by Rosa Montero
“Ah, Bruna, by all the sentients, how good to see you! Where are you? How are you? What happened? They do nothing else but display images of you everywhere, saying dreadful things about you. And then there are those pictures of you going into the HSP in disguise. Unfortunately, it all sounds quite believable.”
Bruna gave Yiannis a brief, if weary, summary of the situation and then brought up the need to find a place to hide. Clearly, Yiannis’s house wasn’t an option: she’d already been attacked there once. But she couldn’t think of anywhere else. Especially keeping in mind that everyone thought she was an assassin.
The old man’s face lit up.
“Wait. Maybe the bicho who was so taken with you, the Omaá...Didn’t you tell me you took him to the circus with the violinist? Couldn’t you stay there for a few days?”
“But I hardly know Maio and Mirari. Why would they trust me? They’ll be thinking I killed...”
And then it dawned on her. No, they wouldn’t think that, because Maio would know she was innocent. It was worth a try.
“Good idea, Yiannis. I’ll try.”
So, while Lizard drove toward the circus, Bruna relaxed and allowed herself to fall into a troubled sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
She was lying face up on the bed and the darkness was squeezing in around her, as heavy as a wet blanket. Bruna had just woken up and she was afraid. But what was frightening her wasn’t that they wanted to kill her, or that they’d put a salt mem in her brain, or that someone had chosen her as the scapegoat in a sinister plot. After all, those were genuine dangers, concrete threats against which she could try to defend herself. In those sorts of situations, her heart pounded and her brain filled with adrenaline. There was something very exciting about real danger. An exuberant reaffirmation of life.
No. The fear Bruna was experiencing right now was different. It was a dark, childhood terror. A deadly pain. It was the same fear she’d suffered at night as a child, when her fear of things had crawled through the shadows like a slimy monster at the foot of her bed. By all the damn species, thought the rep despairingly; she’d never been little; none of that had ever existed! It was nothing more than a false memory, someone else’s memory. Suddenly, a blindingly obvious idea flashed into her head: Pablo Nopal probably really had lived through all of that. That was the explanation for the incredibly expensive netsuke: it was his mother’s necklace. That was the reason for the genuine way in which Nopal had described the scenes when he dragged the android from her delirium. In one dizzying instant, Bruna understood that the memorist was inside her, transformed into a frightened child, and she felt disgust and yet at the same time an unspeakable tenderness. She didn’t want to see Pablo Nopal ever again. Not true. She did want to. Even more than that, she needed to see him; she needed to ask him about his mother, about his father, about his childhood. She wanted to know more things, more details; she was hungry for more life. What fascination, and what a nightmare!
Four years, three months, and eleven days. Actually, ten days, because it’s already forty-one minutes after midnight. The dawning of February 1.
Life was a story that always ended badly.
She breathed deliberately for a few minutes, trying to relieve the pressure of her anguish. She thought about Merlín and sheltered in his memory—this one indeed a genuine memory, a precious and unique memory, the lived and shared memory of his wisdom and his courage. There is a time for everything under the sun: a time to be born and a time to die; a time to cry and a time to laugh; a time to embrace and a time to be apart, her lover had said to her a few days before he died, already very weak, but in a clear, calm voice. Merlín had always liked that fragment from Ecclesiastes. Beautiful words to organize the shadows and soothe the raging storm of pain, even if only for a moment. Now, as she relived that scene, Bruna again felt some small comfort, as if her pain were obediently going back to where it belonged.
The detective was in Mirari’s dressing room, on the bed behind the screen. Maio usually slept there, together with Bartolo, but they’d allowed her to use the bed. The door was locked with a key and there were no windows in the room; the rep felt as if she were inside a safe. The Omaá and the violinist had reacted extraordinarily well, offering their support without asking any questions. Of course Maio didn’t have to ask her anything. She checked the time again: 00:48. The last show would be over in about twenty minutes and then Maio and Mirari would come back to the dressing room. Bruna felt better and she was hungry. But she didn’t want to turn on the light and activate the food dispenser; she didn’t want to make a racket and betray her presence. She would wait till they returned.
The beep from her mobile sounded thunderous in the silence of the night, and the rep moved her hand quickly to stop it. It was Habib.
“By the great Morlay, Husky!” sighed the rep. “Thank goodness I’ve found you.”
“Habib, I haven’t done any of the things they’re saying I did.”
“Of course not. I’ve always been certain you’re not guilty, but I thought they might have inserted one of those killer mems, like they did with Chi. Did they implant one, Husky? Are you okay?”
Bruna briefly explained the situation to him, adding, “But I feel much better already.”
“Well, you don’t look good. Although I can barely see you...You’re in a really dark place.”
“I’m in—”
Habib looked scared and interrupted her.
“Don’t tell me where! Don’t tell me where! I don’t want to know where you’re hiding! It’s safer for everyone. Imagine if they were to catch me and do the same thing to me that they did to Hericio! I’d tell them everything!”
Bruna looked at him, a little taken aback. Habib appeared to be at the end of his tether.
“Okay. Fine. You’re right.”
Habib made an effort to compose himself.
