The Credulity Nexus

by Graham Storrs

  Chapter 12

  “So what do we know?” Freymann asked as they made their way east along the Santa Monica Freeway, heading in the direction of LAPD headquarters.

  Rik had been making more calls. He looked out at the familiar streets, the mellow sunshine. It didn't look like home any more. “According to a guy at the station, Blake turned up fifteen minutes late for his shift, worked a normal day, and went home at the end of it. He was shot about half an hour later. They must have been waiting for him. In Brie's statement, she said the package arrived during breakfast and Blake took it with him when he left for work. It's still missing.”

  They both cogitated in silence as the car negotiated the traffic.

  “So you think we should retrace his route to work?” Freymann asked. “That's why you're heading to the station?”

  Rik sighed. “It's something. If the package had been at home, in his car, in his locker, anywhere easy, they'd have found it by now.”

  “You know the police are looking for you? And you're heading straight for them?”

  “What does it matter? Full co-operation, right? I should probably go turn myself in.” Freymann looked uncomfortable. Rik eyed her suspiciously. “You got a problem with that, Company girl?”

  “Let's just hold off on that for a while, OK? See if we can get a lead. Once you're in custody, they'll be questioning you for hours. You can do more good out here. What else do we know?”

  Rik could see that the question was meant to distract him, keep him from turning himself in and putting himself out of her reach. But that didn't bother him. Freymann was right. Going over his movements ten times for the LAPD wasn't going to help anyone.

  “We know that they saw me post the package in Berlin,” he said. “It's the only way they could have been there to stake out Blake's house.”

  Freymann shook her head. “If they were close enough to see the address you put on the package, they were close enough to snatch it in Berlin and save themselves a trip. Maybe they knew Blake was the only one you'd send something like this to.”

  This time Rik shook his head. “It could have been anyone. I chose Blake because I could trust him, and I felt safer getting the package back to the States. But I could just as easily have sent it to other people, in other countries. The Moon, even.” And maybe anyone else I sent it to would have ended up like Blake. He had a sudden flashback of Peth Cordell handing him the file she had on him. There were lots of names and addresses in there, lots of people he knew.

  “Shit!”

  He pulled the car off the road and parked.

  “What if they didn't know it would be Blake? What if they just targeted every single person I know? Everyone!” The thought hit him like a slap. “Jesus! Maria!”

  He put in a call to his ex-wife in New York, but there was no answer. The voice message said she was busy just now, but she'd get right back to him. In the sack with her dumb boyfriend? Taking a shower? What the hell time was it in New York?

  “That would take enormous resources, Rik. The kind of thing only the Government could do.”

  “Or someone very, very rich.”

  “Cordell? Why would he–?”

  “Someone else then. Another big-shot. Some kind of industrial espionage. A competitor. Who are Cordell's competitors? And why would they be fighting over a bioweapon?”

  “I'll request a search,” she said. She sounded uncertain. “It could be a long list.”

  “Just the biggest and baddest,” he said grimly. He was running through his own list: all the people he might have sent the package to – or the people someone else might have guessed he'd send it to. Meanwhile, he tried calling Maria again. Still no answer.

  “It could still be a government,” Freymann said. “Bioweapons are always nice to have.”

  Rik made no comment. A police car cruised past them, heading east. “We should ditch the car.”

  “Don't worry. It's in my name and it's perfectly legit. Besides, I changed the registration once we left the hospital, just in case they had us on camera going in or out. I changed the car's colour, too.”

  Rik glanced out at the bodywork. What had been black was now blue. Paints that changed colour at the flick of a small current were nothing special, but it was nice to know Freymann had anticipated the need for it.

  So they knew he was in LA, but not where. Getting out of town might be a bit harder than getting in, but not much.

  “I need to check on a few people,” he said.

  Freymann nodded, acknowledging his concern but not looking happy about it.

