Lou remembered the stink, and the stink reminded her of everything else about that time, memories she was otherwise good at suppressing.
She showed Tom around her place; he made lame jokes about how he thought she had always deserved a penthouse lifestyle, which she was tactful enough to ignore. She did not show him the bedroom, nor tell him about her investigation; she snatched up her Paper, saved everything, and folded it away in her trousers.
Lou made light of the fact Tom had neither flowers nor tasty food with him. He was graceful enough to admit that he had been desperate, trying to think of something to say that would make her let him in. She wondered what to think of that comment, but let it pass.
They were on the balcony, watching the Stalk Base Tower, twenty kilometers of vertical engineering, and that was just the start of the Stalk. From here it bisected the sky. The polydiamond fibers caught the afternoon sunlight; the western edge gleamed. A refugee shuttle slid upStalk as she watched, two hundred souls ascending to heaven before the end of the world. That will be me in just a handful of days, she thought, the gods willing. Cool wind brushed their faces. No birds sang, though there was no shortage of flies. Gray clouds gathered in the west: a cold front was coming.
“So this,” Lou said, arms resting on the balcony rail, “is why you looked so crappy on the phone this morning.” She did not look at him.
His jaw was tight. “I didn’t know how I could tell you, Louise. But you were the only person I could think of who…” He was trying to find the way to say it, yet trying not to say it.
“How did you … how did you find out?” She felt damned awkward, trying to deal with the familiarity of hatred and the novelty of sympathy towards this man. Her feelings were a disturbing stew of contradictions, suppressed memories of betrayal, recrimination and bitterness. She could feel them all waiting for release, to pick up the war with this man where they had left off. It was hard to think straight, there was so much crap in her head right now. She had to fight the urge to suspect everything, too, remembering getting burned — and beaten — before.
He was saying, “It was about a year ago, on a business trip to Mars, in the nightclub district of Hellespont, you know it?”
“No, not really.”
“You’re not missing much. Anyway, late in the evening, while I was away in the toilet, some idiot spiked my drink.”
“The nanovirus was in the drink?”
“No. Worse than that. The medics worked out that the person who slipped the dope must have had some nanovirus installer particles on their fingers.”
Lou thought back to the night she breathed the nanovirus in a nightclub. Tom’s story had the right smell about it. She knew that, since the nanovirus had escaped into the ecosystems of human space, the plague had exploded.
Unexpectedly feeling sad, Lou stepped back into the main room. Tom followed.
She said, “So, whoever doped your drink must have been at Stage Zero.” At Stage Zero, when the nanovirus had infected the patient, but before any symptoms appeared, it was possible to transmit replicating installer particles through touch.
“So they told me. I’m still kind of in shock about it, you know?”
They said nothing for a while. Lou did not comfort Tom. He stared at the carpet. She said to him, “So. How was your death?”
Tom got up and wandered about, rubbing his hands and glancing at the self-painting Modernists on the walls. “It wasn’t so bad. The docs caught it in time, and helped me through the transition.” The passage from life to post-death could be hard to take. “They wanted to know if I wanted to go on the program. Not everyone does, it seems.”
“You’re lucky. They didn’t get me until about two days before my expected transition. I was pretty sick. My folks actually took time off to sit with me.”
“The hardest thing,” he said, “is thinking that I’ve died, but here I am, still going about my business, still existing, almost as if nothing had happened…”
Lou nodded, now feeling terrible pity for Tom. He was a poor dumb bastard, but he didn’t really deserve this. She said, “It’s strange when your heart stops and your system goes over to relying on the nano-tink. It’s like for ages you can’t breathe, except you can breathe, but you feel like you’re going to asphyxiate, and everything’s burning from oxygen debt. You can go through some weird stuff, just thinking about things. And not feeling your pulse anymore, and your skin always being cold, and never being warm enough. And not needing to take a crap. Sometimes I go and sit on the toilet, just for something familiar to do. I sit in there and read. That’s when I realized how much we all organize our lives around eating, and I began to wonder what to do with all of the free time I’d have, no longer having to feed myself, cook, or shop for food…”
Tom looked at her. “You said I looked like crap. Have you looked at yourself lately?”
“Yeah, rotting like an old book, aren’t I?” She managed a dry laugh at this. “You got three thousand you can loan me so I can get my tink refreshed?”
“That’s not enough for a full infusion, Louise.”
She shrugged lightly. “It’ll get the implant stores replaced, bring in some fresh bots to replace the old ones. It’s enough to keep going.”
“You’d think modern science could get the bots to replace themselves.”
“Planned obsolescence is a bitch, but good for commerce. Besides, they might get out of hand, trying to evolve or whatever the hell they get up to when there’s so many of them. It’s something to do with ‘emergent properties’.” She’d read about stuff like that at university, not that it meant much to her other than a general feeling of “we don’t want this to happen, do we?”
Tom said, after a long moment, “You know I’d help you if I could.”
She flashed him a twisted smile. “Yeah, guilt always worked well on you, Tom.”
He ignored that. “My funds are tied up in future treatment contracts.”
Lou sighed, looking at him. “Glad to see you’re still looking after yourself.”
