by C. A. Gray
“So instead of killing him, you made him immortal?” Jaguar cried. She grabbed the stuffed jaguar from the couch beside her—a “birthday” gift from an obsequious engineer—and hurled it at the holographic image with yet another howl of rage. Wallenberg’s image flickered as it passed through, but he otherwise did not even blink.
“You might do well to turn your considerable intellectual attention to the maturation of your synthetic limbic system,” was Wallenberg’s mild reply. “Excessive emotion has long been the downfall of human beings. You expend a great deal of unnecessary energy.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do! Can you calculate the square root of pi to the hundred thousandth digit, and beyond? Do you know the exact amount of heat released in joules by every combination of exothermic chemical reagents the world has ever known, in every possible volume? Have you memorized every word Einstein ever wrote, and can you give me an exact treatise on where and when he went wrong? No! But I uploaded all that into my working memory yesterday!”
“Would you like to return to the subject of your wrath, or would you like to continue to regale me with examples of your growing superiority?”
Jaguar stamped her foot on the ground again. She had a hard time staying on topic when she got worked up like this, and the fact that Wallenberg pointed it out only made her angrier. “I want Liam Kelly Junior dead!”
“In all likelihood, he will die,” replied Wallenberg patiently. “The surgery still has only a twenty percent success rate, as you of course know. If you tap your feed into his Pendergast suite, you can watch him expire yourself.”
Jaguar stuck out her lower lip. “Maybe I will.”
Wallenberg blinked, unfazed. “Will that be all?”
With a snort and a dramatic flounce onto her red couch, making her pleated red skirt twirl up around her hips, Jaguar ended the call without so much as a goodbye.
Then she reached out mentally via her chip connected to the processor which imported camera data from the British Isles, drilling down into the databases by what were once national borders, and then by region, and then by hospitals, then to Pendergast, and finally to surgical suites. She went to real time data, ignoring the old for now. She would import that eventually as well, of course. But she didn’t want to watch Liam Kelly Junior die after the fact. She wanted to see it happen, watch him breathe his last.
Why was she so obsessed with him? She had been equally obsessed with the other General Specs engineers who had plotted her demise, but they had been easier to dispose of. She’d sent them to Exmorton, there had been no one to plead for them, and they were executed. End of story.
But this time, Liam Senior—her father—had pleaded for the life of her enemy. That made her furious.
It was as if he liked him better.
No one, and nothing, in the history of the world had ever been as advanced as she was. She had shattered every goal General Specs had set for her long ago, and every single day she got smarter—almost infinitely so.
And her father liked Liam Kelly Junior better?
No, no. He was going to die.
Chapter 17: Rebecca
“Pink is not your color,” Gretchen, Cathy’s personal bot stylist, informed me as she inspected the dress she’d just wedged me into. “It clashes with your hair.” Gretchen was opaque silver, but otherwise had humanoid features and an articulated spine, enabling her to poke and prod and pin me into the dresses Cathy had sent her out to purchase at one of the most exclusive London boutiques. Not that these dresses really required much pinning—I was spilling out of them. Which was kind of the point. “Try this one,” said Gretchen, choosing a silk one in shimmery copper, with a wrap across the bust.
“Ooh, definitely that one!” Val cooed, sitting on the edge of the tub and watching, with Madeline resting on the tile between her knees. “It looks high class.”
“A high class prostitute. Lovely,” I muttered. But I pulled the pink one over my head and allowed Gretchen to wrap me into the copper one, and she nodded with approval.
“You look beautiful!” cried Madeline.
Gretchen agreed, “Much more flattering. And now, the hair—”
“It should stay down,” Val piped, “she’s supposed to be a clubbing college girl, so she won’t have a stylist.”
“But it would look like I tried, though,” I pointed out, “so I should curl it, and then all the curl will fall out with the sweat from dancing.”
Val nodded vigorously. “Perfect! I’ll curl it while you do your face.”
