by Cody Sisco
Flashes of memory began to return. He hadn’t noticed anything or anyone remarkable at the bar. The college girls catcalled him. The bartender kicked him out. He passed very few people during his drunk walk through town. Ozie had called to say something about talking to the King of Las Vegas before the feed cut out.
Then Victor had heard footsteps. The attacker must have snuck up the stairs from the path beside the canal and struck him. Victor placed his palm on his head. Two areas were raised and inflamed—a rare case of his favorite number two being a decidedly bad thing. The weapon had probably been a nightstick. Anything with a more complex shape would have created deeper, more irregular, and scabbier wounds.
He’d stumbled over the railing and fallen into the water. Someone must have pulled him from the water quickly, or he would have drowned. His assailant maybe? Why?
Alia returned with several pills and a cup of water. He washed down the pills. Maybe the heaviness in his chest was from inhaling canal water. He’d have to take a look at his chart, a slab of e-paper in a holder at the foot of his bed, to make sure they’d dosed him with antibiotics. He didn’t feel as if he had a fever, so that was good.
“What did you give me?” he asked. “Pain relievers? Sedatives?”
“Both. You’re going on a little journey. We’ll be here when you return.”
“I was attacked,” he told her. “I want to file a police report to find who did this to me.”
She looked surprised. “Are you sure you didn’t just have one too many and take a spill? Paramedics found you lying next to the canal, stinking of alcohol, and sopping wet.”
“I was hit twice in the head.” Two—the best number there is, an inner voice chimed. His obsession with the number two dated from his childhood. He would shake his head to clear it, but that would be too painful. “Yes, I was drunk, so drunk I couldn’t have pulled myself out of the canal. Whoever attacked me may have also saved my life. I want to file a report. Please.”
She hesitated. “I could call the sheriff’s office. He might not be... Never mind. I’m sure he’ll send someone to talk to you.”
She walked out. Eventually the pills began to take effect. Rather than masking the pain, they seemed to make other sensations fade. Victor moved into the pain, cozied up inside it, and made it his world, unnoticed because it was everything, everywhere around him, as unremarkable as air.
***
When he woke a few hours later, the pain returned, an angry knitter needling him in ferocious bursts. Despite the pangs, he was able to slip back to sleep again. Toward late afternoon, he awoke when Alia returned. She helped him take a few steps to the bathroom, waited for him to relieve his bladder, then helped him back into bed. An attendant, male, brought a plate of cold bland food, gave him a few doses of pain reliever, and left him on his own again.
Then Karine showed up and said, “I’d fire you right now if I could.”
9
There can be no periphery without a core, but I contend it depends on your vantage point. Common wisdom says that Europe is the political and financial center, dictating world affairs. I take a different vantage point. Where will the center be in fifty years? One hundred? The core is the place closest to our future. The periphery is saddled by the past.
—Circe Eastmore’s Race to the Top (1991)
11 May 1991
New Venice, The Louisiana Territories
Karine swept into Victor’s room accompanied by a crackling nervous energy. “Look at you! This is unacceptable. What do you have to say for yourself?” Her gaze never rested on his face. She flitted around, her frantic gestures transforming the room into a stage for her own emotions.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Victor said with a dose of sarcasm. Karine sickened him. She was a manipulative and gloating player of games who didn’t care whom she trampled during her rise to the top. He bet she’d hired someone to attack him. First Jefferson, now Victor. Auntie Circe was probably on her hit list too.
Karine sighed. “It’s my job to know what happens to my employees and to make sure they are safe. I take it we need to add alcohol abuse to the list of your challenges.”
“Drinking isn’t my problem. I was attacked! Maybe you already knew that.”
Her eyebrows narrowed. “Attacked? You don’t believe that, do you? The fantasies you come up with could fill a book. I wanted to give you a chance to prove your value to the company. Then this…”
Victor looked at the ceiling. Rather than lightstrips, each ceiling tile glowed. The default setting was soft white light. He found the type-pad controller by his bed and played with it until a light orange suffused the room.
When he tuned in again, Victor heard Karine saying, “I can’t believe you passed out drunk and fell into a canal.”
“That’s not what happened,” he said. Anger clawed up his throat. “Like I said, I was attacked.”
“No, you weren’t. It’s yet another delusion, like thinking I’m responsible for Jefferson’s death. If you can’t recognize when your imagination has gone off the rails, I’m not sure we can trust anything you say.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he said bitterly.
“Then we’re at an impasse. I’ll talk to Circe about your termination.”
Victor felt as if he’d been plunged into ice-cold water. Without his job, he wouldn’t have access to Samuel Miller, and he’d never get the data egg to open again.
The data egg! That’s what he’d been trying to remember. He looked around the room but didn’t see it.
Karine said, “Or you could do what you should have already done and resign.”
“Wait,” he said, stalling for time. “Give me one more chance.” A note of desperation entered into his voice. “It was all the noise and construction. I’ll wear earplugs. No more outbursts, no more crazy talk. I promise. My head is on straight, now that it’s been banged around.”
