Archform Beauty

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "Can't tell you what's coming down, Captain. Only that it is.”

  "As soon as you know… ?"

  "You'll know.” I'd always let her know. First.

  I got a nod and a faint smile, as much as I ever got, before I stood.

  "Even when I'm off,” she added. "Use TP code.”

  "Stet, Captain.” Then I headed down to my second-floor corner office.

  Stopped outside in front of the consoles. Duty coordinator was Sarao—brunette, intense. Her name sounded like "sorrow.” It fit. Sometimes gave me grief. Practiced antique combat with sword and board. Married old-style to a body-sculptor, but refused to let him sculpt her. Good choice, I thought.

  "Resheed's report is in your linkfile.” She looked at me, but she was still monitoring the inlinks.

  "Thanks.” It always was. Resheed was dependable. Then, all of trendside was. "Thoughts?"

  "Like you said yesterday, something's coming down.”

  "Captain's worried.”

  Sarao nodded, her attention really on the feeds she was getting. Then she blinked and looked at me. "Happy faces all over the place—at the Pavilion, on the shuttles. Face scans show a good ten percent increase in soop use—or something like it.”

  More soop use meant that people weren't happy, turned to the designer exhilarant. But they couldn't stay sooped forever. Lot of jobs required a nanite cleanjob before taking over a console or a system. Then, most folks on soop were either students or servies, sometimes pennies. Wondered at times if soop could make life better for a permie. Then, should it be? People didn't get permanent nanite behavior mods unless they'd been convicted of two violent offenses or three significant offenses.

  "Any localization?"

  "Everywhere but southside and the towers.” Sarao's voice was dry.

  We both laughed. Hard laughs. Southside and the towers were gate-private. Nothing happened there in public. Rumors about the filch orgies came up, but private was private so long as no one got hurt. Wondered about that, too, after the Halburt clone scandal. How many others had been offed silently and replaced with more tractable clones? Had any? Who could tell?

  Trendside you learn early that you don't guess. Not about the filch. Hard evidence, that's fine. But you don't fish there. Not without the captain's backing and full milspec nanite armor.

  "I'll read it.”

  I walked through the door. It opened to my aura, then closed. My office was small, a third the size of the captain's. Just enough room for the desk and the console and two ergochairs in front of the desk. Leaning forward, I could see sunlight glittering the gold-leaf dome of the antique state capital—back when a state meant something. Now it was a museum. Couldn't see the Continental Complex, down south beyond southside. Could almost feel it, though, at times.

  Called up Resheed's daily update, direct-link to my implant. Didn't tell me that much. ODs up, nothing to flag any group. Except age—all were under twenty-five. Then, more than eighty percent always were. A handful of vehicle delinks, including one electrolorry. The netops reported a new scam targeted at the netless, offering them "free" access. Wasn't, of course. Area comm section had taken over on that.

  Data and more data. There's more to public safety than data. Data doesn't feel. Crime happens because people feel. You feel what they do, the data makes sense.

  I tried NetPrime News—the local reports. Best of the worst. Again, direct-feed. Just closed my eyes and let the words and images appear. Didn't care much for holo projections off the net. Crap blown larger remained crap.

  Most newsworthy item was a bit about the west-coast wygs were modifying scanner glasses. Mods let the perps see who had nanite body shields, make it easier to pick victims. Just what we needed. Another gadget to make public safety tougher. Wish someone had told the Department. If the street hadn't been quiet, probably wouldn't have been on news at all. I flashed a memo to the captain, suggested it be disseminated Department-wide.

  After that, checked all the incomings. Mostly routine. Only things new were a rash of phony soop sprays that were only glucose with a boost and the theft of lorries for house smash-ins. Mass overwhelmed most house shields. Also, a notice of higher DPS deductions for health care. That was because of improved internal nanite diagnostics. Took more equipment to read and repair.

  Higher health care, water surcharges—not one thing it was another.

  Almost two hours later before I stretched and walked back out to the consoles.

  "Going to run the towers? Or westside?" asked Sarao.