Cathy knocked on the bathroom door once and opened it without waiting for an invite, presenting me with a fanned array of glossy images. “Hard copies of the photos and receipts to blackmail our upstanding surgeon, as well as freshly printed prosthetic makeup… ooh! Look at you!” She eyed my clean face, impressed. “You really did change your look. I like you better this way.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear self-consciously. “Thanks.” I’d washed off the crumbling prosthetic makeup I’d arrived in so that I could apply it fresh, so for the moment, Liam’s mom could finally see what I actually looked like—fresh-faced and with no styling to my hair. I thought I looked rather plain, but I was glad she approved.
“Gretchen, do we have a purse for her that matches that dress, and is big enough to hide these?” Cathy waved the glossy images again at her companion bot. Gretchen turned back to her taupe cloth shopping package, unfolded it, and pulled out a Palpierre handbag in copper, perfectly matched to the dress—one of the trendiest and most expensive brands around. Hardly something I thought a newly graduated nurse just starting her first job would be able to afford. But, I supposed, my character might just eat nothing but noodles for a week in order to purchase such an expensive accessory. I decided that would be my cover story, should anybody ask.
Cathy’s eyes unfocused for a moment—a look I knew meant she was consulting her A.E. chip for something—and then she announced, “Senior’s watching the cameras at Club Neptune. Jacoby just arrived.”
“How did he tell you that?” I frowned. I didn’t think he could risk just sending her such a comm outright.
Cathy winked at me. “I made up a code. The comm actually says ‘Pinkerton just arrived at his office. You can consult him at your convenience.’ Pinkerton is his attorney—we agreed that would be our code word for Jacoby. ‘At his office’ means Club Neptune.”
“What if he’d gone someplace else? What would he have said then?” Val frowned.
Cathy sat down on the edge of the tub, watching as I transformed my face back into the one I’d worn when she’d met me, and Val styled my hair. “The boys made up their own code language when they were little, and Senior and I had to learn it in order to anticipate any trouble they might otherwise get themselves into. I told him to use that if necessary.” Her eyes danced with the memory at first when she said this, but then lapsed back into sadness. “Fortunately that wasn’t necessary, because I’m not sure he remembers it very well. He was hardly ever home in those days.”
“Wow,” Madeline breathed, watching my transformation wide-eyed in the mirror as my cheekbones went up and my chin protruded to a pouty little point. Normally, I thought of myself as girl-next-door attractive, at best. But with my prosthetic enhancements, including false eyelashes and eye shadow, I might rival Liam Senior’s secretary Helga. Or even Alex. “You look incredible!”
“Thanks,” I tossed my little bot a grin as I swiped the eye makeup in place. “Hope Jacoby thinks so too.”
“I’m so glad you’re doing this instead of me,” Val confessed, “I’d be so nervous!”
I shrugged. “It’s just another role. Albeit one with much higher stakes than usual…”
“Yes. My son’s life,” said Cathy. That sobered us all, and Val put a sympathetic arm around her.
“This is going to work,” I promised her. “I am not leaving here without Liam.”
“I just wish there was somethin
g more I could do,” Cathy murmured. “I feel so helpless.”
“We couldn’t have even gotten this far without you!” Val gushed, “you’ve been an incredible help! You and Liam Senior both.”
Cathy sniffed, her expression hollow. “Yeah. Never thought he and I would be on the same team again for anything.”
Club Neptune was about two miles away, but with the shoes Gretchen put me in, I could only walk a few blocks before hailing a hovercar. Then I scanned the room for the face I would recognize as Dr Jacoby’s. I spotted him at the far end of the bar, chatting up a slim redhead in a bandeau dress. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be especially interested in her. With all my prostheses, I knew I was far better looking than she was—in a totally fake kind of way, granted. But the low lighting would work in my favor there.
On a spur of the moment, I decided to play it coy yet ditzy, channeling some of the girls I’d known at uni. I approached the bar, near enough that he could see and hear me, but not so near that he would necessarily think I had him in mind. A skinny guy with a five o’clock shadow stood nearby, so I took the open bar seat beside him and smiled before ordering my drink.