He missed the barb completely. “I have fifteen years of solid bookings ahead. It feels like I’m contractually bound until the end of time itself. If I miss a deadline or promotional thing they can sue my ass off.”
“So, what about that offer to fly me out of here? Was that just smoke and mirrors to get me interested?”
He looked uncomfortable. “Yes and no, sort of. I do still have an option on two seats out of geosynch on a freighter going to Proxima. Third-class.”
“Hmm, not exactly a comfy little space jalopy, is it?”
“The option expires at midnight tomorrow, Stalk Mean Time.” He met her eyes, looking very serious, trying to see what she might choose before she even chose it.
Lou looked away from his stare. “I am busy here. Can’t guarantee I’ll have my business wrapped up by then.”
He pulled up a chair at the table across from her and made himself comfortable, in a dissipated and doomed way. “Maybe I can help,” he said, putting on his very serious face. “I’ve written a lot of mysteries.”
Hearing this, Lou smiled and started to laugh out loud, but stopped when she heard Dog waking up.
There was the sound of blankets falling on the floor and the pooch shaking his ears about. Dog’s voice called, “Ms. Meagher? Are you here?”
Tom glanced towards the bedroom doorway, then back at Lou. She envied him that kind of muscular fluidity. He said, “You’ve got a guy here?”
There was a quiet thump as Dog jumped to the carpeted floor, and padded into the main room, looking about. “Ms. Meagher?” He saw Tom sitting with Lou. “Ah…”
“Tom,” Lou smiled, covering what felt like an awkward moment, “I’d like you to meet my client.” She got up and went to the pooch. “Hey, are you all right? You had me worried sick!”
<
br /> Tom peered at her. “Your client? Your client is a dog?”
Dog padded around the furniture and sat at Lou’s feet. “What happened? I remember seeing you off to the police, and then…” He looked puzzled, staring at her, head cocked to the side, and looking a bit sad as well. “I’m rather stiff in my joints, too.”
Tom watched Dog talking to Lou. And then Dog turned to stare back at him. “I take it you’re the ex-husband.”
Lou hid a smile. “Dog, you remember Tom from the phone call this morning? He’s come to visit for a bit.” When Dog glanced at her sharply, she added, “And no, he won’t interfere in the case. While you were asleep I developed a couple of interesting leads.” And nearly died all over again from sheer panic over you, fur-face. She would have to ask Dog about those strange noises.
“So,” Tom said, getting up and wondering what to make of this, “this is the dog you mentioned?”
“That’s right. His name is Dog. He’s my client, and my buddy. And thanks but no thanks for your generous offer to help with the case. We’ll be fine, won’t we, Dog?”
Tom sat on a facing couch, peering hard at Dog as though trying to figure out how the animal “worked”. Dog stared back. Lou watched this, and suddenly understood something about territoriality. She hoped Dog wouldn’t feel compelled to mark his new territory in the penthouse.
“So, how is this … animal paying you for your services, Louise?”
Lou was not sure she liked his tone. It seemed to imply that Tom thought she was playing at being an investigator. She said, “He’s not. The only money I’m interested in at the moment, the cost of my tink refill, he hasn’t got, obviously. So I’m doing it pro bono, and maybe for his company. My family never had pets. It’s a new experience for me.”
Tom glanced at her, trying to understand what was going on inside her head. She’d forgotten how much she hated that look. He asked, “Why don’t you get the money from your parents?”
Lou slumped back, feeling drained from the mere thought of dealing with her parents. “They didn’t handle my transition to Stage One all that well.”
“You mean when you came back to life?”
“Exactly. Father won’t speak to me. Mother tries, sometimes, to establish some kind of relationship, but she finds it extremely distressing, she says. She’s happy I’m still here, but not the way I’m still here. Even though this was their idea. I love irony. Plus, they’re both real busy with the Ganymede Stalk project, they have a lot of their own money invested in the business, and the project’s behind schedule and all the rest. It’s a lotta crap if you ask me. But that’s them.” She wanted to thank him so much for bringing up the subject of her parents.
Tom looked concerned. “I’m sorry, Louise. I didn’t … know things with your parents were so bad.”
It was tempting, at that moment, to tell him what she wanted to say, that if during the whole time they’d been married he had taken any time away from his various obsessions and listened to her, he would have known all of this. She said, instead, “Excuse me. I need to take Dog for a walk.”
Chapter 8
Lou took Dog back to the StalkPlex public dataport. The refugee crowds had thinned a lot; many appeared content to sit around in groups on the dry brown grass around the dead lake, talking and waiting. Their collective smell was worsening.
The dataport disposable who had been offline in the morning was dead. He looked like he’d been shot in the chest. There was lots of blood and a nasty entry wound. The impact had pushed him back against the rear wall of the kiosk, where he slumped in a mess of limbs and gore. Flies went about their traditional business. No expression on his face: his eyes were still open, but vacant. Someone had stuck an OUT OF ORDER label on his forehead.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the remaining dataport guy said, sitting up straight, smiling at Lou as she approached. She noticed he was speckled and smeared with blood, and wondered if he had attached the label to his colleague’s head.