Karine laughed. “To a fault, I am far more tolerant than I get credit for. You want to make this right? You have to talk to MeshNews. They’re already reporting on your injury. I told them there’s an informal investigation when there’s no such thing. Tell them you hit your head during a blank episode. That’ll generate sympathy. ‘The Classification Commission is for our own protection,’ is what you’ll say. Agreed?” Karine asked, one eyebrow raised high.
Victor did his best to keep his voice calm. “Yes, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll set it up,” Karine said.
After she left the room, Victor groaned. He’d lost the data egg. If making a mess of everything was his job, he deserved a promotion.
He’d also just agreed to do a MeshNews interview claiming he’d bumped his head while the deputy was coming to take his statement about being attacked. He couldn’t mix things up worse, could he?
Victor climbed down from the bed, careful not to move too quickly and set his head to aching, and searched the room. His clothes were nowhere to be found. The data egg could still be in his pants pocket. Or maybe in the canal—or his attacker could have it.
If Ozie were here, he could program a search matrix using local Mesh resources, scout around town with his van looking for anomalous spectrum relay signals, or rig up a dozen other techie widgets that Victor would think were slightly magical. Ozie would find the data egg. Maybe Pearl could get in touch with him somehow.
Victor was bending over, searching beneath the hospital bed, when he heard a cough behind him. Then he noticed how cold his butt was. He straightened and spun around, holding the gown closed. Alia looked to the floor, a smile on her lips. “The deputy is here, if you’re ready to see him.”
“No! I mean, wait,” he said. “First, could you get a message to Pearl and tell her I need to see her as soon as possible? My Handy 1000 is gone.”
“Sure,” Alia said and tapped on her MeshBit. She looked at his patient gown and flashed a smile. “Ready?”
Victor blushed and nodded.
Alia turned and faced someone in the hallw
ay. “Come on in.”
The deputy entered the room. He was short, his dark black skin contrasting with his tan uniform. Victor thought he looked more like a park ranger than a policeman. A miniature park ranger at that: his hat reached only as high as the top of Alia’s headscarf.
“Chris Spaulding, sheriff’s deputy,” the man said. “Alia tells me you want to file a report of an assault.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt. Insecurity smoldered behind his scowl.
“I’m not sure,” Victor said. “Maybe not…” He hesitated. What was the likelihood the deputy could actually find the data egg? Zilch, probably. And Karine would go ballistic if he reported an attack. She might really fire him, or at least turn his auntie against him.
Let her try, Victor thought. He was tired of half-truths and full-out lies. Jefferson’s secrets got him into trouble. Victor wouldn’t handle his own situation the same way.
“I was attacked on my walk home,” he said. “You need to find out who did it.”
“Whoa, whoa, back up,” the deputy said in a high-pitched yet unhurried voice. Each word twirled with musical diphthongs. “We have a procedure for filing crime reports. First we have to suspect one has been committed. Alia says the most likely explanation is that you got drunk and fell into the canal.”
Alia looked at the deputy with scorn and then said to Victor, “I told him that’s only what I thought at first, before I heard your side of it.”
Deputy Spaulding said, “It wouldn’t be the first or the last time someone lost their head and took a dip. A fool on stims fell off Triton’s last month—jumped probably. It’s happening more and more.”
“I didn’t jump,” Victor said.
“I know who you are, Mr. Eastmore, and I know what you are. I’m not going to trust what a Broken Mirror says without proof.”
Victor flinched. Broken Mirror. Even people here were calling him that now. Maybe this was MeshNews’s doing. He should give up, tell the deputy to forget about it, and lie his way out of trouble.
Spaulding stared at him hard. Victor guessed that he’d been a bullied child who grew up to be a bully himself. No way would Victor give in to him.
Victor ran his hands across the sheets, smoothing them, feeling their rough texture on his palms. “My condition is irrelevant. You have no reason to trust my story. You have no reason to doubt it, either. I’m telling you, I was attacked. Someone out there”—he pointed to the window—“nearly bashed my brains in, and I want to find out why. Would you please take my statement now?”
Spaulding grimaced and took a MeshBit the size of a small paperback book from a holster hanging from his belt. “State your full name, date of birth, and transnational identification number.”
Then the deputy rattled off questions in a disinterested voice.
“State your residence. What brings you to New Venice? Tell me about the events leading up to the assault.”
Victor provided the information while leaning against the bed. Alia stayed and listened, appearing to give close attention to Victor’s answers.
The deputy asked about Victor’s past, his interests, and his involvement in any organizations.
“Do you have any enemies or people who would have reason to harm you?”
“Other than people who hate Broken Mirrors, you mean?” He did mention how valuable the data egg and his Handy 1000 would be on the tech black market.
“Can you tell me anything about who attacked you?”
Victor shook his head. “I didn’t see anything.”
The deputy crossed his arms. “Let me summarize what I’m hearing. A young man is attacked in the street. There is no description of the suspect and no hope of developing a useful profile. I can tell you this case is going nowhere fast. I’ll file the report, but don’t expect us to waste time chasing shadows.”
“Thanks for your help,” Victor said, struggling to keep his composure.
“Do you have anything to add?” the deputy asked Alia.
