I snorted. She tried to kill us, and now she was going to “wipe the slate clean”? Was Selah really that deluded?
Keane nodded absently. “Shake on it?” he said.
“You’re not seriously thinking of taking this case,” I said, turning to face him. He ignored me.
“I’m not much for physical contact,” said Selah. “I’ll have a contract sent to your comm.”
Keane nodded again. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”
“Excuse me?” said Selah.
“Fowler, give me your gun.”
I stared at him. “Why?”
“Just do it,” he said. Selah seemed bemused by the demand.
I removed the SIG from its holster and handed it to Keane. He took it from me and pointed it at Selah. Before I could object, he fired two shots at her. Keane handed the gun back to me.
“What the hell?” I asked, taking the smoking gun from Keane.
Miraculously, Selah seemed unharmed. The bullets had left no mark at all. She looked at Keane curiously. “How did you know?” she asked.
“Security was too lax,” said Keane. “You’d never have let Fowler get this close to you with a gun on him. You’re keeping your distance, staying out of direct light. Your android double over there is still mimicking your movements, even though you don’t appear to be near any sort of motion-capture apparatus.”
Turning to look, I saw that Keane was right: even now, the android was standing haughtily, its arms crossed over its chest, as if facing down a phantom Erasmus Keane.
“Finally,” Keane went on, “the android has only moved about twenty feet from where it was standing during filming, which would seem to imply that you suddenly appeared in this room twenty feet from where you’re standing now.”
“A hologram,” I said, taking a step toward the projection. I could hardly believe it wasn’t really her.
“Yes,” said Keane. “A very convincing one, at that. The best I’ve ever seen.”
“Cutting-edge proprietary technology,” Selah said.
“But why?” I asked. “What’s with the ruse, Selah? Or has it gotten to the point where deception is so natural to you that you don’t need a reason?”
“It’s a security precaution, as Mr. Keane indicated. I also have … other reasons for not wanting to be seen.”
“That’s your choice,” said Keane. “But I’m not taking this job unless I can look you in the eye.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Keane,” said Selah. “There’s no reason for us to meet in person.”
“You’re hiding something,” said Keane. “That’s reason enough.”
Selah shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s out of the question.”
“Fine,” said Keane. “Fowler, let’s go.”
I nodded, holstering my gun. I had no desire to work for Selah anyway. We’d find another way to make the rent. We started toward the door, and we were almost there when Selah flickered into existence in front of us. “Wait,” she said, holding up her hand, which momentarily disappeared inside my chest. I shuddered. Even at this distance, it was almost impossible to tell she was a projection. Except for the fact that the lighting on her face was a little wrong from this angle—and the fact that her wrist ended at my sternum—I never would have known. “Please be reasonable, Mr. Keane.”
“This isn’t negotiable, Selah,” said Keane. “Either we shake on the deal or Fowler and I walk.”
Selah regarded Keane for a moment—or gave the impression of regarding him, anyway; although there were obviously cameras in the room, I didn’t think the technology existed for her to see us from the hologram’s point of view. Finally she sighed in resignation. “All right,” she said. “Go through the door. Turn right. Surrender any weapons to the guard at the end of the hall. Tell him you’re here to see Ms. Gray.” The hologram disappeared.
“We can still walk out,” I said.
“Aren’t you curious?” asked Keane.
“Of course I’m curious,” I replied. “But I don’t want to have anything to do with that woman. She tried to kill us, Keane.”
“You can’t take attempted murder personally in this business, Fowler. Come on, let’s see what she’s hiding.”
TWO
Selah Fiore did not look well. Whereas her hologram could have passed for a forty-year-old woman—and a beautiful one at that—the actual Selah looked every bit of her fifty-eight years and then some. It had only been three weeks since I’d last seen her, and she appeared to have aged ten years since then. She was pale and there were bags under her eyes that even professional-grade makeup couldn’t hide. She sat slumped in an easy chair, looking exhausted. A scarf covered her—bald?—head, and she wore an unflattering, tight-fitting bodysuit that was presumably part of the motion capture system.
“I took this part before I knew I was dying,” Selah said, with no emotion in her voice other than exhaustion. “The voice work is no problem, but I may need a stand-in for the physical parts soon.”
“A stand-in for your stand-in,” Keane said. He and I were sitting on a plush leather couch across from her. Selah’s dressing room was better furnished than most people’s houses.
“Yes,” said Selah. “No one will know, other than David and a few technicians, of course. It’s important to keep up appearances is this business.”
A smirk crept across Keane’s face. “Even if it means hiring an actor to secretly pose as you to model your actions for an android that will be digitally modified to look like you from thirty years ago.”
Selah shrugged. After a long career in Hollywood, these sorts of multilayered illusions were obviously old hat to her.
“What is it?” I asked. “Cancer?”
Selah nodded. “A rare form of leukemia. You’ll appreciate this, Mr. Keane. The cancer seems to be a side effect of an experimental rejuvenation treatment I started a few months ago.”
“Your quest for immortality is killing you,” Keane said, nodding with approval. “I won’t deny feeling a bit of schadenfreude.”
