The Resurrected Man

by Sean Williams

  Crap. When she had left the office, he had thrown an active sculpture, a gift from his father, at the door. It had splattered like wet sand, clumps dripping to the ground, others sticking to the wood and trying in vain to reassemble. Sensing a metaphor in action, he had gathered the pieces together, but too much had been lost in the carpet. The micromachine fragments of the statue refused to coalesce. The best it could manage was a three-legged horse with no tail and an enormous cavity in its side. In the end, he threw it out.

  He wondered if things might ever have become so bad that he would apply that metaphor fully to his life. Had he taken InSight as an attempt to kill himself? Or to dive into a frozen time—perhaps one when he and Marylin had been happy? That, after all, was what InSight was supposed to do: encapsulate and replay memories at the user's whim. It was only a small design flaw that had caused the damage that might have left him completely brain-dead had he been left alone just a few months longer.

  He remembered missing her. That, and the argument. Everything else—how he had felt after Lindsay had died, whether he had needed her more then or less—was gone.

  And everything since then, after his awakening in the bath, was tainted by that cocktail of loss and guilt.

  She cleared her throat, dragging him back to the present. He hoped she wouldn't push Kuei too hard. It was all very well to insist on the proper procedure when insulated from reality by underlings and regulations. In the real world, however, when confronted by a scarred maniac with a gun, it was usually best to follow orders, no matter how irrational they were. At first.

  The vibration of the engine ebbed slightly as it took a gentle turn downhill.

  “We're going to stop here for a few hours,” Kuei said. “We all need rest, and a chance to think.”

  He disagreed completely on the last point, but remained quiet.

  “The longer you keep us,” Marylin said, “the more likely we'll be found.”

  “No. We can keep you shielded and out of GLITCH's eye indefinitely. And as far as the LEOs go—” Jonah heard a distinct smirk in the woman's tone “—you're in our country, now.”

  “But you will let us go?”

  “Eventually, yes. Once Karoly has everything he wants from you.”

  Jonah braced himself as the van decelerated further and negotiated a hairpin bend. They were still heading down. Underground? That would explain why the woman could be so confident of keeping them shielded.

  The intercom squawked, and Jonah heard Kuei move.

  “When we stop, don't get up. I'll be gone for a second. Wait until I come back.”

  Jonah nodded. The van came to a gradual halt, and the lock on the door clicked. Kuei swung the doors open and stepped outside. He heard her footsteps recede, then her voice in the distance. Then it too faded.

  Fresh air entered the van, bringing with it the smell of summer flowers.

  “If I turn my back to you,” Marylin said, “you might be able to free my hands.”

  “No. Let's wait and see what happens.”

  “Are you kidding? I can't see a thing. At least take off my hood. I'm going crazy in here!”

  He winced at the strain in her voice. “Easy, Marylin. There's no point annoying them. We're just an inconvenience, remember—and a dangerous one at that.”

  “They don't know how dangerous,” she muttered.

  “Exactly. So let's keep it that way, huh? At least for the time being. We can't afford to take any risks.”

  Footsteps in the distance grew louder, signalling the return of at least one person.

  “Damn you, Jonah.” Her tone shifted to one of resentment. “If they kill us, and we just missed our only chance to escape—”

  “What? You'll return to haunt me?”

  “It's hard enough getting rid of you in this life.”

  Ouch. “I wouldn't worry about dying,” he shot back. “There's always Resurrection. And even if there wasn't, I'm sure the Twinmaker will have your pattern—”

  He stopped, struck in mid-sentence by a sudden realisation. On file, he'd been about to say, meaning, I'm sure the Twinmaker would be able to access your pattern any time he wanted to. But why would he have to have it on file at all? Why not trace the path of the LSM feed from her last d-mat jump—and use Resurrection itself to create a copy?

  “What?” she prompted, her voice a naked challenge.

  “I'll tell you later.”

  The footsteps stopped at the rear of the van.

  “Stand up,” said Kuei. “Walk towards me—carefully.”