  -oOo-

  The Harsh Mistress was one of Heinlein's most notorious bars. A favourite haunt for the city's criminal element, it was also conveniently located for workers on 'shore leave' from the Moon's biggest construction project, Alltheway Station. A rigger could make a small fortune working on the tethers and the two gigantic orbital platforms. Mostly the workers stayed in inflatable habs fixed close to their worksites, under the usual strictures of spacework – no booze, no drugs, no gambling. They worked three weeks on and three days off. Three weeks in a plastic bubble with lucies and immersion games, then three days in Heinlein, getting falling-down drunk in The Harsh Mistress with a hooker in their lap and a song in their heart.

  Most of the riggers were straight-up humans, reckoning they'd do this for a couple of years to get a stake together then get the hell off the Moon and back to civilisation. Many were modded – genetically engineered for micro-G work and planning to make a life out in the Big Black. Some were uploads, coming to terms with their new-found immortality, and the fact that there really was no place for them on Earth any more. Even offworld, they faced a life of marginalisation and discrimination.

  Veb Degen 1 Rea was an upload, and a typical one at that. In the days when he had been Michael Kinnings, he had spent every penny he had to buy his android body and have the upload done. He had worked on Alltheway Station for peanuts and the promise that he'd be building and crewing the Starseeker, the very first interstellar explorer. But the project had gone belly-up and the Starseeker was now a high-end restaurant for the residents of Alltheway. These days, he was just glad that, here on the Moon, there was work to be had, and others like him to share his troubles with. He was in The Harsh Mistress not because he drank there – robots didn't get drunk, so what would be the point? – but because he worked there as a bouncer.

  It used to amuse him at first. One day he was an octogenarian, barely strong enough to lift his oxygen mask to his face, and the next he was tossing burly riggers out the doors as if they were garbage sacks. But the joke soon wore off.

  The one good thing about working at The Mistress was the owners. The Drew sisters were crazy bitches, but they'd been good to Veb. Beauties, too, both of them. Not that that bothered Veb any more, but it sure made the place popular with the customers. Nephele and Carlotta Sylver 3 Drew could have had their pick of men in Heinlein, but they had chosen that washed-up cop from Earth.

  Veb remembered the day Rik walked into the bar for the first time, almost three years ago – Rik Sylver, as he was then. Veb took a professional interest in anybody who was that big and looked like he'd be trouble. But Rik had turned out to be OK. In fact, they'd become friends. Rik and his wives were the only human friends Veb had made since the upload.

  As Veb looked around at the bloody mess in the empty bar – the broken tables, the shattered glass, the burn-marks on the walls – he wished Rik was there. The guys from the morgue had carried away the bodies, although the UNPF cops were still there, taking statements from the survivors. It had been a hell of a fight. Veb really wanted to talk to Rik – Rik was good in situations like this – but Veb couldn't reach him. And that wasn't the worst of it.

  Rik would want to know that his wives were both dead. He'd also want to know that their killers had been looking for him, and for some package he was supposed to have.

  -oOo-

  “We should get back to the hospital.” Freymann was
looking worried.

  Rik hung up on yet another failed attempt to reach his wives on the Moon. “I told you, Brie doesn't know anything.”

  Freymann nodded. “Yeah, you know that, and I know that...”

  Rik's eyes widened. “But whoever's tagging us doesn't. God, I'm being dumb today!” He got the car in motion again and set it on its way back to Cedars-Sinai. It refused to go any faster than the speed limit, and all Rik could do about it was sit back and grind his teeth.

  “We haven't been away long,” Freymann said. “We might make it.” Rik said nothing, focused on willing the autolimo to go faster. “I'm sorry, Rik. I should have thought of it sooner.”

  Rik looked hard at his companion. Assuming it wasn't some kind of sarcastic remark, that would be the first kind thing she'd said since they'd met. After a moment, he shook his head. “No need to apologise. I've been so busy worrying about everyone else I know, I didn't see the danger right under my nose.”

  He looked her steadily in the eyes. “Have you had much to do with uploads?”

  “I saw what your friend did, back at Heathrow.”