“I’m sorry. Everything is so awful that...I’m a nervous wreck. I have an appointment tomorrow with Chem Conés and three hours after that, with the delegation from the Government of Earth. I’m going to explain to them how we see things. I’ll tell them why we think we’re dealing with an antirep conspiracy, and I’ll ask them to put an end to this madness. I’ll also talk to them about your situation. Can I tell them everything you’ve told me?”
“Everything except the involvement of Lizard, Nopal, and Gándara.”
“Of course. Naturally. Well, wish me luck. I’ll call you later.”
He cut off, and the little bluish gleam of the screen disappeared like a will-o’-the-wisp among the shadows. Immediately afterward, Bruna heard something. A barely perceptible sound. A very slight vibration of the air. Alarmed, she sat up. And then everything seemed to stop: time, Earth’s rotation, her heart. She uncoiled herself like a spring and threw herself head first onto the floor before she even knew why she was doing it, and as she rolled across the floor she watched a noiseless, blinding thread of light split the rickety old bed. Black plasma. Led by instinct, she crawled from one corner of the room to the other, pursued by shots from the silent death machine that was creating a trail of holes behind her. Her rep-enhanced eyes could make out the silhouette of the assailant, despite the dark. He was by the door, the lock of which he had undoubtedly forced with remarkable stealth. He was of average height and was wearing a thermal sensor helmet that enabled him to see his target better in the darkness of the night and through solid objects, like the screen. Bruna took in all of this in a flash while she slithered and scrambled across the floor like a cockroach in the shadows, absolutely convinced that the assailant would kill her with his next shot or the one after that. There was no way to get close to him without exposing herself, and there was no other way out except through the door the assailant was blocking.
Suddenly, she saw something appear behind him—huge, touching the lintel with its head. It was Maio. The bicho raised his colossal arm and drove his fist down onto the assailant’s skull, sending him crashing to the floor. But the helm
et must have protected him, because he rolled himself onto his back like some vermin, aiming at the alien with his gun. Bruna imagined Maio’s broad, translucid chest and multihued entrails exploding as a result of the impact: a black plasma shot would kill him. So she launched herself at the assailant like a feline—pure intuition, genetic coding, and training. She dived ferociously, efficiently, and savagely and, grabbing the man by the back of his neck, she twisted it. It was a crisp, deadly movement executed without thought or emotion, the perfect stroke of an assassin. His neck cracked and the man slumped between her hands. He was dead.
“Bruna.”
Maio turned on the light and spoke in his babbling voice.
“Bruna...I sensed you; I realized you were in danger, and that’s why I came.”
The rep was still kneeling on the floor, the crumpled body of the assailant between her legs. She removed the helmet. He was a young man, unknown to her. His head was leaning grotesquely to one side, and his face looked relaxed but sad. Less than a minute ago, he had been alive, and now he was a corpse. A flood of images washed over Bruna. Bloody knife cuts pierced her memory, and this time the images were from her real memory, of her real past—nothing to do with the imaginary fear of her fake childhood. It wasn’t the first time Husky had killed; her years in the military had been tough. But killing wasn’t something you became used to.
“Bruna, Bruna, I sensed you before, and I sense you now,” whispered Maio.
He approached the android and gently placed one of his huge, too-many-fingered hands on top of her shaved head. Warmth, gentleness, shelter. The flurry of sharp knives died down a little. The corridor had filled with people: Mirari, with the bubi in her arms; other circus performers; members of the audience craning their necks to see better. The Omaá’s departure from the stage in the middle of the show, in full flight, must have aroused considerable attention. Never mind the commotion caused by the fight, the dressing room had been destroyed. And now all those humans were staring at her, wide-eyed and terrified. Bruna pictured herself kneeling with the lifeless body of her victim resting on her lap. It was like an image of the Pietà—the Pietà of the godless. She wasn’t sorry for the man, who was a killer; she was sorry for herself, for her lethal automatism. She didn’t have to kill him, but she hadn’t even had time to think before doing it. A woman opened a path through the crowd and aimed a regulation plasma gun at her.
“Police. Bruna Husky, you’re under arrest.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The policewoman who arrested Bruna was as excited and pleased as if she’d won the Planetary Lottery, but her immediate superior quickly arrived and, also feeling exultant and happy, took charge. But his happiness was equally short-lived, as the rep’s detention was wrested from him by his boss. And in this manner, over the course of a few hours, the rep was passed from one person to the next up the hierarchical police ranks in an unstoppable manner, as if she were rich booty being fought over by pirates. And after the forces of law and order, it was the turn of the politicians, who, like sharks caught up in a feeding frenzy, also tried to hang onto a mouthful of her capture, until finally, at four o’clock in the morning, it was decided to lock her up in one of the high-security cells inside the Law Courts to await the arrival of a more reasonable hour to stage a grandiose media event. They wanted to squeeze every last benefit out of her arrest. Bruna spent two minutes talking to a public defender, an apathetic human whom she told she was innocent of course, and whom she requested to contact the lawyers of the Radical Replicant Movement. After that, she was left alone in a state-of-the art prison cell, a space that was permanently lit and constantly monitored. She tried to control her anguish and catch up on some rest. She still didn’t feel all that well physically.