  Jonah stood and, a second later, so did Marylin. Together they shuffled to the back of the van, heads bowed to accommodate the low roof. Jonah felt a male hand take his elbow and guide him down to the ground. Kuei obviously had a companion. When Marylin was also out of the van, Kuei pushed them ahead of her, guiding them out of a space that echoed like a car park and into a carpeted corridor. The smell of flowers strengthened, but the silence became deeper if anything. He felt like they had entered a deserted hotel, which, for all he knew, they might well have.

  “Stop.” A door opened to his right. “Inside. No, not you.” Marylin was restrained. “Just him. Go.”

  Jonah hesitated. It was easy to preach the value of patience while they were together, when their vulnerability wasn't quite so obvious.

  But he didn't have a choice. Kuei or her male accomplice pushed him in the shoulder, and he stumbled forward. The door shut behind him.

  “Hold still.” Hands at his throat lifted the hood away. Ordinary ambient light blinded him, and it took him a moment to identify the person standing in front of him as Karoly Mancheff. “Now, turn around.”

  He did so, and was relieved to feel his bindings loosen.

  “There's a bathroom through that door. Use it if you want to, but don't take too long.”

  Jonah didn't hesitate. As he relieved himself, he took in the decor around him. The usual bathroom arrangement—sink, toilet, shower stall and cupboard—that hadn't changed in over a century. The floor was tiled in white; the fittings were spotlessly clean, no doubt kept that way by nanos. Again a hotel came to mind.

  After he had finished, he washed his face in the sink. He was thirsty, but, unsure of Quebecois reclamation policy, didn't chance the tap water. His face in the mirror was pale and startlingly haggard. There were bags under his eyes and red spots in his cheeks. He looked sick.

  But he felt only half-dead. That was a definite improvement on a couple of days before. And thanks to the maintenance agents in his active coat that kept it looking freshly ironed and clean, he at least presented some semblance of order.

  He let himself out of the bathroom before Mancheff could hurry him up. The single room contained a double bed, a table and two chairs, a wall-mounted entertainment facility, and a meal-maker on a bench in one corner. Jonah was surprised by the last item, but took it as confirmation of his hotel hypothesis. No WHOLE facility would allow such a luxury.

  “Take a seat.” Mancheff gestured at the table. The leader of WHOLE wasn't looking his best, either. Close up his skin had the pitted, lumpy look of someone who hadn't taken well to skin-maintenance nanos as a teenager.

  Jonah picked one of the chairs at random, and Mancheff sat opposite him. No weapons were visible, but Jonah assumed that Mancheff was armed.

  “I want to ask you some questions,” said the leader of WHOLE.

  “The feeling's mutual.”

  “So I gather, but you'll have to wait. First you're going to tell me what's going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The body. Why you and Blaylock are here. What's the story?”

  “What makes you think there is one?”

  “There has to be. You wouldn't have come all this way if there wasn't.”

  “Someone's been killed. What other reason do we need?”

  “Fous! You're MIU agents. EJC would've done, or even the local LEOs—if it was an ordinary murder.” Mancheff nodded confirmation of his own theory. �
��Besides, neither of you were surprised when you saw the body. You've seen this before. It's part of something big. Now, I'm assuming c'mégère won't tell me, so I'll ask you instead. Again. What's going on here? Who was killed and what did she have to do with me?”

  Jonah hung his head. He couldn't lie and say he didn't know. Mancheff would see right through that. But he couldn't mention the role d-mat played in the killings, either. That would give WHOLE the ammunition it needed to attack KTI.

  He had to say something, and nothing but the truth would suffice, if only part of it.

  “You're being set up,” he said. “Provoked.”

  “Like you said we would be three years ago? By whom?”

  “I don't know if it's the same person. In fact, I don't know who it is now or who it was then. I can only take what I see and try to put it into some sort of context.” He struggled to focus his thoughts. Now more than ever he needed to think clearly. “There's a psycho out there—no, not a psycho. A sociopath. He's well-organised and sadistic. His victims are exclusively women who use d-mat, and this is his seventeenth. Apart from the fact that he leaves copies of Soul Pollution with the bodies, we know next to nothing about him.”

