Even as we walked in his stadium penthouse, past furniture worth more than my life, I missed them.
“Remember the Petes?”
“Sure. Hot Pete and Ugly Pete.”
Zunz stopped and then guffawed. “We called them that, didn’t we? We were such assholes.”
“Hey, we were just accurate.”
“Did you know they’re bioartists now?”
I’d watched some of the Petes’ streams online. They were rising stars in the art world, using genomods to create living works of art. Paintings where the eyes actually did follow you, mobiles of struggling fish dangling from feeding tubes.
“Like, big ones,” Zunz was saying. “I went to one of their shows and, well, check it out!”
On a raised shelf on the back wall, there was a ball of bird wings. There must have been a thousand of them. Every color of the rainbow, and all different sizes. No beaks or eyes. Just wings. They were flapping, slowly and out of sync. Beneath the shelf I could see two tanks of liquids, one pink and one yellow, that were keeping the sculpture alive.
I looked at it for a while, trying to see the appeal of something that was so carefully made to be so grotesque.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I never understood art.”
Zunz laughed again. “Me neither! But this baby will be worth a fortune in a decade or two. My art guy said they’re a surefire investment.”
Behind him, the feathers rustled on their perch.
That was when I looked around the apartment. Really saw it. It was filled with the latest gadgets and high-end furniture. Mood orbs bobbed around, squirting out different scents and ambient sounds. There were gold columns pretending to hold up the ceiling. One wall was covered entirely in video posters of Zunz at bat.
It was the type of rich person’s sky pad we’d mocked as kids. We swore when we were baseball stars that we’d always remember where we came from.
“You agreed to all this? The cloning and everything?”
Zunz nodded with his mouth half open. “Um, hell yeah I did. I’m getting paid millions to watch the game from the best seat in the house.”
“But playing baseball was your whole life. Your dream.”
We headed back into his living room.
“My dream was to be a baseball star. And I still am.” He pointed at the posters on the wall as we walked by. A glass case held animatronic trophies for his Rookie of the Year and Golden Glove in the Patriot League awards. Zunz sat down and leaned back into the cushions. I sat across from him and looked at his pudgy stomach. He was barely in better shape than me at this point.
“That’s not you out there on the field.”
“It’s my body.”
“It’s not you though.”
Zunz snorted, showed me the palm of his hand. “I mean, it kind of is, dude. It’s made from me.”
“No. It’s something else.”
He shrugged, flared his nostrils, and put his hands behind his head. “Tell that to the fans whose balls I sign and the ladies I meet. We put the clones in storage after games. Well, the ones that stay together. They do the work, and I get all the benefits. Win-win.”
“Your clones have thoughts. Memories. One of them remembered me. He called me.”
His expression was sour, like he’d just bitten into rotten food. “Can you not call them ‘hes,’ please? They’re bodies. Without functioning minds. How’s it any different than eating headless chickens?”
“You asshole.”
“Asshole?” Zunz got up and stomped over to the massive one-way window and pointed out at the field. “Listen, the real assholes are out there. They run this league. Yes, I live a decent life. But for how long? I’ve only got a few years to earn at a high level. As soon as I’m used up, they’ll toss me aside with the garbage. You know how many old players are in poverty, nursing injuries and disorders from busting their butts out on the field?”
I nodded toward my missing arm. “Look who you’re talking to. I’m still drowning in the debt I accrued playing in the Cyber League.”
Zunz smirked and tilted his head. “Yeah, and I warned you about that.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Well, I did.” Zunz sat down again. “I said you had to be careful with upgrades the team wasn’t paying for. Anyway, assholes have been making money off my body for my whole life. Letting me be juiced up and broken down while they lined their bank accounts. Well, this is my chance to get a crack at it.”
He turned and showed me the back of his head. There was a thin area of missing hair with a circular scar on the scalp. It was as thick and red as an earthworm.
