I exaggerated a shrug.
"Some."
She smiled at me.
"Glad to hear it."
I raised my eyebrows.
"I mean, with Rebecca around, I don't want you to forget about our work here, Jeth."
I nodded.
"Don't worry about that. Now, I guess I had better get in touch with Samantha."
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose.
"I still can't believe she was your idea."
"Yeah." I groaned. "Me neither.”
I had never been on great terms with investigative reporter Samantha Lockwell, and that was probably the understatement of the century, if not the whole millennium.
After a half hour of network digging, I found a contact address for Samantha's assistant, a common if-expensive position maintained by people in demand, but unusual in that this assistant had no other contacts listed under her profile.
The assistant, Ellen Krauss did not exactly match the usual description of a net-technician I expected when dealing with this kind of service in any way, really.
Before I sent a message to her, I looked up her public files and skimmed what little was there for another few minutes.
A recent graduate of a tiny school in the far southern part of the city, Ellen had majored in old media. Sure, the newspaper still got distributed daily, but mostly that was a public service and network news drew far more attention.
I rummaged around a little more.
Just twenty-two years old, Ellen's profile picture tried too hard to look professional, between the suit coat and tie. I got the idea of a young person desperately trying to be taken seriously.
Finally, I sent her my introduction message, mentioning I would like to meet with her lone client.
I-Jethro Gall-would like to meet with Samantha Lockwell.
This plan was a bad joke, and I was already sorry I'd thought of it. Ellen responded to my message at once, using my contact line for auditory but non-visual connection.
"Mister Gall."
"Miss Krauss."
Her subtle mental presence shifted forward.
"It really is you. My client expected a prankster."
"This is no prank," I said.
Another presence connected over the network using Ellen as a conduit. This presence I remembered all too clearly, languid and cat-like.
"Notice how he did not say he wasn't a prankster," said the voice of Samantha Lockwell, for all practical purposes purring.
"Huh, funny you'd read into that," I said.
Ellen's presence, already faint, like a shadow visible on the other side of a foggy windowpane, withdrew a little.
"Miss Lockwell," she said, "I thought you were waiting for me to confirm—"
"Precisely, Ellen," said Samantha. "His presence is enough for me to tell this is genuine. But stay connected. This should be educational for you." She turned her attention to me, and I could swear I heard a sibilant hiss. "Now, Jethro. What do you want?"
"Samantha," I said. "It's been some time."
"Not long enough, Jethro. Now tell me why an upstart network boss like you would go looking for someone he should know would greet him this way."
I didn't know what my mind looked like from the outside, but thoughts sizzled against the sides of my cauldron, one might say.
"I want to hire you," I said.
"Well, well. That is interesting. Seems you finally acknowledged you don't have the chops—"
"—That's not it," I said. "We're shorthanded. I want to cover the refugee crisis."
"You're girlfriend doesn't want that, though."
It annoyed me how she never asked questions, but more annoying was how she always seemed to have my number. Well, this once I could surprise her.
"Elizabeth and I aren't together anymore."
"Oh well, I suppose I shouldn't have assumed."
"Two out of three isn't bad for guesses."
"It is for me."
Her smile seemed audible, and it sounded smug.
"So," I said. "What do you say to covering the refugee crisis for BrightNet?"
"I'll need two recorders, double-standard credit in payment as well as another thirty-percent-standard for my assistant, and all recording will have to be on site."
"Done," I said.
"Just like that?" Samantha did not sound at all surprised.
"What can I say? The money's not an object."
With the revenue BrightNet was pulling in with all the attention, that was not quite a lie. Elizabeth probably would not be happy giving Samantha her top rate, though.
"You've come a long way in little time," said Samantha.
"Not too big for my shoes yet," I said.
"You really ought to check again," said Samantha.
"When can you meet to enter the refugee district?" I asked.
"I'm local to you these days, Jethro. Just name the time and the station."
As much as it pained me to admit it, I felt lucky she had agreed so quickly. I named the train station nearest Lotdel Tower.
"You'll start tomorrow," I added.
"Now comes the part where you tell me you look forward to working together."
"I'm going to reserve judgment this once," I said.
Her answering laughter echoed in my mind.
Rebecca and I walked along the pier where it pointed into the ocean. Waves splashes against old pilings that probably predated the appearance of the aeons and the mind plague before that. Crusted and weathered, they certainly looked the part. The rain had stopped for the moment, but the gray sky told me it would return soon.
“I know about the letter, Jeth,” she said.
“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” I said with a sigh. “It’s true I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, though.”
She folded her arms together.
“Well, the weather isn’t great. We might as well start talking.”
“Might as well, huh?” I shrugged. “Guess you’re right.”
“If the Green Valley is evacuating, my parents are probably on their way here along with yours.”
Right to the point, I thought, how very in-style for Rebecca.
“Yeah. Any idea what we should do?”
“It seems like you already started with trying to get better conditions for refugees in general.”
“Absolutely. I guess I’m nervous about you meeting your parents again.”