“I was just trying to get a few more years out of this body while I worked out the details of my cloning operation. Now I’ve probably got less than a year to live, and thanks to you, I have no cloning operation. I trust that you’ll keep this information confidential.”
“You do realize,” I said, “that at some point people are going to figure out you’re dead? Or do you plan to ‘keep up appearances’ after death as well?”
“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Fowler,” said Selah. “You’ll be relieved to know I have a transition plan in place. I’ve got a few months left, though, and I intend to make use of them. My primary concern is securing my legacy.”
“And somehow getting your hands on one of these iota coins is going to help you do that?” Keane asked.
“Something along those lines,” Selah replied. “As I said, my reasons are not your concern.”
“And as I said,” I answered, “they are our concern. If we know the context of your request, we’re more likely to be able to anticipate challenges we might face in fulfilling it. In any case, we’re going to figure it out. We always do.”
“Be that as it may,” said Selah, “I’m not telling you any more. All you need to know is that I need one of those coins.”
“Do you have a list of the auction bidders?” asked Keane. “Or any leads on who has the coins now?”
Selah shook her head. “FCI was dissolved in 2036. I’ve been unable to locate any records on bidders or attendees of the auction, other than some public news coverage, which I imagine you, with your prodigious detective skills, can locate as easily as I. Nor do I have any leads on current owners.”
“Why won’t you tell us why you want the coin?” I asked. “What’s the harm in telling us?”
“I’m done meeting your demands, Mr. Fowler. You wanted to see me in person. Here I am, in all my glory. Will you take the case or not?”
“I have one more question,” said Kean
e.
Selah sighed. “What is it, Mr. Keane?”
“If you’re able to create such a convincing hologram, why not just film the hologram rather than filming the dummy and transposing your appearance onto it?”
Selah seemed relieved not to have to talk about her health anymore. “The hologram isn’t as responsive to stage lighting,” she said. “The technology isn’t quite there yet to accurately modify the hologram’s appearance on the fly in response to ambient lighting changes. Also, it casts no shadow. The android gives us a benchmark for shadows and reflected light. It’s easier to combine the lighting effects on the android with a computer-generated image than to try to insert shadows and reflections after the fact. The computer actually erases the android’s image from the scene, creates the new composite image on the fly, and inserts the new image into the scene. That’s my layperson’s understanding, anyway. My people at Empathix are constantly working to improve the technology.” Empathix was another part of Selah’s empire. They had started off as a market-research company, but had expanded into psychological testing, economic forecasting, and various types of computer modeling and simulation software. I’d heard that they had even developed an augmented reality system for military applications.
“Fascinating,” said Keane. “So a physical object is necessary to create a more effective illusion.”
“Exactly,” replied Selah.
“We’ll take the case,” said Keane, getting up from the couch.
“We will?” I asked.
Selah leaned forward as if bracing herself to get out of her chair.
“Don’t get up,” said Keane, walking toward her. He stopped in front of her chair and held out his right hand. Selah took his hand and they shook on it.
“Excellent,” Selah replied. “I’ll have a contract sent to your comm shortly.”
“Triple our normal rate plus expenses. And a ten-thousand-New-Dollar advance.”
“Done. I need one of those coins, whatever it costs. Thank you, Mr. Keane.”
“Understood,” said Keane. “But don’t thank me yet. You may yet regret hiring me for this case. As you know, I have a habit of uncovering uncomfortable truths.”
“We’ll deal with that eventuality when it arises,” Selah replied. “I’m dead either way. Good day, gentlemen.”
* * *
The Case of the Lost Coin was to be the twentieth investigation Keane and I worked together. Technically the coin wasn’t lost, but I liked the symmetry with our previous case, the Case of the Lost Sheep. Hopefully this case paid better.
My association with Erasmus Keane had begun three years earlier, on the Case of the Mischievous Holograms. At the time I had been head of security for Canny Simulations, Inc., a company that creates artificially intelligent holograms of celebrities. CSI had the rights to most of the big names: Elvis, Michael Jackson, Beyoncé, Sheila Tong, the Weavil Brothers. A hacker had managed to get into our codebase and was projecting our celebrities all over town: at strip clubs, children’s birthday parties … Bette Midler showed up at a bowling alley in Van Nuys. The hacker didn’t seem to be particularly malicious, but the CSI board of directors was understandably concerned that having unlicensed versions of our biggest names crashing bar mitzvahs in Glendale was diluting our corporate brand. The feds had pretty much given up on trying to enforce piracy laws by this point (this was shortly after the Collapse, so the feds had their hands full with more important things, like domestic terrorism and the threat of Chinese invasion), and the LAPD couldn’t be bothered to expend much effort to catch someone who was essentially a high-tech graffiti artist. The board hired Erasmus Keane over my stringent objections, and I insisted that I be present at all of Keane’s interactions with CSI personnel. I ended up accompanying Keane during most of the investigation, and spent much of the next three days thoroughly documenting his unprofessionalism, lack of social propriety, neurotic behavior, inability to execute mundane tasks, and poor hygiene. He was like an idiot savant without the savant part. At one point during the investigation, he locked himself in a bathroom stall for over three hours. After I’d gathered what I thought was more than enough evidence to get Keane fired, I asked to address the next board meeting. When I got there, Keane was already in the conference room, laughing it up with the CEO and the rest of the board. With him was a fourteen-year-old kid named Julio Chavez, who was conversing animatedly with Obi-Wan Kenobi, Teddy Roosevelt, and Greta Autenburg, who was the latest teen sensation at the time. Keane had not only found the hacker; he’d convinced the kid to come work for CSI. He’s the director of simulation development now.
