Good Folks Go.
Pulled out the bogus card Barkham had given Jean and dropped it over the edge of the platform. It fluttered and see-sawed into the dimness below. Soon it too was out of sight.
PART TWO
Wires
"It's Be Kind To Buttonheads Week. Let your neighborhood wired wonder plug himself into your wall." (datastream graffito)
-1-
The next two years were pretty uneventful until I lost my head.
Literally.
Being decapitated will always rank as my most memorable experience. Not my favorite, but very memorable. Happened right in my own home, too.
Someone had strung a strand of molly wire across my compartment doorway. Neck high. Couldn't see it, of course, so I stepped right through it. Correction: It stepped through me. A submicroscopic strand of single molecules strung end to end. If it hadn't made that faint little skitch as it cut through one of my neck bones, don't know what would have happened.
Yes, I do. Would have died right inside my doorway.
Wouldn't have been pretty, either. A turn to the left or right, or a slight lean forward, and my head would have fallen off in a gaudy spray of red and bounced along the floor.
Didn't feel a thing. But that's supposed to be typical of molecular wire. Could guess what brand it was, too: Gussman Alloy. Hundred-kilo test. Cuts through a human body like a steel-trimming razor through cheesoid.
As the door slid shut behind me, my skin began to burn from a line just below my Adam's apple all the way down to my toes — a million white hot needle pricks. My knees were getting soft. That was on the outside. Panic was roaring to life on the inside. Had to do something — but what?
Gently clamped my weakening fingers around my neck and shuffled across the single room in the direction of the only chair like someone balancing live dissociator grenades atop his head. My legs were starting to give way as I neared it. If I fell or even stumbled, my head would slip and loosen all the connections with the rest of my body and it would all be over. Forced myself to turn slowly, got the backs of my knees against the seat, and lowered myself down as gently as I could. My arms were getting tired from holding my head on, but at least I was seated.
Relief, but not much. Had to stay stiffly erect. Couldn't last like this very long, though. Risked taking a hand away from my neck to press the reform button. Felt the chair move up against my spine and the back of my neck and head, fitting itself to me. Kept the button pressed for maximum fit until the padding had formed forward to my ears and had wormed its way between my arms and body. Thanked myself sincerely for investing in a top-of-the-line polyform recliner like this.
Safe for the moment. Swallowed and felt something tear free in my throat. Got my hand back up there real fast. But how long could I hold it there? Everything was going numb.
At least now I could think. Still alive — but how? Even more pressing — Why and who? Who would want to behead me? Could only be one —
Saw movement outside my door and had the answer to my question. But not quite the answer I had expected. The custom chair and the one-way transparent door were a couple of instances of inconspicuous consumption I'd splurged on since the windfall of the Yokomoto affair. The door had appealed to the voyeur in me, I guess. Mine is an end-corridor compartment and my door faces down the hall. The door lets me get to know all my neighbors without them knowing me. Nice that way.
But the guy coming down the hall now was no neighbor. He was pale and pudgy, had a high forehead, with beady little eyes and a small mouth crowded around a fat nose. Never saw him before. He came up to the door, glanced around, then pulled a tiny aerosol cannister from his pocket. Thought I saw a brief blur of motion back in the hall but my attention was centered on him as he sprayed the air in front of the door at the neck-high level. He waited a couple of seconds, then waved the cannister through the fading spray. The molly wire was gone, its molecular bonds dissolved. The murder weapon was now just a bunch of Gussman alloy molecules floating randomly through the air of the hallway.
The guy didn't leave right away. He stood and stared longingly at the door. Could tell from his expression he wished he could see through it so he could dwell on the end result of his handiwork. Almost wished the door could go transparent both ways so he could see me sitting here looking back at him, giving him the finger. With a sigh and a wistful little smile he turned and walked away.
Who the hell was he? And why had he tried to kill me?
Tried? He hadn't failed yet. Didn't know how I had hung on this long and didn't know how much longer everything in my head would stay lined up with my neck. Needed help, and fast!
Wheeled the chair over to the comm unit and told it to call Elmero's private number. Knew he was there. Just left him.
"El!" I said when his sallow, skeletal face appeared on the screen. My voice was soft and hoarse.
"Sig! Why're you whispering? And why're you holding your throat? Sore?"
"Need help, El. Real bad."
He smiled that awful smile. "What you into now?"
"Trouble. Doc still there?"
"Out in the barroom."
"Send him over. Gonna die if you don't get him here real quick. Molly wire."
The smile disappeared. He could tell I wasn't joking. "Where are you?"
"Home"
"He's on his way."
The screen blanked. Swiveled the chair around and stared down the empty hall, trying to figure out why that guy wanted me dead. Had only been back in business for two weeks...
-2-
The life of the idle rich had become a real bore, mainly because I couldn't act rich. All I could do was be idle. That was the problem with getting a windfall in something illegal like gold. Had to fence it through Elmero and keep my spending at a level that would not attract attention in Central Data.
But even if it had all been legal, it was hard for me to spend anything near what I had. Didn't like to travel, didn't drink or sniff much, didn't do luce or stim, didn't have friends to squander it on. Did buy some top quality buttons as a treat. Spent a lot of time in pleasureland with a succession of them snapped onto my scalp, trying to saturate my limbic system before beginning the slow, painful process of cutting myself off.
Then the wean began, stretching out the intervals between buttoning up, lengthening them to the point where I'd feel safe getting dewired. The wean was now almost a year along. Hardest thing I've ever done, and idleness only made it harder.
So I opened my office in the Verrazano Complex again. Thought that would be pretty idle for a while, too, but who shows up the first d
ay? Ned Spinner. Didn't call, didn't knock, just strutted into my office and started yelling in that nasal voice.
"Dreyer, you lousy rotten dregger! I knew you'd be back sooner or later! Where is she?"
"Where is who?"
Knew he meant Jean. Spinner had hounded me for months after her "disappearance," even at home. Finally I'd moved to an outer wall compartment and lost him for a while. Now he was back. Must have had my office cubicle watched all this time.
Hated the jog. He was in the same dark greeen pseudovelvet jumpsuit he always wore. He thought he had friends, thought he had influence, thought he was a talented entrepeneur. And he was...but only in his own mind. In real life he was a lousy pimp clonemaster.
"Don't know any more than Central Data tells you, Spinner: She took a shuttle off-planet and from there emigrated to the Outworlds."
"Dreck! She's still on-planet and you know where!"
"In all honesty, I don't know where she is. But if I did know, sure wouldn't tell you."
His face reddened. "If that's your game, fine. But sooner or later you're gonna slip up. And when I catch you with her, it'll be all over for you, Dreyer. I won't bother with grand theft charges. I'll take care of you myself. And when I'm through with you, even the garbage chute in this roach-hole building won't accept you."
The man had a way with words.
Shortly after he left, a real customer showed up. He was slim, smooth, maybe thirty, his shiny hair leaf-sculpted in the latest, tinted perfectly to match the lemon yellow of his feather-trimmed clingsuit. The height of fashion. Up on the latest. Hated guys like this. Maybe because his clothes would look ridiculous on my cuboid frame, but mostly because he dressed to proclaim that he was up to the minute on style and all he really advertized to me was that he didn't have a mind of his own.
His name was Earl Khambot and he said he needed help finding someone.
"My specialty," I said. "Who're we looking for?"