“And it’s not like it’s been all fun and games. They cut me open to insert the control mesh. Still gives me headaches at night. They extracted bone marrow. Drew gallons of blood. I worked for all this. Hell, I still have to put hours into that each day.”
Zunz gestured toward a suit hanging beside a tall black tower. The suit was yellow and wet, like a hazmat suit made out of almost transparent flesh. There was a spiderweb network of thin bluish veins connecting metal nodes, like the ones in the Janus Club, which were in turn connected by wires to the tower. On a chair beside the tower, there was a helmet on the seat. They hadn’t bothered to disguise this one as a batting helmet. It was a pulsing yellow membrane contorted by bonelike scaffolding into a semisphere.
“What about when you said you needed my help? When you went to Setek? That wasn’t a clue?”
“Huh?”
“Before you were killed. Or your clone was killed.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. No. Natasha wanted me to meet with Setek in person. Thought he could reassure me about the process. I was hesitating on signing the contract. Had the company card, so was doing you a solid.”
“And the Janus Club?”
“Wild place, right? Natasha took me there to show me how the whole remote body control system would work. Get in some practice hours. But I have to tell you, it’s a whole lot trippier when it’s your clone. I can sense everything. The wind in the stadium. The crack of the bat. I’m really playing the game out there!”
“And nothing about this bothers you? That you’re condemning versions of yourself to die?”
“I’m not a fucking philosopher, Kobo.” He sat up, his lip trembling in the way it always did when he was offended. He shook his head back and forth, deciding what to say. “I hated how you talked down to me with that shit in high school. You want to know why we fell out of touch? Well there it is! You’re a snob. You always thought you were smarter than me. Always acted like I was just a jock who couldn’t think deep thoughts like the great nerd Kobo.”
“Talked down to you? I almost got killed trying to save you!”
“Don’t be mad at me because I made it. We’re two kids from the burrows. And we got out. I’m doing what I have to do to survive.”
“And what about me? I’m supposed to be your brother.”
“I still help you out.”
“Help me? You barely even return my calls.”
He was smirking. “Who do you think got the Mouth to hire you to investigate my death? I knew you needed the money. And the Mets needed to pretend I’d actually died while they sorted out how to stabilize the Spares. I did you a solid. You should be thanking me.”
“What?”
“Come on, don’t make me do this.”
“Do what?”
Zunz took another sip of his beer. Then another, finishing the bottle. He pressed a button and a drone flew over with a fresh one. “The beer takes the edge off. Helps me link up with the Astral system properly.”
He cracked it and drank.
“How were you helping me?”
After a gulp, he gave an exasperated sigh. “Let’s face it, man, you aren’t the best scout. You aren’t the worst either, don’t get me wrong, but you aren’t who they’d hire to solve my death if I actually died. I’m a star. They’d hire a fleet of detectives. The Mouth would have paid out of
his golden anus. Hiring you was a favor.”
“This wasn’t a fucking favor.”
“You get paid. The Mets get good photo ops. Win-win.”
I sat there shaking my head, denying something to no one in particular, mumbling.
“Come look at where we are.” He walked over to the glass wall, near where the system was set up. I followed him a few steps behind. Down below us, the mascots ran around the sidelines. The field of jade grass shimmered. The announcer said the game was about to start and the murmurs of the crowd turned into a roar.
“Best seats in the house. Wasn’t that our dream?”
I looked. Game seven of the World Series. If the Mets won the game, their brand would skyrocket. It was already up from Zunz’s dramatic comeback, and a win would make them the best story in sports. People would rush to buy Monsanto upgrades and merchandise, which would mean a substantial leap in stock price, which would mean more research dollars to acquire more scientists and produce even more advanced steroids and upgrades. An economic shift larger than most countries’ GDPs could happen after the next few innings. The game was played by people and watched by people, but at the end of the day it was power tallying the score.
“Isn’t it beautiful? The grand old game. You can watch it up here with me.”