  "Westside. Can't get into anything in the towers. Not without appointments or a cause warrant. See me going to the regional advocate asking for one just to prowl because I feel something's coming down?"

  "Too bad they don't let us do more of that.”

  "Never have. Never will.”

  "How long?" Sarao looked at me.

  "Long as it takes. I'll be on link if you need me.” Didn't need to say that, but it made people happier to hear it. Even Sarao, and she knew better.

  Ask why I go out? Why I don't link? People don't talk. They don't talk in person sometimes, either. But the way they don't talk tells stories, too.

  Went back down to the garage. To transport. Entered my codes through GIL link. Linking ID to gene codes—genetic identity link—made a lot of the old-style crimes almost impossible. Almost. Next came the code for re-con. System paused, like always. Recon was a special code. Only trendside could use it. I got a white electral. Nothing special except a beefed-up comm unit and military-level defscreens.

  Electral was recoded just for me by the time I crossed the garage. Door still squeaked. Always would. Smelled like plastics inside. That wouldn't change. Touched my hands to the stickwheel.

  Cleared for recon. Estimate return.

  "Fourteen hundred.” I always spoke, but linked when I said it.

  The gates irised wide. Took the west tube and came out beyond the Park and towers. Westside's on the other side of the river, if you can call the Platte a river. The metroplex quarters fan out from the Park. Northside's production; eastside's transport and sariman housing; southside is filch, wish-filch, and upper sariman. Then, there's westside—trades, servies on the way up, servies on the way down, and a scattering of netless blocks—the downs. DPS links worked there, but not much else. Could have taken the express tube, but you don't learn much underground. Instead, I went over the Elletch Bridge. Saw all the servies in their old scooters or on the shuttle glideway headed to southside or northside.

  Off the bridge, I turned north on the Bryant Guideway, then west past the Westside Fields.

  First stop was Morss's Galleria. Fancy name for an old-style pool joint with a couple of formulators that served food at four times the cost of home units. Mornings were slow. Only a side table was used. Two old ex-servies. They leaned on their cues as much as used them. Both watched when I walked in. Was wearing a dark blue singlesuit—sariman business style. They still watched.

  Morss moved to me quickly, then stopped. "It was looking to be a beautiful day. Been a while, Lieutenant.”

  Morss always said that. Could have been talking to him the day before. Still tell me it had been a while.

  "Little stuff. Lots of it.” Didn't look at him, exactly. Not with the scar running from the corner of his mouth to his ear. Just waited, my eyes mostly on the street.

  "You always had a sense 'bout that. Remember the time you walked to Gian's, then walked away? You couldn't a been ten. Chou and his boys goin' over Gian.”

  "Gian didn't forget.”

  "Sure didn't.” Morss shook his head. "Today… this week… nothin' I know about.” He frowned. "Was Luke's kid Al. Disconnected the overrides and safeties on his dad's lorry. Ran it off the guideways and into Clear Creek.”

  Didn't sound like what I needed. "Know why?"

  "No one does. He didn't tell no one. Not even his girl. She been crying nonstop, they say. Young Al, he was a quiet kid, mostly. Been to FlameTop concert last night. Foun
d him early this morning. Luke was real broke up. His boy was a good kid.”

  "Sorry for them both. And the girl.”

  "You might know her, Lieutenant. Tasha Lei.”

  "Zhou Lei's daughter?"

  "His youngest. Zhou wasn't too happy about the two of them. Never said much, but I could tell.”

  "You think it was a screen?"

  Morss shook his head. "Naw. Zhou figured it wouldn't last. Al never stayed with a girl more than a few months.”

  Made a mental note to my linkfile to check out the accident. "Anything else?"

  "Remember old Arturo Kemal?"

  "Went with his daughter once.”

  "Say he's about to die. Hanging on for now. Only ninety. Drank too much. Nanites can't beat that. And last week, maybe the week before, his grandniece Antonia died. Rock climbing up north somewhere. Old Arturo was all broke up.”

  "He does love his family.” That was about all I could say for him. "Hasn't Chris been running the outfit, anyway?"