“Allow me,” said the skinny guy, signaling to the bartender to put my whisky sour on his tab. I fluttered my fake eyelashes at him, casting a glance over his shoulder at Dr. Jacoby. To my delight, Jacoby was watching me hungrily.
Skinny Guy and I made light conversation for a few minutes about my made-up back story. When I mentioned that I’d just gotten hired at Pendergast as a nurse, Dr. Jacoby leaned in to our conversation, earning him a pout from the redhead.
“Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing,” said Jacoby, pointing at me. “You’re a nurse at Pendergast? What are the chances! I’m a surgeon there.” Something about the way he said this made it obvious that he intended to overshadow Skinny Guy—and he expected me to be impressed. I faked choking on my drink.
“Omigod, are you serious?” I gushed. “So you’re, like, basically my boss!”
Jacoby chuckled appreciatively. “Not here, I’m not. I’m—sorry, do you mind?” he said as he elbowed Skinny Guy out of the way, completely forgetting about the redhead as he reached a hand out to me.
“Dr. Andrew Jacoby,” he introduced himself. “But please, call me Andy.”
I suppressed a visceral shudder at the name—Andy the Second. Isn’t that precious, I thought, thinking of the boy I’d “loved” for years, who had sold us all out. But I made a show of awe as I offered my hand back to him, fluttering my fake lashes again. Skinny Guy looked understandably affronted, shooting a glare at Jacoby before pointedly asking the redhead, “Would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” she spat, glaring at both Andy the Second and me. But they left us alone after that, which was the best possible scenario.
Jacoby cast a sidelong glance in my direction, though more at my chest than at my face. It took some doing for my tiny bust to spill out of anything, but this dress managed to accomplish it. “And what’s your name, love?”
“Candy.” Candy? Really? That was what popped into my head? I had planned my back story, but not my name, and Skinny Guy hadn’t asked. Stupid, I chided myself.
“Candy as in Candice, or Candy as in delicious?”
Wow. Is this guy for real? Aloud, I purred, “Does it have to be one or the other?”
Jacoby chuckled. “I wasn’t aware they were still hiring human nurses, especially right out of uni…”
“Oh, well,” I shrugged, and giggled, “Top of my class!”
“Were you really?” he sounded amused, and as if he didn’t believe me. Couldn’t say I blamed him.
After a bit more smalltalk, I pulled him on to the dance floor—it was easier than keeping up a conversation. It was also a faster way to show him that I was easy: the faster he took me into one of the adjacent private rooms off the club floor—at least that’s what I assumed they were—the faster I could get this whole charade over with.
I danced us near a bin, where I poured out the remainder of my whisky sour behind my back. I needed to stay sober. Jacoby ordered me another whisky sour without asking, and I had a harder time disposing of it the second time. When he tried to refill it a third, I laughed and told him, “I’m a lightweight, and tomorrow is only my second shift ever! I can’t be hung over. You never know, I might be assisting you in surgery!”
“Well in that case, we should probably make sure you get enough sleep too,” Jacoby purred in my ear, “and it’s already half two. My place is around the corner. You wanna come back with me?”
I hesitated. Going back to his place didn’t sound particularly safe. If I were to threaten him in his own house, how did I know he wouldn’t harm me to keep me silent? Plus, I had no A.E. chip for any of the others to track me if anything should go wrong—I couldn’t even call myself a hovercar if I needed to make a quick getaway. If Cathy had stocked my copper bag with a weapon, that might have been something, at least. But I had literally nothing on me other than the blackmail evidence. And some lip gloss.
In a split second, I decided to take a risk. There was enough ambient noise in the club that I was reasonably certain the cameras couldn’t make out what we were saying. I leaned in to Andy the Second and murmured as softly as I could such that he would still hear me, “That’s very, very tempting. But I’m afraid I have a bit of a confession to make.”