  Mancheff was visibly startled by the mention of the booklet he and Lindsay Carlaw had written. “You don't think—”

  “That he's one of you? He might well be. There's a fair chance he works for KTI as well, which is why I wanted to know if you had a contact on the inside.”

  “We do, of course.”

  Jonah smiled to himself. One guess proven right. “Can I talk you into giving me his name?”

  “Or her name.” Mancheff echoed the smile but it was empty. “I couldn't if I wanted to. We communicate by e-mail and proxy. All I have is a code-name.”

  “Which is…?”

  “ACHERON.”

  It was Jonah's turn to be startled. ACHERON, the Greek underworld, was also the name of the node from which the Twinmaker's bodies issued.

  “What sort of information does this ACHERON provide?” he asked.

  “Tactical, mainly. Who's going to be vulnerable at what time. Where to place a demonstration for maximum inconvenience. How best to perform some minor sabotage. Nothing earth-shattering. The best thing we've had from him was earlier this morning, when the MIU located you and he let us know. Even if he turns out to be a serial killer, we'll owe him for that one.”

  Jonah leaned forward. “That's exactly what he wants. He's manipulating all of us—trying to nudge us in the directions he wants us to go. Hence Soul Pollution and the RAFT precept, and more. The body itself, for instance. He wants me or Marylin here, and he doesn't want us to go back until we've done something for him—whatever that is.” He could see that Mancheff was sceptical, but couldn't explain himself any better. “It's not just the killing, I'm sure,” he said. “There's more to it than that.”

  “Regardless,” Mancheff said, “that doesn't change things for us.”

  “You shouldn't listen to him. He's dangerous.”

  “Ben quoi? We can't turn our back on good information.”

  “You become an accessory if you help him evade justice.”

  “I'm not helping anyone but myself, McEwen. I've told you all I know about ACHERON. If that doesn't enable you to catch him, that's your problem.”

  “And is that what you told me last time we met, when I was trying to find out who killed Lindsay?”

  Mancheff's eyes narrowed. “It was you who wouldn't talk, McEwen. Don't try to pin your failure on me.”

  Jonah didn't look away. Kuei had told the truth, then. He had known who killed his father, three years ago—or had thought he knew. But why hadn't he told Mancheff? WHOLE could have been a powerful ally if revenge had been his goal.

  “You said I slandered Lindsay,” he said. “How?”

  Mancheff's suspicion didn't ebb. “You said he used d-mat. That amounts to slander.”

  “Did I say why?”

  “No. You weren't in the mood for explaining anything. You waltzed in, asked some questions, made some threats and waltzed out. We only let you go because of your relationship with Lindsay. If you'd ever tried to return, we wouldn't have been as accommodating.”

  “Until now.” Jonah tried to guess what lay behind Mancheff's expression. Fear? “You're worried, aren't you?”

  “Of course. J'suis pas'n cave. I'm not stupid. I've never had the power to make the MIU jump before, however briefly. Such power doesn't come without a price.”

  “That's my point. What exactly did I threaten you with, back then?”

  “Nothing substantial. It was a fine performance, though—an excellent bluff, if that's all it was. My clearest memory is of you saying: ‘You're not immune to this. No one's immune. When the time comes, you'll have to fight it, even though deep in your heart you won't want to. Either way, you'll betray yourself.’”

  Jonah frowned. He'd said that? “Do you have any idea what I was talking about?”

  “None. When I asked you, you said I'd know what you meant when the truth came out. As far as I can tell, it hasn't, but getting a body in the box with a RAFT precept seemed close enough. It smelt of controversy, of potential leverage. If it wasn't for you and the robine you spouted all those years ago I wouldn't hesitate using it to embarrass someone. And if you can't tell me any better, maybe I should just go ahead and do it anyway.”

