Suddenly everybody was talking at once, Bird and Tammy, Big Clarence and Master Timothy and Old Jack; Trent came further into the shop, peripherally aware that Denice was following him warily, a step behind and to his right.
Jimmy Ramirez raised his voice to cut across the babble. "Quiet, damn it!"
In the almost instant silence that followed, Denice Castanaveras looked directly at Bird. The boy flinched slightly at the touch of her eyes.
Denice Castanaveras said, "Nice high big ones?"
Bird flushed until his face was nearly as red as his hair. "Oh." He almost stuttered. "I didn't, I mean, that's not what I meant. Your cheekbones," he said urgently.
For the first time in seven years Trent heard Denice Castanaveras laugh. It was a low, husky sound, and for the second time she reminded him of her mother, Jany McConnell.
Denice said, "You're scheduled for biosculpting. They're going to work on your cheekbones."
Bird sighed audibly. "Yes. You have gorgeous cheekbones," he told her.
"Bro?"
Trent looked at Jimmy Ramirez. Jimmy still wore the suit from earlier that evening, but had removed the shoulder silks and the tie. He sat cross-legged in his chair, sitting carefully upright with the beer bottle in his hands. The only time he was ever that careful about his balance was when he was considerably drunk. "Yes, Jimmy?"
"Last I saw you were boosting this chick's wallet." Jimmy enunciated clearly. "Who is she?"
"She's--someone I used to know," Trent said finally.
Jimmy Ramirez looked like he'd been slapped. Bird looked puzzled; he and Jodi Jodi and Jimmy Ramirez had come out of the Fringe with Trent, and of those three Jimmy Ramirez had known Trent longer than anybody else; nearly six years.
Jimmy said simply, "From before the Troubles?"
"We had the same parents." In her case the relationship had been one of blood, in his it had not; Trent could not see that it mattered much. "I guess," he said, watching Jimmy closely, "in a way that makes her my sister."
Jimmy studied his beer. Master Timothy was looking back and forth between Trent and Jimmy. There was a small red light winking on and off on the collar of his robe; his PPS had decided there was something threatening in the situation.
Jimmy stood up slowly. "I'm going home, bro. See you in the morning."
"Hold on a minute." Trent turned to the leader of the BloodSilks. "Master Tim? Could we make it for the morning? Nine o'clock? I'll spring breakfast at the Temple. Eggs, bacon, waffles, whatever makes you happy. Orange juice? Do you like orange juice?"
Master Timothy shrugged loosely, and the Boys with him relaxed slightly. "No. But the breakfast, I s'pose I'll be there. We going to talk a long time on this one, Trent. The Boys went to a lot of trouble on your say."
Trent nodded. "I'll make it good, Master Tim."
Master Timothy smiled without humor. "I know it. Come 'long, Boys."
After they had gone, Trent said to them all, "Tomorrow morning before the BloodSilk Boys get there, eight o'clock breakfast at the Temple coffee shop. I'll tell you what I know as well as I know it." He turned to Old Jack. "Sorry to keep you up so late, Jack. Anything interesting?"
"Had a couple of pieces of hardware I couldn't get running today," said Kandel softly. "If you could take a look at them tomorrow morning, I'd appreciate it."
"I'll do that."
Jimmy stood still, clutching his beer. "Someday," he said, in a voice so old it had no place on the features of a man so young, "I'm going to figure you out, my man."
"Not tonight, Jimmy."
Jimmy Ramirez took a step toward them, looking at Denice. "What's your name, girl?"
"Denice."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a dancer."
Jimmy nodded slowly, appreciatively. He looked up and down her dripping form. "Where?"
"Orinda Gleygavass Dance Troupe, in Greenwich Village."
"I've heard of them."
"You should have. It's the most famous dance troupe in the world."
Jimmy brought the half-full bottle up to his lips, drained it in a single long pull. "You're his sister?"
Denice Castanaveras said simply, "Yes."
It did not even occur to Trent to interfere.
Jimmy Ramirez stared at her for a long moment.
Denice looked coolly back at him.
"Nice to meet you," said Jimmy at last. "Any sister of Trent's is okay by me."