I shrugged Zunz off as best I could with my empty shoulder. The fog of nostalgia and confusion blew away. Everything rushed back to me. Zunz collapsing at bat, the case, the murder of Kang, Dolores stealing secrets, me chasing Lila. Lila.
“And what about Lila? You’re going to let them dissect her?”
“What are you even talking about?”
“Your daughter.”
He scrunched his face up in disbelief, then relaxed his features. “Ah, you know about her? Look, I was just a stupid kid back then. I was never cut out to be a father. And Hana didn’t want me involved anyway. She ‘didn’t believe in my way of life,’ she said. Claimed I’d be a bad example. I didn’t need that stress. Still, I paid Hana’s brother, Jung, to raise the kid after she passed. We actually became buddies. He gives me updates on her. But that’s all I could do. Anyway, what does she have to do with anything?”
“She’s not better off. The Mets have her. Your sick doctor friend, Setek.”
He looked at me skeptically. “I don’t know anything about that. They never told me anything about her. She’s not in the contract. I’d have noticed something about my daughter in the contract.”
“You don’t know they’ve been hunting her to save your dumb clones? They’re going to slurp the stem cells out of her brain. She could die. All so your clones can live a little longer before being tossed back in the protein blender.”
A deafening rumble rolled through the stadium. Streamer birds dove from the ceiling. I saw Zunz’s screen light up.
“Shit, they’re on the way. I have to link up soon.” He looked up at me, lips pursed and eyes narrow. “That’s fucked, man. I didn’t know anything about anyone’s brains. I promise. I bet they want to clone her and take the cells from the clones. That way there will be an unlimited supply, you know? It will all work out.”
“That’s not how it works. Not for most of us.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. If you’re really, really sure then we’ll stop it. I’ll demand they stop it.” Zunz was a goofy teenager again, smiling. “They still have to listen to me, I’m still the star.”
I felt a sudden relief. Like my whole body was deflating pleasantly. “Great. I think I know where they’re keeping her.”
But I noticed Zunz had picked up his control helmet. He flicked it on. The nodes glowed red and hot.
“Hey. Come on,” I said.
He held up his hand. “Whoa. I will help you. I’ll help her. After the game.”
“JJ. We have to do it now.”
“Kobo. It’s game seven of the World Series,” he said, starting to strip off his clothes. “My entire career has been building to this. I can’t just leave! Are you crazy?”
I wanted to yell at him that Kang had been killed. That Coppelius had died. That horrible things had been happening because of him and nothing would be all right. But there wasn’t a point. This Zunz might as well have been a clone of a stranger. He wasn’t the brother I’d known. Not as I wanted to think of him.
I needed to leave. I went to the door.
“Damn, I’m late.” He was delicately pulling on the membrane suit. “Come back after the game. We’ll fix everything and, hell, I’ll see if they can bring you on full-time. You already know about me, so they’ll want to keep you in the fold. Maybe get you a one-bedroom on the compound. It’ll all work out. We’ll be the old ZuBo team again.”
“Sure,” I said, already making my way to the door. “Whatever you say.”
“Wish me luck.”
At the door, I was ready to say something definitive, something that would slice right through him. A truth to cut him down to the bones. It came to me. But as I started to say it, I looked back, and Zunz was in the chair, helmet on, body slumped as if sleeping, and his mind gone somewhere else.
49
THE NINTH INNING
The courtyard outside of the golden stadium was filled with shouting scalper bots, face-painted fans practicing cheers, families with cone grills searing artificial flesh, surrogates high-fiving through remote commands, and teenagers smuggling tubes of booze in their jeans. They were milling about between the cars parked in stacks and automated billboards. They screamed and laughed. Recorded themselves and others. Game seven of the World Series. The air was alive with sounds. More people kept arriving. By car and train and blimp. Employees, police, news cameras, and straggling fans. I ran through them all.
A hundred yards from the stadium, I vomited. A splatter of yellow bile dotted with the chunks of my last meal. Empanadas I’d scarfed down in the hotel while Dolores and I went over the plan one last time.