  “No, don't.” Jonah hastened to talk him out of that. It would succeed beyond Mancheff's wildest expectations. “Look, the only reason I can't tell you is because someone erased my memory. I honestly don't recall talking to you or anything else to do with the case. My guess is I came here to find out why Lindsay used d-mat, and the fact that you knew nothing about it must have convinced me of—something. What that might have been, I don't know. But I'll bet it related to why my memory was erased. If I knew where I went after speaking to you, that might tell us something.”

  Mancheff's expression was almost pitying. “You said you were going back to SCAR.”

  “I told you that?” There was no reason to doubt him, even if the information was unexpected. “Why would I go to SciCon, where Lindsay was killed? The inquest had started by that point. There wouldn't have been any more evidence—”

  “You didn't say,” Mancheff broke in. “All you said was that it was time to bring things to a head.”

  Jonah sagged into the seat. He couldn't recall ever feeling so frustrated. Three years ago, he had known who killed his father. He had known—and much more besides, it seemed. But now he was left scrabbling for clues, trying to follow a trail that had been cold for years.

  Mancheff watched him closely. “There's nothing else we can talk about. We've come as far as we can.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No ‘maybe.’ That's it. I have to decide, now, what to do.”

  “Please,” Jonah said, “be careful. The wrong move could cost you everything.”

  “Yes, but you'd like that, wouldn't you?” The venom was back in Mancheff's eyes, no less potent than it had been in Kuei's. He stood, and indicated that Jonah should do likewise. “In the end, we can't even agree to differ. That's what sickens me most about d-mat. Everything is becoming the same. There's no room for conflicting ideologies, and the world is poorer for it.”

  “People like you once said the same thing about radio, television and CRE.”

  “And were they wrong?”

  “I don't think so. But we just have to look in different places than before, to see the differences.”

  “To see things that aren't there.”

  “No, they're there. All you have to do is open your eyes.”

  “All I see are zombies.”

  “That's crap. People don't change; they'll always be different.”

  “But they do change, McEwen. Haven't you realised yet? That's what d-mat's for.”

  Mancheff opened the door and handed him over to the sentry waiting outside. Only then did Jonah realise why he couldn't argue with the WHOLE le
ader's final pronouncement. D-mat technology did have the power to change someone from the inside out without their consent or even their knowledge—and he himself was living proof of that. Who was he to dismiss a perfectly valid fear just because it had its roots in paranoia?

  The Twinmaker was able to change anyone he desired, at any time he wanted. If that wasn't a thought designed to make someone paranoid, Jonah didn't know what was.

  As she heard the door latch shut behind Jonah, Marylin couldn't help a brief stab of panic. She did her best to repress it, the hard truth being that she was unsure whether the fear was for him or for herself.

  “What are you doing with Jonah?”

  “He's talking to le caïd.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  “Or not. This way.”

  Kuei's grip on her shoulder was tight. She let herself be guided down the corridor, even though her impotence rankled. Her annoyance at Jonah for submitting so easily still hadn't abated. Part of her wondered whether he would even attempt to resist interrogation, if it came to that. She decided he probably wouldn't. It wasn't in his best interest. But she couldn't quite find it in herself to blame him, not totally, if he swapped sides under pressure. His short time with the MIU had been little better than captivity.

  She did worry about him. There was no point avoiding the thought, let alone denying it.

  Kuei tugged her to a halt and a door swung open to her right. She felt a warm breeze touch her neck and smelt nothing but an empty room.

  Kuei pushed her inside and onto her knees, immobilising her by holding her wrists high above her back.

  “Once I'm outside,” said the woman, “you can take off the hood. But remember, I'll be outside.”

  The implication was clear. Marylin nodded, and gasped when the pressure on her wrists finally eased. She collapsed onto her hands and knees. As soon as she heard the door click shut, she wrenched off the hood and threw it away from her as hard as she could.

  Light blinded her. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she clenched them shut. She wouldn't cry, even though she could feel the need boiling within her. Even if no one was watching. WHOLE didn't deserve that. Or the Twinmaker. Or—