Chapter Fifteen - Rock Star
Hugo sprawled in the space he’d somehow cleared in his tiny, cluttered living room. The new chaos that surrounded him was several engineering books, a company laptop where he had quite a few tabs open to online research resources, an assortment of tools he’d just purchased, and the strewn-about guts of an unlucky mini-fridge. To keep his scattered thoughts more formally engaged, he also had the TV blaring, set on a news station.
He was bored, so he was working on Christmas presents. He’d already found an old, signed copy of a Joe Pass album for Clem, and was currently working on a high-capacity, rechargeable battery he could fit into the gutted mini-fridge for CJ; she’d be able to keep it in her suite at Gideon Enterprises and charge it with her power. The idea for Dr. McFadden’s present had given him the most trouble; she could afford anything she wanted, she didn’t share much about herself, and her file in the database wasn’t nearly helpful enough to enlighten him to her hobbies. He was beginning to suspect she didn’t have any. However, he had noticed that whenever he went into her office or met her in the lab she was listening to classical music. He’d started composing a piece of piano music before he’d joined Gideon Enterprises, but had hit a huge brick wall of writer's block and never finished it. It had suddenly crumbled the night after he'd tuned her piano; he’d spent the rest of the night at the studio composing it. It felt like cheating, since he’d started it before he’d met her, but she’d inadvertently helped him finish it, so it was hers. He’d filled out the CD he'd recorded it on with a few of his renditions of some of the classical pieces she seemed to listen to the most.
However, the real reason Hugo was getting into the Christmas spirit was because he was stuck. There were a number of loose ends in recent events, but he was at a complete loss as to how to tie them up. The day before, he’d gone back to Madeline’s place to look for clues on the third man who had tried to kill her. The only physical evidence was a dark stain Madeline had been unable to completely get rid of. He’d had a vision while running his fingers over the dark surface; it confirmed that no one had gone back for the body, as he'd seen it disappear on its own. There were a couple powers he’d come across in the database that would explain the vanishing act, one was the possibility that the mystery man could duplicate himself and the clones just ceased to be after they died. They’d have to be far more intelligent clones then the ones he’d read about, practically autonomous, since there hadn’t been any indication that the ‘real’ one was nearby.
The other possibility he was discarding even as he thought of it. He’d also heard of a guy who could create what Mr. Hansen had called ‘constructs’ in the database. They were the equivalent of the hard light hologram he’d seen on some English show he’d been forced to watch by Chen; a projection that could interact with the real world, although the real-life constructs had to be controlled by the maker. The problem was that while it was conceivable that the construct had played dead and then disappeared when it was no longer needed, it wouldn’t have fallen to his vacuum since it wouldn’t need to breathe. Also there had been no delay in its reaction, which would have been necessary, since it would have needed to observe Gregori’s reaction before realizing that something was wrong. Were there other power sets that would also work? Boris most likely knew exactly who the mystery man was since he was working with Gregori, but Hugo would bet money that he wouldn’t get that information from the mob boss.
Hugo’s head snapped up as the current news report grabbed his attention, “…activists haven’t come forward to take credit for the release of twelve monkeys in a research facility in Vancouver, Canada. Police have no new leads on the tragic deaths of the majority of the staff that were at the facility when the shockingly violent lab animals were released. After the commercial break, we’ll talk with the bereaved mother of one of the murdered employees. So-” The screen went dark. Hugo looked down when the news anchor’s monologue suddenly cut short, surprised to find the TV remote in his hand, shaking slightly. He immediately dropped it and it hit the battery he was working on with a loud clack.
Hugo pushed both of them aside to roll to his feet. He carefully stepped around the mess to retrieve a beer from the fridge, and then rooted around his kitchenette drawers for a few minutes until he found one of several bottle openers. He took the beer back to his project and stared at it blankly.
His phone vibrating in his jean’s pocket startled him. Caller id warned him that it was Steve. His thumb hovered over the button to send the call directly to voicemail, but he answered it on the last ring instead, “Hey Steve.”
There was a short pause before the guitarist responded enthusiastically, “Holy crap, you actually answered! It’s a sign of the Apocalypse!”
“Ha ha,” Hugo responded dryly, but he was smiling. Unconsciously he started meandering around his apartment. “So what’s up?”
“Well, first off, glad you’re not dead, man.”
Hugo blinked at the undercurrent of sincerity in his band mate’s tone, baffled. Steve was too self-absorbed to be concerned about anyone else. “Not yet, anyway,” Hugo returned, trying to keep his voice light.
Steve chuckled as his reward. “The other thing was that, despite the fact that you’ve abandoned us completely, we have a gig New Year’s Eve.”
Hugo froze, his eyes widening. That was the concert where he was supposed to die. He’d watched Dr. McFadden save him, but the possibility that it would actually happen seemed distant, farfetched; he hadn’t even talked to Steve, who used to be his best friend, in several weeks, let alone practiced. But now it was here; luckily the entire situation would be easy to avoid if he just declined. That seemed like the best solution, Crysta wouldn’t risk exposure, and he wouldn’t have to worry about any potential complications.
Steve interpreted his silence as a different variety of surprise, “I know right. All the proceeds are going to some charity supporting art programs in schools or some shit, so they were probably desperate. We’re opening, I Like Chocolate is up next. Speaking of, Abby’s been nagging me to tell her what is going on with you, like I would somehow know,” Steve’s explanation ended on a sour note.
Hugo sighed, disturbed that things had changed so much that a guy he used to think would be his best friend forever, was a complete stranger, “What does Abby want? She barely ever talked to me.”
Hugo could practically hear the shrug on the other end of the line, “Dunno. Asked her, but she just laughed and said something evasive; probably just wants to screw you now that you’re not available.” Hugo laughed a little at that, staring absently out his small bedroom window. “So are you going to be an asshole and make us back out of this too?”
Letting out another sigh, Hugo pressed his palm against the cool glass, “Of course not, it’s for charity; I’m not that big of a dick.”
“Could have fooled me,” Steve returned, trying to keep his voice light, but Hugo couldn’t miss the edge to it. His shoulders slumped slightly, his hand falling from the window. “We’re going to decide on our set and practice tomorrow at 8:00 at the studio, you know, the one you’re renting for us. Can you make it?”
Hugo glanced at the ceiling while he took a mental inventory of his schedule. With the Project Burnout files being a dead end as far as shedding some light on who Octavia’s benefactors were, he’d started helping Dr. McFadden with refining the formula for the Inhibitor, and that could easily be limited to office hours. In fact, the only thing that was on his schedule at all was the Gideon Enterprises’ holiday party, which he was only going to because Dr. McFadden had looked disappointed when he’d said he hadn’t planned on it. Right, it was semi-formal, so he still needed to buy something to wear. “Yeah, that should be fine. But…” Hugo chewed on his lip for a moment dreading his next words, “I think you guys should start looking for another lead singer.”
There was a long, excruciating silence over the connection between them. When Steve finally spoke, the response was sh
arp and full of everything he would never say, “Fuck you.” The finality of the beep that signaled the call disconnected, was obvious. Hugo leaned forward slightly, his eyes closing as his forehead touched the glass. His old life was officially dead.
The Sound of Wind Page 62