“I’ll send you the file describing Victor’s injuries and the logs from the paramedics. For the record, I believe Victor, so perhaps you could ask the other deputies to keep their eyes open? Is there anything Torsten could do?”
“Let me do my job. I know your fiancé wants to find some hot-button issue to add to his campaign, but if he wants our support, he better not try to make something up out of thin air.”
“This has nothing to do with support for his campaign, Chris. If there’s someone out there attacking people in New Venice, law enforcement needs to address it.”
“Maybe what we need to address is special people,” Spaulding replied with a sneer. “You both have a wonderful day.”
After he left, Victor said, “Yeeps. I’d love to be a criminal here.”
Alia shook her head. “I’m sorry about Chris. Not many people here know about MRS.”
“Not yet.”
The conversation left Victor feeling drained. He put a hand on the bed to steady himself and a long full-body yawn swayed him on his feet.
Alia asked, “Do you need help getting back in bed?”
“No, but maybe some privacy?”
She turned away, and he climbed into bed, trying not to flash his backside. Not that she would look. She had a fiancé, Torsten. What’s Torsten running for? Victor wondered. Luckiest guy in New Venice?
As Victor settled into the bed, Alia typed something on his chart and said, “Let me know if you need anything. We’ll start scanning your brain tomorrow if you feel up for it.”
“I think I will be,” he said.
There was a knock on the door frame. Pearl peeked in, saying, “I’m here, little owl. I bring you some tinctures.”
10
My ambitions were undimmed by the failure to quickly find a cure for mirror resonance syndrome. My efforts were unflagging. Ingenuity and perseverance would be more than enough to unravel the disorder’s secrets, I believed. The ban on research meant only that I would need to be more creative.
—Jefferson Eastmore’s The Wheel of Progress (1989)
11 May 1991
New Venice, The Louisiana Territories
Victor told Pearl to enter the room.
Alia smiled and said, “I’ve got to see my other patients. Ms. Pearl, I’d love to have tea with you sometime, if that’s something you do.”
“Of course, my peach blossom.”
Alia pointed at Victor. “Let’s take a look at your brain tomorrow.”
Pearl bowed as Alia left the room and then turned to Victor. “Here, I give you tincture. Fumewort and bitter grass,” she said, continuing her heavy put-on accent. She handed him a bag, which clinked with the reassuring sound of glass vials knocking against each other. It soothed Victor immediately. He breathed easier.
“You’re a life saver.” He removed a vial, popped its cap, and downed the tincture, feeling a pleasant burn along his throat and down his gullet. “Between this and the pain meds, I’ll be feeling great.”
“That’s good,” she said, cooing. “I let you rest.” She turned to go.
“Wait! I need to ask you—”
“It will be so good to speak with you.” Then she mouthed the word, “later.” She put a finger to her lips and shook her head sadly.
He glanced around the room. There could easily be a vidlens or a sonobulb hidden in the room with a transmitter to beam their conversation to eavesdroppers. Then again, maybe she was being paranoid. And why did she keep putting on the heavy accent? Did she really think anyone was convinced by it?
She made a pitying face and approached the bed, gesturing for him to lean forward. Victor sat up while she fluffed a pillow. Pearl showed him a small grey cylindrical piece of metal, squeezed it, and said, “We have only two minutes. The bugs can’t hear us.”
“You really think someone is listening?” Victor whispered.
“Better careful than careless,” she said.
“I lost the data egg. Can you get in touch with Ozie? He might be able to find
it.”
“It’ll turn up. Listen, little owl, Ozie went to the King because he traced the polonium back to Las Vegas. He’s trying to trade info.”
“But that means the King might have killed Jefferson, doesn’t it? Isn’t Ozie in danger?”
“Neck deep, but that’s how he likes it. He thinks he can make himself valuable to the King. It’s a dangerous bargain. I’m waiting to hear more. In the meantime, I have you to take care of.”
She squeezed his hand. The skin around her eyes crinkled, and Victor felt teary eyed with gratitude. He wished he’d known Pearl while his grandfather was still alive. It would have been nice to see them together.
“Mía said that I shouldn’t trust you.”
“She has her reasons.” Pearl moved on to fluffing another pillow. “We have one more minute to talk freely.” She put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back against firm pillows. “Mía never liked anyone who disagreed with her, including Jefferson, but she respected him. When he and I became friends, I don’t think she approved. It’s a long story. When you get out, we’ll take gondolas on the Grand Canal. I have many stories to share. How would you like me to bring you more herbs?” She leaned over him and whispered, “I don’t think Karine did what you think she did. Keep your eyes open, and take care of yourself.”
Victor hissed, “Do you know who did?”
She backed away. Her mouth puckered, as if sucking on a hard candy. “I don’t know anything. I observe. I wait. And when the moment is right, I act. Or not.” Pearl chuckled. “Others have expressed that thought more eloquently. I must go. Samuel is here.” She sounded reluctant to leave.
Victor gulped. So it had finally happened.
“I hope he’s okay,” he said sarcastically.
“He’s alive,” Pearl responded. “For now.”
***
The next morning, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Victor said.
Alia entered. A bright yellow and black tiger-striped headscarf covered her hair. “How’s your head?” she asked.