"Okay? Just okay?" Denice Castanaveras's lips curved slightly. Watching her standing there in the wet green dress, Trent could not remember anyone who had ever handled Jimmy so correctly, so soon. "Jimmy Ramirez, I'm the best."
Trent took her back through the dark shop as Old Jack locked up.
About Jimmy she said, "My God, he's jealous. I touched him--" Denice shivered.
"Don't tell him," said Trent. "It won't make him happy; he thinks he's straight." They passed the workbenches, passed the dim shelves piled with machines--'bots, brains, inskins--that sat in the gloom awaiting repair.
Following Trent, Denice said, "I think maybe he is. But he loves you and it confuses him."
The stairs were tucked away at the far end of the shop.
The stairwell lights came on automatically as Trent reached the foot of the stairs, Denice just behind him.
A big black bear wallowed on its back at the top of the stairs.
A blond girl in blue jeans and a yellow t-shirt sat by it, scratching the bear's stomach.
Denice froze at the bottom of the stairs.
Halfway up the stairs, Trent looked back at her. "What's wrong?"
"That's a bear," said Denice.
Trent looked at the bear, then back at Denice. "No kidding. These are my friends--they came out of the Fringe with me and Jimmy Ramirez and Bird. This is Jodi Jodi, she's my Image's sister. The bear--"
"His name is Boris," said Jodi Jodi. "He defected from Russia."
Trent said, "She stole him from a Russian circus when it visited Occupied America."
Jodi Jodi's voice took on a defensive tone. "I did not. He was, uhm ... unhappy. Yeah. He was unhappy at the circus, so I helped him defect." To Trent she said, "Who's she?"
"My sister." Jodi Jodi's eyes widened at the reply; she stopped scratching the bear.
Denice looked at the bear. She looked at Trent, and then she looked at Jodi Jodi. "What do you do with him?"
The blonde girl smiled at her, somewhat hesitantly. "We go dancing."
The bear yawned at Denice. Denice lifted an eyebrow.
Jodi Jodi said, "Well, he's a Dancing Bear. What would you do with him?"
"You go dancing where?"
Jodi Jodi's smile grew wider. "You know that joke?" she demanded.
"What joke?"
The smile vanished suddenly. "I thought you knew the joke."
Denice said slowly, "I don't know any bear jokes."
"Where does a 200 kilo dancing bear dance?" Jodi Jodi stood up and said, "Come along, Boris."
"Oh," said Denice.
The bear rolled over, came to his feet. "Anywhere he wants to," said Jodi Jodi. She glanced at Trent. "We're leaving."
They left, the bear waddling down the stairs with considerable grace. Denice took one step to get out of the bear's way as they left. There was something that looked very much like an inskin socketed in the bear's skull.
"You have the strangest friends," Denice said.
Trent shrugged wearily. "They're okay. Let's go upstairs."
"You live here?"
It was her first comment after he had unlocked the door.
"Sort of," said Trent.
The lights had come on automatically when they entered the room. The room consisted of a shabby bathroom with a tiny shower, a twin bed and a small desk with a traceset and InfoNet terminal. Denice recognized the terminal; it was good equipment, for an amateur webdancer--slightly better than the twenty-thousand Credit equipment Trent had been using seven years ago, but not the sort of equipment a Player w
ould have been using.
There was a bazooka in the bathroom.
"What is that?" Denice pointed at the bazooka.
"A bazooka."
"Is it real?"
Trent looked at it. "I suppose."
"Where did you get it from?"
Trent shrugged. "It was here when I moved in. Command," he said, "lights off."
The claustrophobically small room was plunged into darkness.
A pressure pad, about the size of a human hand, glowed in the darkness, just to the right of the InfoNet terminal, high enough up on the wall that it was unlikely anybody would ever place a palm on it by accident. "You want to be careful here; if you touch that spot while the lights are on, a fadeaway bomb goes off."
The darkness did not seem to throw her. "What's a fadeaway bomb?"
"A liquid Peaceforcer drug, developed for crowd control. Its proper name is Complex 8-A."
"Why not sonics?"
"Sonics won't stop brass balls," said Trent simply. He waited a moment, then said, "Put your hand on the pressure pad."
He felt her move by him, saw her hand cover the glowing spot. "Command," he said, "authorize Denice."