  "Has for years. You're not his favorite, Lieutenant.” I laughed. "Never was. Not after his sister. He still got Grayser on the heavy equipment?"

  "Far as I know.” Morss stopped. "Boys tell me Chris is working to make it all legit. Put stuff in place once he takes over official-like. He claims he owes it to his kids. Got a lot of creds from someplace—all legal Bulsor says. Chris has some idea about spinning the heavy stuff off to someone no one heard of. Guy's an ex-wyg that came out of the Ellay desert.”

  I laughed. Kemal going legit? Even with their big company, and all their credits, the family couldn't walk straight with a laser guide. Been true of Kryn, too.

  We talked for another half hour. Didn't offer me any more insights.

  When I left, the ex-servies stopped their game and watched. So did Morss. He was still watching when I eased the electral back toward Bryant.

  Second stop was Westside Physical Systems, only about a klick southwest of Morss's place. Small office building with a formulation shop behind it. No other electrals around. So I parked right in front of the door.

  Like all DPS electrals, the white one self-locked the moment I stepped away.

  Inside, there was a foyer, a counter, and a permie at a console behind the counter. Walls, floor tiles, counter-top—all were maroon, all spotless.

  The permie looked up from the console. "Yes, ser?"

  "Lieutenant Chiang, Department of Public Safety. Here to see Kama.” His full name was Kamehameha O'Doull. I'd never used it. Hadn't asked how the Hawaiian in his past met the Irish in NorAm, either. Kama was more than two meters tall and well over 120 kilos.

  "I'll tell him, ser.” The servie went link, his eyes blank. Then he said, "He'll be right here, ser.”

  Kama slipped out of the back room. Hard to believe he was so big. No fat, and he moved like a dancer. He wore a spotless white coverall. The shiny boots were black.

  "Trouble, I see.” Kama grinned.

  I grinned back, then shrugged helplessly. "How's business?"

  "Fine. People still need plumbing and pipes along with their nanite-based house systems. You're lucky you caught me in.” The grin vanished. "You still owe me a game of chess.”

  Owed him that game of chess for more than twenty years. "I know. You'd beat me. You always did.”

  "That's not the point. It's a game of beauty.”

  "If you say so.” I wasn't sure that was the point. If we both linked, usually got a draw, based on old grandmaster games. If not, Kama won in twenty moves, maybe thirty. That was beauty? "Just asking. Got a feeling something might be happening.”

  The contractor's eyes narrowed. "I've never Liked your feelings, Eugene. Is it anything I should worry about?"

  I shrugged. "Couldn't say. That's why it's a feeling. Minor offenses up. Pols worried. No one says much.”

  "You could be wrong.”

  "Been wrong before. Be happy if I am. Anyone building a fortress?"

  "I wish someone would. Business is a little slow, except repairs here in westside.” He laughed. "Something always goes wrong here. You have to make dozens of little service calls to make ends meet.”

  "Too bad you can't do service southside.”

  "Most of the filch mansions have self-repair systems. Here, who can afford them? Only business I get there is either new systems, total disasters, or upgrading whole systems.”

  "Getting any of that?"

  "Maybe one every other week, about the same as always.”

  "Each one more elaborate?"

  "Why else would they upgrade?" Kama smiled more broadly.

  "So it would take a cargo lorry loaded with lead at full velocity to break into one of those filch palaces?"

  "For most. Some would take more. One place has a fuel cell power room that would run half of westside.”

  "That has to be Alembart.”

  "You can guess all you want, Eugene.”

  "What about the McCall thing? That your system? Pretty horrible.”

  Kama shook his head. "Brazelton's. He's a hundred times our size. He's got system techs. They do it by the link manual. I do all that myself. I couldn't afford a tech.”

  "Bet your system designs are better.”

  Kama smiled. "Probably, but from what I can tell, it wouldn't matter. McCall reengineered it. That's what your DPS techies claim.”

  "What do you think?"

  Kama frowned.

  I waited.

  "McCall is a solicitor. What solicitor knows nanite systems that well?"

  I nodded. "He used to work for O'Bannon and Reyes. O'Bannon was pretty close to Chris Kemal.”