  “Yeah, but you didn't see me empty a full clip straight into her stomach without making her flinch. When we get to the hospital, I don't expect you to go in there with me; not if she's there. But I would like to borrow one of your guns.”

  A wry smile lifted one side of Freymann's mouth. “Oh, yeah? Which one?”

  “The big one in your purse. The one taped to your thigh must be pretty small.”

  She shook her head, amused. “I'm keeping the big one. If she's there, you get the pea shooter.”

  He smiled at her and held out his hand.

  She smiled back. “Later. I'll keep it warm for you.”

  He'd been right, he told himself. She looked a lot better when she smiled.

  -oOo-

  Maria Dunlop turned the box over in her hands. “Don't open it, whatever you do,” Blake's letter had said. She remembered Blake from LA. A big guy, like Rik. A good guy. Nice to be around, always relaxed and unruffled. The letter that came with the box didn't sound like Blake. It sounded scared and angry.

  “I don't know what Rik thinks he's playing at, but I can't keep it here,” it said. “Hide it somewhere real safe – somewhere no-one will ever find it, ever. Hide it and forget about it. When Rik gets in touch, I'll send him to you. Don't tell anyone you've got it. Not anyone. I hate to do this to you, but you're the only one I know Rik can trust.”

  Blake's letter said Rik had gone off the grid, but she still kept trying to reach him. None of the netIDs she had for him worked any more. She turned the box over again. It was a solid metal container with strong clasps. There were no markings on the outside. No clues as to what it might contain.

  “What has that stupid man got himself into now?” she grumbled aloud.

  No-one heard her. She was sitting on a bench in a park by the bay. The afternoon was cool and bright, and sunlight sparkled off the quiet waters. She needed to be alone to decide what to do. Her boyfriend, David, was no use to her. In fact, they'd hardly spoken except to argue since Rik had shown up the other day.

  David was OK, she supposed, but seeing him standing next to Rik had made her realise what a vapid and empty creature he was compared to her ex. Rik was the real thing. David was just a third-rate knock-off. She was going to ask him to move out as soon as she got back to the house.

  “That's just bloody typical!” she muttered. Rik was nothing but trouble – showed up for five minutes and threw her whole life into chaos again. And now this!

  She thought about tossing the box into the bay and telling Rik to go fish for it. What could be in it that had upset Blake so much? Did she even want to know? She put it down on her lap and raised her eyes to the sky. A pale sliver of moon was visible, even though the day was bright.

  It had been just like Rik to run away. Things had been good between them. Better than good. But Rik couldn't handle good. The better it got, the more Rik got into a funk, waiting for something terrible to happen. It made him twitchy and reckless. He started behaving badly. It was like he was so convinced that it couldn't last, he started trying to screw it up before life screwed it up for him.

  She ran her fingers across her forehead, remembering the pain of watching him pull away – his drinking, getting them into debt, disappearing for days on end – like he was challenging her to go on loving him, no matter what. She hung on when they lost the house, but when he lost his job with the LAPD, she finally gave up the fight, got out, and went to New York to start a saner life without him. She sent the divorce papers to Rik care of some seedy bar in Heinlein. It was the only address he had at the time.

  Maybe that's where she should send the package. She had no idea where she might hide it and, anyway, she didn't want Rik showing up again to claim it. It had surprised her how pleased she'd been to see him. And he'd looked so sad and lonely. She could see how much he still loved her. It had broken her heart to see the pain in his eyes.

  But, with Rik, love wasn't enough. Some men weren't meant to be happy. The more you gave them, the more they squandered it. The more they loved you, the more they barricaded themselves against you.

  She stood up in her agitation. “Bastard!” she said between clenched teeth, startling a young mother and her children who were walking by. She really, really wanted to throw the stupid box into the bay, but she couldn't. Whatever trouble Rik was in, the box was something he needed to keep safe. That's why he'd sent it to Blake and that's why Blake – even though it had pissed him off – hadn't dumped the thing either, but had sent it on to her.