I leaned against a Mets kiosk, panting.
“You need anything, buddy?” the worker said.
I asked for a pack of adrenaline chews and a bottle of water.
“You sure were running fast, buddy. You leave a baby in the car? The game’s just started and you’re going the wrong way.”
I stuck a couple chews in my mouth and jogged off. The stadium and its hundreds of thousands of fans shrank behind me.
I called Okafor as I ran.
“Kobo, you better be in a taxi heading to the station right fucking now.”
I couldn’t slow down and yelled through the gasps. “Get. To. Monsanto. Meadows. Kidnapped. Girl. Murder. Illegal. Cloning. Big. Case. Make. Career.”
I hung up, and then sent them the location of the lab. Reiterated This will make your career. Get down here.
Up ahead, I saw the entrance to the underground laboratory. It was nestled between a pair of black vehicles that hadn’t been there before. One was a car and the other a large tank van. Their windows were tinted black. I waited for a minute but no one came out.
My lungs ached and my throat burned. It felt like my blood was singing or maybe screaming. The door was unlocked.
I drew my gun and descended.
I could hear squealing metal as I went down the stairs.
The laboratory was humming with electric lights. I squinted. Put my gun hand up to my face, shaded my eyes with the barrel.
The rotting Zunz clone had been removed from the operating table. In the place of the corpse was Lila, on her stomach and struggling against the restraints. She looked so small and alone. Her body barely stretched halfway down the metal. The bottom of the table housed black medical machines, yellow lights blinking in their dark casings.
Lila was bound by the wrists, ankles, and torso. Her back was exposed. I didn’t see any bruises or blood. But there were bandages on her neck. She turned her head enough to stare at me. Her eyes were hard little balls.
An eight-foot creature was bent over her, curved like a cane. He was holding an electric needle connected by a hose to the b
ack wall. It made a repetitive slurping sound. Dr. Setek. His upper half was affixed to elongated mantis legs. He noticed me, straightened up on his silver poles so his head was close to the ceiling. He waved the needle.
“Kobo, my boy. Just in time!”
Arocha was still in the room, security collar blinking on her neck. She was wearing surgical scrubs. Flecks of blood decorated her chest. She didn’t say anything.
I didn’t see Dolores anywhere. Which I hoped meant she’d escaped.
On the counter beside Arocha was one of the tanks containing a cloned Zunz head. Yellow tubes were filling in the mouth, eyes, ears, and nostrils. The head was clamped in place facedown, neck exposed at the top. The machine that the wire hairs were connected to was emitting a high-pitched hum.
Setek tapped his instrument against his metal legs like he was clapping. He had a big white smock hanging from his neck to the metal knees. He pulled his mask down.
“You’re about to witness a scientific breakthrough. You’ll be telling your grandchildren about this. Or perhaps your grandclones.” He chuckled.
“The only thing I’ll be talking about is how your brains dripped down the wall.” I raised my gun to his eyes.
Setek stopped moving. He tsked. “You don’t want to stop me. Think of the implications! We’re talking about giving people a second self, one without diseases or injuries or anything else plaguing them. I’ll be able to walk again with human legs. Flesh on pavement. Flesh all the way through. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for that feeling?” He pointed the instrument at me. “And you’ll be able to have your arm back. You of all people should appreciate this. Think how many people could be helped.”
“Fuck your help.”
I fired. But as I squeezed the trigger, I was shoved so hard I fell to one knee.
Arocha shouted. The bullet shot an inch away from her temple and hit a small canister on the wall. A plume of blue gas exploded into the air, then dispersed. An acidic smell filled the room.
The gun was wrenched out of my hand. Tossed across the floor. Something big and blunt hit me in the back, then the head. I landed on the floor. A pair of giant hands lifted me. Arranged me on a chair, handcuffed my one hand to the back with an electric clink.
The Body Scout: A Novel Page 28