“And you think I’m not?”
“The opposite, Rebecca. I knew you’d be worried about seeing them again.”
“I am. I just—” She scowled. “—I don’t know if its necessary at all. I can pretend I don’t know them.”
“For how long?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“As long as I want. I’m free. Now.”
We looked over the water, suddenly silent. Rain began to sprinkle on the pier. Fishing birds called over the surf.
Rebecca’s face set as she watched the waves, beautiful but cold, despite the fire I knew resided beneath the surface.
“You don’t have to see them,” I said.
“I know.” She turned and smiled. “I have the choice.” She motioned over the water. “When things clear up, maybe we should tell everyone about what we know about cleans.”
I nodded.
“With Sudhatho behind bars, I’d say we’re close to ready for that.”
“Yashelia’s still out there.”
“Not much we can do about her right now,” I said.
“I’m trying to remember all the things I did for her. It’s not easy, Jeth.”
“It shouldn’t be.” I put my arm around her shoulders. I kneaded the shoulder of her coat with my fingers.
She leaned into my arm.
“We should get back. You’ve got reporters to organize.”
“Already done,” I said. “Don’t worry about that.”
“I’m going to worry. The refugee district could be dangerous.”
“It’
s out by the heights. It’s not like I’m going into the wilderness.”
“Yes, but I might still worry about you. Not everywhere is as safe as Lotdel Tower.”
“I know. But even Lotdel Tower isn’t always safe.”
“A certain attack on the Mangrove Suite comes to mind,” said Rebecca.
“Right, yeah.” I smiled at her. “But it worked out for the better, at least as I see it.”
“You and Thomas could have died there, and I might not have gotten my memories back.”
“But we lived. And you’re here now.”
“I know. Jeth…” She folded herself tight to my chest. “…Promise me you’ll be careful.”
I put both arms around her.
“I promise I’ll take care of myself.”
She looked up at my face. Our eyes met.
“Thanks.”
We stood on the pier for a while. In all my time in the city, I never thought the ocean looked so beautiful.
Unregistered Memory, Thomas Fenstein, The Icaria Building
Steamed vegetables and fried rice in from the Icaria building restaurant’s kitchen sent aromas wafting to Thomas. Across the table, Celsanoggi returned from a networking jaunt. Unlike humans, aeons could often manage networking without interrupting a normal conversation. She sniffed, catching the same smells Thomas had just picked up.
“Food should be ready soon,” he said.
“Indeed.”
Bruises on his legs and back made Thomas shift in his seat. Assisting the lone sentry last night had been rough. Even a heart link couldn’t repair all the damage he had taken in one sitting. Standing together with Celsa made Thomas proud, even though it hurt.
“There are protesters outside,” said Celsanoggi.
Thomas frowned.
“What do they want?”
“They’re here to lobby me to vote no in the reproduction debate.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“They don’t know you very well if they think you’d do something to endanger citizens.”
“Of course. They can’t know,” she said. “The sentry isn’t me, and it has to stay that way for everyone’s sake.”
Thomas halfway wished the situation was so simple, but if the rogue stars from the center of the continent really were moving, the limited number of aeons in the city could present a weakness for them to exploit. The debate grew fiercer in the city council every week.
The server brought them their food on sizzling platters. Thomas dug in, but couldn’t help trepidation as he turned over Celsanoggi’s words in his mind. They ate and made small talk, an odd situation for a man to be in with an aeon.
Thomas did not know how he felt about her, or really how she felt about him. When he left that night, he was glad to return to his own place in Lotdel Tower, but he couldn’t help wondering how an aeon and a human could be so close as he and Celsa were becoming.
Combat had brought them together once before and it had again.
Thomas sighed as he thought of the memories he still carried from the battle of Chicago’s barrier.
The rogues in the wilderness must be moving again, driving the refugees ahead of them as they destroyed the remaining continental settlements. The city could well be dealing with worse than crowds soon. He and Celsa would be there to protect new and old citizens alike. Most people had no idea how unsafe the city was, how dangerous their own protectors might become if they reproduced and went mad.
Thomas sat at his desk for a while, but the sounds of moans and cries from the Mangrove Suite on the other side of the door.
His ichor dose kept him up late, so he was still wide awake when Onogottos contacted him.
Onogottos was, no doubt in Thomas’ mind, the best of the aeon scientists in the megalopolis. Following the revelation of the existence of Sudhatho’s daughter, he had sought Thomas out and connected with the team Thomas helped sponsor that studied both cleans and ichor.
“What is it?” Thomas said using an auditory link.
“Fenstein, we found something.”
“Something? Be specific, Ono.”
“It’s that sample you sent from that clean last year. Rain is the name on the blood sample.”
Thomas stood up fast, eyes narrowing.
Onogottos had been on the case of Rebecca Malik’s blood for three weeks, reviewing the work the other team members had done months ago. Thomas took a deep breath.
“What did you find?”
“The fluid isn’t all blood. We found particles in it.”