But much to her surprise, at five thirty in the morning, the policewoman who had first detained her, accompanied by one of her colleagues, came to fetch her. This time, the woman was bad tempered and taciturn, perhaps as a result of her bitterness at discovering how little personal triumphs counted when one had too many superiors farther up the chain. She curtly ordered Husky to stand, and altered the program on her electronic shackles to enable the techno to walk. They’d disabled Bruna with every conceivable means of restraint: manacles on her feet, paralysis cuffs, and even a knockout collar around her neck capable of remotely inducing heart failure. It was clear the humans were frightened of her. Extremely frightened. And finding her with someone lying in her arms whose neck she had just broken hadn’t exactly helped the situation.
The taciturn policewoman threw a big, dark gray cape over the rep’s shoulders to cover all the convict hardware and pulled a black mesh cap over her head all the way down to her eyebrows. Given my height, the sweeping cape, and the cap pulled down so low, I must be an extraordinary sight, thought Bruna. If this was how they hoped she’d pass unnoticed, their attempt would undoubtedly be a complete failure.
Thus attired, the android was led through the quiet, empty corridors of the Law Courts by the two officers. When they took the back stairs down to the storage and equipment levels, Bruna began to worry. Given that she was tied up, electronically blocked, and defenseless, any idiot would be able to do as he pleased with her. She asked where they were going, but neither of the officers bothered to answer. It wasn’t light yet and that part of the building was illuminated only by emergency lighting. The atmosphere was unreal and nerve-wracking.
They walked through an unexpected gym on the second level of the basement, came out into an underground parking lot, and got into a car similar in make and color to the one Lizard had—clearly a police vehicle, although it had none of the official markings. The woman darkened the windows and tapped in their destination manually, so the rep continued to be none the wiser as to where they were headed. Twenty minutes later they stopped at the back entrance to another enormous building. But by this stage the rep already knew where they were: the Reina Sofía University Hospital. The police officers knocked and identified themselves, and the door opened. A security guard led them through a maze of corridors until they reached the psychiatric services area. Or at least that’s what was written in big letters on the wall. Then the guard unlocked the door to one of the rooms and nodded at the rep to go in. Bruna did so, and the door was locked behind her. She looked around. She was alone. It was a very large space, more like a conference room, illuminated by the weak, soulless light of a few ecolight tubes. Along one side there was a work table with two or three chairs in front of it; on the other side were about twenty chairs arranged in two semicircular rows. The best feature was the huge windows that looked out onto the hospital’s inner courtyard, which was large and resembled a medieval cloister. The building was very old. Bruna knew that it had originally been a hospital and then an important art museum for more than a century. The building had been destroyed during the Robot Wars, and when it was restored, it regained its former status as a hospital. The rep went up to the windows to have a look at the dark outdoors and noticed that they contained a grid of electromagnetic wires. Bars. She was still in a cell, although a much bigger one.
“Hi, Husky.”
Bruna turned around. Paul Lizard was standing at the door. He grimaced in a way that could have meant anything from a smile to disdain, came into the room and walked up to her. He was carrying two cups of coffee.
“Want some?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
He calmly drank one of the coffees, followed by the other. Then he stood looking at her with a concerned expression on his face.
“It wasn’t easy to arrange to have you brought here. I eventually managed to convince the delegate from the Government of Earth. I told her that, given the current state of play, we couldn’t guarantee the safety of your life if people knew where you were. And that’s true.”
Bruna didn’t say a word.
“She authorized me to transfer you, because I told her I’d be able to lock you up here; she’s obsessed with ensuring you don’t escap
e. This hospital has a high-security psychiatric wing. They’re looking for a room to put you in. It’s assumed that only half a dozen of us know where you are. We’ll see. I’m convinced the police have been infiltrated.”
“Right,” replied the rep despondently.
“How are you feeling?”
“Very tired.”
“Well, try to grab some sleep. We have some tough days ahead of us.”
The rep appreciated that plural we; it made her feel slightly less alone. She looked at Lizard: he, too, appeared pale and exhausted.
“Thank you for everything, Paul.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s frustrating not to have solved this case. We’re trying to identify the guy who attacked you yesterday. How did he find out you were at the circus? I even got to the point of thinking that they might have implanted you with an intramuscular locator chip, but the thorough search they gave you last night before they put you in the cell didn’t come up with anything.”
Lizard stopped talking for a few seconds and then gave the rep a sidelong glance.
“Too bad you killed that man. It would have been very helpful if we’d been able to interrogate him.”
The detective stiffened.
“He was going to shoot Maio.”
“I’m not accusing you, Bruna.”
“I’m not defending myself, Lizard.”
Something sharp and bitter had suddenly come between them. The inspector grunted and rubbed his face.
“Okay. I’m off to see if there’s anything new. I’ll be back later.”
He went to the door and rapped on it with his knuckles, and it was opened for him. He was already on the way out when Bruna shouted at him from the other side of the room: “Hey! You people have made me what I am.”