Johnny Johnny's voice said, "Denice is authorized."
A section of the wall slid backward half a meter. Bright yellow sunpaint flooded down, showing an ascending stairway.
Immediately inside the stairwell there was a squirt gun. Denice looked at it without expression.
Trent said, "Fadeaway again. You can't use anesthetic needlers on brass balls; the slivers won't break the skin. But their skin is permeable, it has to be; a squirt gun gets enough on them to put one down for the count."
Denice looked at Trent without expression.
Trent sighed. "Let's go upstairs."
Denice stood in the brilliant sunshine, watching the waves crash on the beach. The sun beat down upon her and she could smell the salt of the ocean.
Trent's voice came from behind and below her. "You're blocking the stairwell."
She took two steps up, further into the immensity. There was a bright blue tropical ocean against the far wall. Even knowing what it must be, a holo of astonishing fidelity, the illusion was fiercely real; she felt that she could step forward, walk ten meters across the sand, down to the water. There were dolphins a kilometer or so out, leaping across the surface of the waves.
Denice could feel the warmth of the sun upon her skin. "It's warm."
"It's practically real. It even puts out UV B and C; it'll give you a tan if you stay under it long enough."
Denice turned slowly, pivoting to view the rest of the room. There was a bed in one corner, with books--real plastipaper books--piled up on a bookshelf next to it. There was a desk next to the bookshelf, with computer equipment so esoteric that Denice had no idea what most of it was. She recognized one item, a huge full-sensory MRI traceset that must have cost forty thousand Credit Units.
The bed was huge, easily large enough for three or four people. There was a late model waitbot on one side of the bed.
On the table at the side of the bed there were--Denice paused, counting--eighteen pairs of sunglasses arrayed on a stand.
In the center of the room, to the left of the stairwell entrance, was a clear still pool of water; four meters across, Denice judged, perhaps one deep. Not large enough to swim in, but still larger than any bathtub she had ever seen.
One wall of the room, curving to join the holo of the ocean, was opaqued glassite. It could be cleared to look east, out toward the Fringe; Trent usually kept it darkened.
At the other side of the room there was a small kitchen, and just off that a bathroom. Denice wandered through Trent's home, silently, looking. Trent stripped off his wet clothing as he watched her. There were two pale, puckered scars high on his shoulder, and several knife scars. He gave the wet clothes to the waitbot, ran a towel over himself and changed into a white terry-cloth robe. "Johnny?"
"Yes, Boss?"
"Try Booker, please." Trent sat down on the edge of the bed, still watching her. The phonefield formed next to Trent for just a moment, then faded.
"No response from 'Sieur Jamethon, Boss."
"Okay."
Finally she turned back to him. "Who's Booker Jamethon?"
"A Player I know." Trent paused. "Actually the only Player I know outside of the Crystal Wind. I don't know which Player he is, just that he's so good he has to be one. He's pretty high up in the local Syndic operation, too. I used to sign onto a Board he runs back when we lived in the Complex together. Booker's taught me a lot of what I know about being a Player." He shrugged. "Earlier tonight a man named Jerry Jackson told me Booker had referred him to me. I think he was lying, but I wanted to check."
Denice nodded, accepting it. She gestured at the apartment. "How did you do this?"
"I stole most of it."
"You stole it?"
"I'm a thief. It's what I do. Steal things. I bought the rest with Credit I made from things I stole."
"Is that why you were in jail tonight?"
"I'm not sure why I was in jail tonight."
"This must have cost ..." Denice shook her head. "An amazing--"
"Eighty-two thousand Credit Units," said Trent, "approximately. Want a robe to wear? I have spares."
"That's incredible." She had come around the pool, stood now only meters in front of him.
"Spare robes? That's an odd thing to be impressed by. I expect lots of people have--"
"You spent eighty thousand CU on a room?"
"I'm a good thief."
"I'll take that robe," she said, strangely subdued. "Thank you."
"Johnny?"
"Yes, Boss?"
"Spare robe for Denice, please."
"That voice," Denice said, "that's your Image?"
"Yes."
"That's not Ralf's voice."