  "Do you know something?" Kama raised his eyebrows.

  "With privacy laws, who could know?" I offered a grin. "Chris Kemal… heard anything?"

  "We're not exactly friends. His circle is higher than mine, Eugene. It's much higher. You've been closer to him than I have.”

  I waited.

  "I haven't heard anything. They say Kemal's hurting. Dewey doesn't like him, and neither does Senator Cannon. Kemal's been seen with Heber Smith lately.”

  "Heber Smith?" I hadn't heard that name.

  "He's the campaign manager for Alredd. They don't call him that. He says he's a business consultant, but it's no secret that Alredd's going to take on Dewey in the summer election. Alredd's also backing Hansen against Cannon in the fall.”

  "Because Cannon mandated the guideway study and the changes in the maintenance requirements?"

  "Something like that,” Kama said.

  "Kemal wants the guideway repair business back?"

  "He never had it. Brazelton did.”

  I snorted. "Brazelton had the business, before it went to GSY. Creds behind it were Kemal's. He wants a return on those creds.”

  "I'd guess so. Wouldn't you?"

  I'd have guessed a lot more. So would Kama. "Heard Arturo's hanging on. Might die.”

  "He already died where it counts a long time ago.”

  I sighed. Loudly. "I may be back.”

  "You're worried.”

  "Goes with the job.”

  "Remember… you owe me that chess game.”

  "How could I forget?" How could I? Owed him since before I'd gone to the DPS Academy. Kama never forgot anything. Never would. Might not tell, but wouldn't forget.

  I walked out to the electral, standing by itself out front. Kama watched me from the door. Sometimes felt that everyone watched me.

  Had barely pulled away when Sarao linked me. Lieutenant… Captain wants to know if you've found anything.

  Nothing. Might help if I knew what I was looking for.

  She asked to be linked if you came up with anything.

  I'll do it.

  That was the way it went all day. Knew I was on the edge of something. Just didn't know what. Couldn't even figure out where to ask. Or what.

  Got back to the garage at fourteen-forty. Took a few minutes to satisfy the transport system. Needed a statement if I was back more than fifteen minutes past
the estimate.

  Stopped by the captain's office before going to mine. She looked worried. Worried and tired.

  "You didn't find anything, did you?"

  "Nope,” I admitted. "Something's coming. Street's too quiet. Too… normal.”

  "Not all the problems are on the street.” Cannizaro leaned back in her ergochair and smiled faintly. "They never have been.”

  "No. But the slick problems cause street problems, and big slick problems cause big street problems.”

  "You think it's a slick problem or a filch one?"

  "I don't know. Let me work on it.”

  "You're the last of the street cops, Chiang. After you, things will change.”

  Shook my head. "Always be street cops, Captain. Just fewer. Two kinds of perps—the sariman and filch slicks, and the twisted servies. Need people who know both.” I knew servies and pennies and the netless. Didn't know the slicks. They were for the netops types. Even as I thought that, knew I'd have to look deeper into the netops reports.

  "Let me know.” That was all the captain said.

  "Soon as I do.” I walked out of her office and down the ramp to mine.

  Sarao raised both eyebrows as I neared the consoles.

  "Just more feelings. Need to look into some things.”

  "Anything I can check on? Screens are slow now.”

  "Not yet. Don't know where to point you.”

  "Whenever.”

  I smiled.

  Back in my corner office, I called up lorry accidents. Three flashed into my mental screen. Second one was in Clear Creek. Medical had added info since the morning. Young Al had been drinking. Alkie levels just below impairment. No other drugs. Baseline nanite body protectors way down. No infection, and no sign of past injury before the crash. Probably Luke had been short of creds, put off his son's annual medcheck. Bad idea, but hadn't killed Al. Crash had.

  Still bothered me. Couldn't say why. But had more incomings to check on, and my own report to the captain. No hurry to get home. Nothing to get home for.

  Linked to the system again. Could always check on Heber Smith, and some of Kemal's other associates. Maybe… some tie with McCall… maybe there was something… somewhere… that would tell me my feelings were right.

  Chapter 4