I’d been so humiliated by this turn of events that I quit my job on the spot. Truth be told, I’d been bored stiff by the corporate security gig; I was basically a glorified mall cop. I’d only taken the job because it seemed like a cushy gig after three years of running security details for VIPs on the Arabian Peninsula. Anyway, it paid better than civilian law enforcement, and at the time I’d had some thoughts of planning for the future. But then Gwen disappeared, and … well, by the time dead celebrities started showing up around town, I’d pretty much given up on the future.
Three months after I quit, Keane showed up at my apartment with a job offer, saying I’d been “invaluable” on the hologram case. I almost punched him, thinking he’d come to my door with the sole purpose of making fun of me. Taking my reticence as a bargaining tactic, he upped his offer by twenty grand. When I balked at this, he offered me five grand for my notes on the hologram case. That’s when it finally penetrated that he was serious.
I still probably wouldn’t have taken the job, but Keane’s timing—by chance or design—was fortuitous. I had spent every waking moment since leaving CSI investigating Gwen’s disappearance, and had come up with exactly nothing. One day she simply hadn’t shown up for work. I’d talked to her the previous night and she had sounded fine. We were planning to see Sheila Tong at the Orpheum that weekend, and Gwen was complaining that she couldn’t stay out late because she had to work most of the weekend. She worked for the city-planning department, and they had been short-staffed ever since the Collapse, so she often took work home. She had called me on the way home from work on Wednesday night, and as far as I could tell that was the last time anyone had talked to her. It was unclear whether she ever made it home that night; her last documented location was the parking garage down the street from her office. I had talked to friends, family members, coworkers, neighbors … but nobody had a clue what had happened to her. She had vanished into the proverbial thin air.
In any case, by the time Keane showed up with his offer, I was out of leads, nearly out of money, and rapidly sinking into hopelessness and depression. I’m still not certain whether I took the job because I thought Keane could help me find Gwen or because I thought working with him would be an effective distraction from what I knew to be a lost cause.
My official title was Director of Operations, but it became clear in short order that my function was essentially to be Keane’s tether to mundane reality. Keane’s mind dealt in concepts and abstractions; when it came to routine tasks like keeping case notes or doing laundry, he was hopeless. He subsisted entirely on Lucky Charms, Dr Pepper, and instadinners. He dressed in rumpled, mismatched clothing that he bought by the palette directly from a Chinese wholesaler; he wore a set of clothes for a week and then threw it out. Ironically, my first task as Keane’s employee was to locate the funds for paying my own salary. Keane possessed a bewildering array of bank accounts and investments, the value of which I eventually established at nearly a million New Dollars, but for those first few weeks I was basically writing myself checks and holding my breath. Thanks to a recent dry spell and Keane’s penchant for immediately spending any money we acquired, we were now four months behind on our lease. Hopefully the Case of the Lost Coin would get us back on our feet. That would be small consolation for doing the bidding of the evilest woman on the planet, but money is money.
“I can’t bel
ieve you agreed to work for Selah Fiore,” I said as we waited for a car on the street outside the Flagship lot. Our own aircar had recently exploded due to a misunderstanding with a local gangster, so we were currently dependent on hired cars for transportation. I’d requested a car using my comm as we left the meeting with Selah; the iotas would be automatically deducted from my account.
“We need the money,” Keane replied.
“That isn’t the reason you took the case,” I said.
“No, it isn’t,” Keane admitted, as the car pulled up. We got in the back. The car was driverless; most cars for hire were these days. It pulled away from the curb, having already been instructed by the app on my comm to transport us to our office.
“So why are we taking it?” I asked.
“Curiosity,” said Keane. “I’m dying to know why these coins are so important to Selah. So to speak.”
“Just one coin,” I corrected.
“Yes, that’s interesting as well. Why does she need one of them, but only one? Why isn’t two better than one?”
“Has it occurred to you this is a wild-goose chase? Or worse, some sort of trap? Vengeance for us foiling Selah’s designs on immortality?”
Keane shook his head. “Why make up a crazy story about wanting a novelty coin if all she wants is revenge? No, there’s definitely something important about those coins. Some reason she wants to secure one before she dies.”
“So you buy the story about her dying, too?”
Keane nodded absently, staring at his comm display and tapping buttons. “Selah’s vanity trumps her mendacity. She genuinely didn’t want us to see her in that condition. For whatever reason, she’s desperate to get her hands on one of those coins.”
“So what’s the next step?” I asked.
“Research,” Keane replied curtly, still buried in his comm display. I took the hint.
The Last Iota Page 2