Nodding towards the dead disposable, she said, “Frustrated customer?”
“Collateral damage. The police were firing on a group of protesting refugees. Stray shot.”
“You were lucky,” she said, glancing at the quiet groups of refugees and noting, for the first time, the many huge bloodstains on the pavement near the dataport kiosk. “They could have shot you too.”
He shrugged, unmoved. “I’m replaceable. What can I do for you?”
Lou pushed on, despite a wave of chills, and despite the odor from the corpse. Some of that odor reminded her too closely of her own past. “I need to locate two guys — locals, Michel and Marcel Tourignon.”
The dataport said, “Fourth Avenue and Wikamembe Street. New Raffles Hotel. Number eight-four-six.”
Lou knew the area. It was not far from Sheb’s Diner. The Raffles Hotel liked to cater to the kind of tourist who traveled very light indeed, those who needed a sleeping roll, a blanket and not much more. Five credits a night. Chances were she’d even seen the two brothers around, maybe sitting in the back of Sheb’s, which was an interesting thought.
To the dataport, she said, “Is there anybody home at that address?”
He said to wait a moment. He called, waited a bit, then said to Lou, “Data service disconnected, ma’am.”
“Damn,” she muttered, looking at Dog. The pooch was licking his penis. “Aw, Dog!” Lou said, disgusted.
Dog looked up at her. “Ms. Meagher? What’s the matter?”
Lou thanked the dataport and turned to go, pulling Dog on the string-leash. “Just come with me. And stop licking yourself in public.”
“It’s something I need to do.”
“Well just don’t do it when I’m around.”
Dog agreed, but looked confused.
At Sheb’s, Lou pushed open the door and let Dog in. The place appeared deserted. “Hey Sheb!”
From back in the kitchen, she heard Sheb yell out, “What? Who is it?”
“‘S me, Lou! I need to talk to you.” She walked up to the counter, settled on a stool and told Dog, “No licking!”
Sheb came out, white hat and apron still immaculate. He smiled, seeing her. “Lou! I thought it sounded like your voice. How’s the case?”
Lou pulled out her Paper and opened the file containing the images of the two brothers. “I need to find a couple of guys, Sheb. They live in the Raffles, and I thought maybe they might hang out here sometimes. And a glass of nice cold water’d go down well, too, if you can spare it.”
“Raffles guys, huh? Big spenders!” he grinned while she manipulated the images, bringing up the clarity and contrast.
Sheb set a genuine cut glass tumbler of iced water in front of her, on a monogrammed white napkin, as she turned the Paper around so he could see the two faces. “You recognize either of these two?”
Sheb lifted the page up close to his eyes, squinting. “Who are they?”
Lou filled him in. “Near as I can tell, they’re rich kids not doing well, and dabbling in a bit of activity to make ends meet. I think they’re in over their heads.”
Sheb glanced up. “They look a bit familiar.”
“Uh-huh. They’ve got an Uncle Etienne, a Martian French guy, who used to be big in shipbuilding, years back.”
Sheb stroked his pale chin. “Thing is, a fair few of the folks around here look a bit like these two. Lots of Martian French guys, too. And if they weren’t regulars in here, I might’ve never seen ‘em.”
Lou took the page back and stared at the images. “I’ll try and get better pics and get back to you, how’s that?”
Sheb shrugged, but then spun back to face Lou, face alight. “Oh wait, hang on. Just remembered. A while ago, earlier, somebody came by looking for you.”
“Anybody I might know?”
He leaned do
wn on the counter, stroking his chin, thinking. “She didn’t give her name…”
Lou blinked a couple of times. “‘She’? You said she?”
“This woman,” he said, “looked to be right out of her mind. Talked like that too. I figured she was a refugee. Somethin’ like that.”
“What’d she look like?”
Sheb peered at her. “You know who I’m talkin’ about?”
“Dunno,” she said, but thought about the crazy woman she met at the cop-bunker. The woman trying to help her. “Maybe.” Her belly had that creepy feeling in it again.
Sheb frowned, concentrating on the memory, and gestured as he recalled details. “There was this hat she wore, held on by a strap. And the hat was all cock-eyed, lopsided on her head. Baggy blue dress. Kind of a lost look about her.”
Lou stared. “Damn.”
“Lou?”
“What did she say?”
Sheb frowned, seeing Lou’s face. “I think you’d better have some water.”
“What did she say?” Lou glared.
Dog looked up at her. “Ms. Meagher?”
Sheb said, “She said for me to look out for you, in case you came by this afternoon. Wanted me to tell you to watch out. Be careful at the hotel.”
“At the hotel? Which hotel?”
“She didn’t say. Figured she maybe meant your place, at the Metropol. I don’t know. She had a kind of a forceful way of talking.”
Lou scowled at the counter, thinking as fast as her limping brain could manage. What the hell does this mean? “Did she say anything else? Anything involving Dog here, or the kid?”
Sheb shook his head. “Nothin’. Just for you to watch out for yourself at the hotel. She said it like it was the most important thing she ever said. Like every bloody thing depended on it.”
Orbital Burn Page 8