“Particles? Like dirt?”
“Hardly dirt. Think stranger. It seems to be additional microscopic organisms, similar to bacteria but clearly different. We are still trying to determine their source, but they resemble the micro-parasites in ichor, though again, not perfectly.”
Thomas pinched his brows together.
“Have you determined their purpose?”
“Not yet. But other cleans we have studied don’t share this quality in their blood.”
“Keep looking at them. And thank you.”
“You sound exhausted. Get some sleep, Thom.”
“You know I don’t like my short name.”
“Evidently you’re still sharp enough to notice. I don’t have to tell you not to go overboard with your shit.”
“If you did, I still wouldn’t listen,” Thomas said.
“Well, I’m going to rest. I suggest you do the same. The tests need to run overnight, but if you could meet me in Candlegrove Heights we can go over the details of our findings.”
“In the heights?” Thomas frowned. “You’re certain that’s necessary?”
“Very. This is could be serious. If you still have the clean bring her along.”
“That could be complicated,” said Thomas.
“Shit. Seriously? Don’t tell me you sold her?”
“I didn’t. Ono, I trust you enough to tell you this. She isn’t clean. Not anymore.”
“Now you’re fucking with me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ono.”
“No shit. You should have let me in sooner.” Onogottos projected a series of exclamation points and expletives to accompany them, a memetic trick to help with memorization. “Whatever. If you can bring the girl, do it. I need to go. Holy shit, a restored clean coming my way.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. I’ll do what I can, but no guarantee she shows.”
“Understood.”
“Good night.”
“Goodbye, Thom.”
“Screw you, Ono.”
Onogottos projected an image of his pudgy middle finger. Thomas disconnected. He went downstairs and slept fitfully.
Our BrightNet van pulled away from the curb early in the dark morning. I sat in the passenger seat while Samantha drove us toward the refugee district. Wind and rain battered the windshield.
In the middle seat behind us, Ellen frowned.
“Not good weather to be out in.”
Behind Ellen, our sensors, the Kowalski brothers shifted uneasily, looking in either direction, using more than just their eyes to take in the city as we rolled along. The smell of fuel from the high street wafted down to me, acrid in the otherwise clean air.
Samantha’s eyes flicked toward me before returning to the road.
“You look nervous.”
“Do I?”
“I just said so.”
I shrugged.
“This is going to be my first time covering news up close and personal. Funny thing is, you’re not the first person to mention that to me lately.”
I thought of Lena Essen’s poking at my demeanor. Dealing with Sudhatho last year should have made me more relaxed, or at least confident, but the refugee crisis put me right back on the edge. Elizabeth had noticed too. Guess I really was on edge.
We drove through a security checkpoint and into the refugee district.
Our hotel, a poor little private number called the Handel stood near the perimeter of wire and concre
te barriers that kept the refugees hemmed in. The sight of so many people watching our van as we drove past did not worry me as much as the sound of the gate closing behind us as we passed another security checkpoint. The rain diminished a little as we parked in the front lot to unpack.
As I carried my travel case to the room I’d be sharing with Kowalski brothers, Thomas contacted me directly.
“You really need an assistant, you know,” he said. “It shouldn’t be easier to contact you directly than it is Rebecca.”
“Elizabeth and I have them at BrightNet. What is this about, Thomas?”
“Jeth, I just got some news. It’s about Rebecca.”
My pulse quickened. I started to reply out loud, but Ellen and Samantha were ahead of me in the hallway. I dropped my end of the connection into text mode.
What is it about?
“My research team found some kind of irregularity in her blood. They want to do more tests. Can you help me get in touch with her?”
What kind of tests?
“I’m not sure, but you have my word. She’ll be safe. Celsa and I will be there every step of the way.”
Comforting. I hope it’s nothing serious.
How was that for understatement? I didn’t know what I would do without Rebecca.
“Me too, Jeth. Look, my people don’t know much yet.”
I sent him the keys to find Rebecca on the network. Those keys consisted of three moments of sensation in sequence. The first moment was of raindrops falling into the river at the bottom of the Green Valley’s slopes. The second moment consisted of tactile sensation, me touching her shoulder gently. The third moment was a clip from an old television cartoon. A roadrunner. Meep meep.
Those should locate her if she’s networking.
“I’ll get in contact right away. Thanks, Jeth.”
Thomas, if you can help Rebecca understand what happened to her as a clean I’ll be thanking you.
We disconnected. I carried my travel case into the room where the Kowalski brothers were teasing each other loudly. Part of me was nervous for Rebecca, but I had a job to do. Waterlogged refugees walked past on the street in front of the hotel between us and the canal.
The first round of the aeon reproduction debate came to a head later that day. A council vote would be held tomorrow. Depending on how that went, things could change drastically in the city. I didn’t like the idea of more aeons going mad trying to have children. How would I feel if someone told me I could never be allowed to have a kid? If it meant Rebecca going mad, I figured the decision would be simple, but for the aeons things were far more personal than that.
The Bright Image Page 3