"Ralf the Wise and Powerful," said Trent, "was jacked into the circuitry in Doctor Montignet's house when everything went up, when the Troubles began. He had no replicant code in him, and I couldn't get to him. The last contact I had with him was while I was still in Peaceforcer custody. Ralf summoned a replicant AI named Ring who helped me escape. After I got away from the Peaceforcers--I never heard from Ralf again. I presume the Peaceforcers killed him; they searched Doctor Montignet's house quite thoroughly. It was months after the riots ended before I was able to get to an InfoNet terminal." Trent shrugged. "It's hard to be a Player without an Image. Impossible. So I wrote Johnny." It did not even occur to him that he had given her his Image's name; only Jimmy and Jodi Jodi had ever known it before. Trent said slowly, "Johnny ... grew on me. I was grieving for Ralf the Wise and Powerful when I started coding Johnny; all I wanted was an Image that would filter the InfoNet, cover me when the web angels were after me. But--he got to be friends with Jodi Jodi, changed his name to Johnny Johnny, and told me one day she was his sister. I'm not sure he understands what that relationship is really supposed to mean, but I guess it doesn't matter. He's more alive in some ways than Ralf ever was."
"Gee, thanks, Boss."
Trent grinned. "We've done some really great boosts together."
"Boosts?"
"It's a Fringe word. It means to steal."
In an odd voice, Denice said, "Steal."
Sitting at the edge of the bed, Trent said, "Why the disapproval?"
"I don't know," the girl said directly. "I never pictured you--it seems dishonest." She bit her lip, smiled rather wistfully. "What would Jany have said?"
"Good question. Seeing as she's dead, we'll probably never know. I don't steal from my friends, Denice. I just take things that other people have too much of."
"And you're the one who decides what's too much?"
"You're forgetting, I'm a pacifist."
"I don't see the point."
"Words," said Trent, "are not real."
Denice said slowly, "I don't understand."
"You can read my mind if you like." Trent stopped in sudden re
alization. "My God. You can read my mind. You may," he said hurriedly, "be the first person I ever make understand this. Listen. I can say something to you, Denice, but all I've done is make the air move. I've caused no sensation in you; you cause whatever effect is achieved, based on how you interpret what I've said."
Carrying a robe and towel, the 'bot stopped at Denice's side, and in Johnny Johnny's voice said, "Your robe, 'Selle."
"Thank you." Denice took the robe, a pale yellow thing too large for her by several sizes, stood holding it and looking at Trent.
"If I want to change your behavior," said Trent, only slightly more slowly, "I can talk to you and attempt to persuade you. I can, if I have enough Credit, attempt to purchase a change in your behavior. If neither of those options work, I can threaten you and attempt to change your behavior that way." He leaned forward, spoke more intensely. "If that doesn't work--and it tends not to--I can attempt to damage you, either physically or mentally. I don't think, Denice, that it is ethical to damage other people physically if you can avoid it. But when I take something that belongs to, say, a Player whose behavior I find inappropriate, or a small businessman who's harming the people he deals with, or when I steal from an ecstasy peddler, I've touched that person. They can't ignore what I'm saying to them. They can't."
Denice stared at him. "You mean--you steal things--so people will listen to you?"
"No, no, no," said Trent impatiently. "Don't be silly. Nobody ever listens anyhow. Mostly I steal things because I get paid for it." He grinned at her. "But isn't that a great explanation?"
Denice smiled slowly, reluctantly. "Oh, Trent." She shook her head slowly, the smile fading. "I never did know when to believe you."
"Believe everything I say," said Trent.
"Everything?"
"Or nothing. The results are the same."
"What results?"
"Chaos usually. But only because most of the people I hang out with have no sense of humor. Last week I wanted to dress up as Clowns from Mars and go to mass at the Temple next door, but nobody would. They're all afraid of Reverend Andy," said Trent contemptuously. "Just because he once killed a mugger with one mighty blow."
"But you're not afraid of him?"
"Well, I wouldn't have worn the big clown feet or anything," Trent conceded. "Nothing that would slow me down if I had to run away. Jimmy," Trent said, "thought we would lose the respect of the natives, to be seen running in clown costumes down Flushing, being chased by Reverend Andy. Because it showed a lack of dignity or some such."
The Long Run Page 5