  She dropped it into her pocket and set off back to the house. First things first, she'd give David his marching orders, then shut the house up and go see her sister. Theresa lived in a big old place upstate, and was always asking her to go visit. Maybe she would take a couple of days' vacation and leave the package with her when she came back.

  Maria took a last look at the bay and drew a deep breath. Once she'd got rid of the package, she could focus on getting her feelings back to some kind of equilibrium again. There were days – plenty of them – when she wished she'd never met Rik.

  Chapter 13

  Rivers Valdinger was not a patient woman. Sitting in the back of a van while Celestina's goons searched the hospital was not her idea of getting the job done. That's why she was now twenty storeys up, peering through a window at a grey-faced old man in a hospital bed.

  She touched a black fingernail to the glass and traced out a metre-high oval with it. Under the diamond edge of her nail, the glass crackled and crepitated as she scored a fine line across it. Placing a palm at the centre of the oval, she tapped around its edges with her knuckles, making a clean, fine break all the way through.

  When she pushed, the oval moved into the room, held firmly by the gecko-skin nano-filaments on her hand. She followed it in and set the big piece of glass down quietly. The grey-faced man was still asleep. Hell, he was dead for all she knew. Or cared.

  According to the updates she was getting from Celestina's heavies, Blake Bonomi was in a room on this floor. Comatose, they said, but the wife was still with him. Well, the wife would have to do.

  Rivers crossed the room. From high on the wall, one arm and one leg brushing the ceiling, she pulled the door open a crack and put her head through. There was nobody in sight. She pulled the door wide and slipped out into the corridor, moving fast along one wall.

  They'd been waiting for her at LAX when the hopper landed. Somewhere in her wonderful new body, Celestina's doctors had implanted a tracker. Rivers had suspected as much, but now she knew. A team had picked her up from the tarmac in a catering van and driven her to a small engineering shop nearby. They already had people tailing the PLEO and his companion. Nobody knew who the companion was, but she had to be with one government agency or another. It was the tail that led them to Blake Bonomi and the mystery of who had put the guy in a coma. Celestina's people swore it wasn't them.

/>   All this uncertainty bugged the hell out of the young upload. She had built her whole career on careful and meticulous planning, researching every job down to the last detail. Now she had to work with people she didn't know, hunting down a guy she had little background on, competing with Cordell's people, government agencies, and now some mystery killers who'd tried to rub out Bonomi – whoever the hell he was! Rivers didn't like any of it.

  “Bonomi had the package,” one of Celestina's goons had told her, briefing Rivers before the trip out to the hospital. They watched security video from the hospital, showing the encounter between Rik and Brie. “But he's dumped it or hidden it somewhere.”

  “And you think the wife knows where it is?” Rivers had asked. “So why didn't the PLEO get it out of her? Why did he just take her word for it and move on?”

  There had been no satisfactory answer. “And where's Drew going? Maybe he knows more than you think he does?”

  That's when they told her they'd lost track of Rik after he'd left the hospital.

  The temptation to beat the lot of them to a pulp and carry on alone had been strong, but in the end, what could she do? She'd lost track of the primary target, and the only lead she now had was Bonomi's wife. Besides, incompetent as these guys were, they also worked for Celestina, and Rivers didn't want to fall out with one of the meanest, richest gang-bosses in the Solar System. Not if she didn't have to.

  They'd wanted her to stay at their base while they went to question Brie Bonomi. Rivers politely but firmly explained what they could do with that idea. Then they'd insisted she stay in the van while they went inside. Yeah, right. Like she'd trust these bozos to tie their own shoelaces.

  She found her two new friends walking along a corridor that led to the ICU. She managed to crawl along the ceiling and drop down in front of them before either of them noticed she was there.

  “Holy crap!” one of them said, his hand halfway to his holster. The other just stared, open mouthed.

  Rivers looked from one to the other, her smooth, black head making quick, economical movements. “If you two were any more careless, you'd have shot each other by now. And what's this?” She tilted her chin at the lucie, standing quietly nearby, smiling mindlessly at them. “Ditch it,” she told them, not waiting for an answer, and set off ahead of them.