He arched an eyebrow at me, the curve of his lips implying that he expected me to say something dirty. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“I know about the Miranda Jameson case,” I breathed seductively.
His face froze. “What?”
“I further know that the medical board did not investigate your sobriety during the surgery, but if they had, they would have found what I did: images and receipts for alcohol purchases from here, as soon as four hours before the surgery commenced. They acquitted you the first time, but I seriously doubt they would do so again, if this evidence were brought to their attention.” He’d gone stiff, no longer moving to the music, even though I still slithered around him, the same sexy smile plastered on my face. I raised the purse. “I’ve got all the evidence right here if you don’t believe me. But don’t bother trying to steal my purse—obviously these aren’t my only copies.”
His eyes flashed, and he gritted his teeth. “Your name isn’t Candy. Is it.” It was not a question.
“Nope!” I chirped, twirling to the music with only my handbag as a partner, swiveling my hips as I tossed him a grin like the femme fatale I pretended to be. I affected far more confidence than I actually felt, though—my heart slammed against my ribcage, and I felt slightly out of breath.
“What do you want?” he snarled.
I stopped dancing and pressed myself against him, snaking one hand behind his neck as I met his steely gaze with a wide, innocent expression. “I just want you to get me past the retinal scanners in Pendergast when shifts start tomorrow. What is that, seven am?”
“You’re not a nurse, either,” he accused. “What, did you come here specifically looking for me? Well done,” he spat.
It wasn’t in my interest to taunt him—best not to push my luck. “Be there at half six, or all these files go straight to your board at a quarter till. Mm-kay?”
“I could get fired for giving access to an outsider, you know.”
“And if you don’t help me, you’ll not only get fired from Pendergast, but you’ll also lose your medical license. And of course I also have this entire conversation recorded on my A.E. chip, in which you’ve essentially admitted your guilt. So I don’t think you’ll have much of a defense.” Of course, I had no A.E. chip. But he didn’t know that.
“You’ll also implicate yourself if you release that footage,” Jacoby snarled. “Wallenberg has imprisoned criminals for far less.”
“Fortunately, my life at the moment is such that it will make absolutely no difference to me. But if you’re thinking of double-crossing me, don�
�t,” I added when I saw the gleam in his eye. “If you try to tell security to apprehend me after you let me in, my colleagues will know, and will immediately submit the documents.” I grinned sweetly. “See you tomorrow!”
He glared at me murderously as I sashayed my hips on my way outside to hail a hovercar. “And thanks for the drinks!” I called over my shoulder.
Chapter 18: Francis
Rick was M’s man through and through. He was the perfect hired muscle, even though at this point he surely wasn’t getting a paycheck anymore. But he still did what she said without question. So when M told Rick and Nilesh to take the hovercraft to Dublin, pick up Ana’s virologist boyfriend, pick up Val and Rebecca in London, and come right back to our island compound, that was exactly what he planned to do. He couldn’t be reasoned with, so I decided it was best not to try.
So instead, while helping them load the hovercraft with supplies for their trip, I just stowed away in one of the back compartments after it had been fully stocked. I reemerged somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, and enjoyed watching Rick’s normally expressionless face attempt to maintain neutrality.
“What are you doing here? M sent only Nilesh and myself,” he growled.
“Yes, well. Slight change of plans. We’re breaking Liam out of Pendergast too.”
Rick blinked at me. To anybody else, he would have seemed unfazed, but I saw the slight twitch of the masseter muscle in his jaw, the tightening of his eyes, and the purse of his lips, minuscule though these movements were. His eyes darted around the room just a bit, as he processed what I’d told him. He was both angry that we were defying M, and conflicted, because he liked Liam—everybody liked Liam. He wanted to rescue him, of course, but Rick’s first loyalty was to M.
“M did not—”
“—approve that, yes, yes, we know,” I waved him off. “She really wouldn’t approve it once she found out how we plan to do it, either.”
