Lucas stepped out from under the seats. “Who is this?”
“Wade Tanner kept an avatar. A backup.”
“I know that.”
“I’m the backup, Lucas.”
The group shuffled through the south turn, and Wade wasn’t any of them. “Did you try the store?” Lucas said.
“No, because you’re at the top of the list,” the backup said. “One day passes without an update, and I’m supposed to contact you first.”
“Me.”
“You live close and you know where the spare key is. We want you to search the house.” The voice went away and then came back. “I’ve studied the odds. Check the shower. Showers are treacherous places.”
Walking across the brown grass, Lucas started to laugh. Nothing was funny, but laughing felt right.
“What’s your workout tonight?” said the voice.
“Don’t know.”
“It’s humid,” the backup said. “Do quarters and walk half a lap before going again. Take a break after six, and quit if you forget how to count.”
It could have been the real Wade. “You sound just like him.”
“That’s how it works.” Then, after a pause, the backup said, “I’ve got this bad feeling, Lucas.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m voicemail, too. And people have been calling all day. Nobody knows where Wade is.”
Lucas said nothing.
“You’ll check the house?”
“Soon as I’m done running quarters.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
The line fell silent.
Most of the people were sharing the same patch of shade. Audrey was walking back and forth on the track, talking on the phone. Only Gatlin and Wade were missing. The new kid jumped toward Lucas, saying, “Are we running or not?”
“Leave him alone,” Pete said. “Our boy put in a rough weekend.”
Harris had a big sandpaper laugh. “I was at the party. Yeah, I saw him drinking.”
People looked away, embarrassed for Lucas.
“I’ve known a few drinkers,” the kid said. “But I never, ever saw anybody drain away that much of anything.”
Lucas looked past him. “Anybody see Wade?”
“Bastard’s late,” Pete said.
The others said, “No,” or shook their heads. Except for Harris, who just kept grinning and staring at Lucas.
Lucas needed a breath. “Wade’s backup just called me. It hasn’t heard from him, and it’s worried.”
“Why would the backup call you?” Sarah said.
Lucas shrugged, saying nothing.
“Wade has an avatar?” said Harris.
“He does,” Masters said. “In fact, I helped him set it up.”
Lucas waved a hand, bringing eyes back to him. “I know what they are,” he said. “Except I don’t know anything about them.”
Masters stepped into the sunshine, his glasses turning black. With his know-everything voice, he said, “They’re basically just personal records. Data you want protected, kept in hardened server farms. They have your financial records, video records. Diaries and running logs and whatever else you care about. You can even model your personality and voice, coming up with a pretty good stand-in.”
“Wade has been doing this for years,” Sarah said.
People turned to her, waiting.
Quiet little Sarah smiled, nervous with the attention. “Don’t you know? He records everything he does, every day. He says it helps at the store, letting him know each of his customers. He even leaves his phone camera running, recording everything he sees and hears to be uploaded later.”
“That’s anal,” Crouse said.
“Who’s anal?” said Audrey, walking into the conversation.
“Storing that much video is expensive,” Harris said. “How can a shoe salesman afford a cashmere backup?”
“That shoe salesman had rich parents,” Pete said. “And they were kind enough to die young.”
With that, the group fell silent.
Lucas approached Audrey. “Was it Wade’s backup on the phone?”
“No. Just my husband.”
Harris got between them. “Let’s run,” he said.
“Not in the mood,” Lucas said.
The kid looked at everybody, and then he was laughing at Lucas. “So what happened to you? You were drinking everything at the party . . . and then you just sort of vanished—”
“He had an appointment,” Pete said.
“What appointment?”
Pete shook his head. “With the police.”
Audrey wasn’t happy. “Everybody, just stop. Quit it.”
Masters was talking to Sarah. “How do you know so much about Wade’s backup?” he said.
Sarah shrugged and smiled. “I just know.”
Masters ate on that. Then he turned to Lucas, saying, “The call was a glitch. Wade didn’t get things uploaded last night, and it triggered the warning system. That’s all.”
Lucas nodded, wanting to believe it.
“Let’s just run,” Harris said.
“Is this how they do things in Utah?” Pete said. “Pester people till you get what you want?”
“Sometimes.” The kid showed up at the track six weeks ago—a refugee running away from drought and forest fires. Harris liked to talk. He told everybody that he was going out on the prairie and build windmills. Except of course he didn’t know anything about anything useful. His main talent was a pair of long strong and very young legs, and there were sunny looks and a big smile that was charming for two minutes, tops.
“I’m running,” he said, smiling hard. Then he walked to the inside lane.
Others started to follow.
Not Lucas.
A little BMW pulled off the road and Gatlin got out. He wasn’t dressed to run. A fifty-year-old man with wavy gray hair, he looked nothing but respectable in a summer suit and tie. Coming through the zigzag, he moved slowly, one hand always holding the chain-link. He seemed sad, and then the sadness fell into something darker. And with little steps, he walked toward the others.
“Well, now we’ve got to stop talking about you,” said Pete.
Gatlin’s mouth was open, a lost look passing through his dark brown eyes. “I just got a call,” he said. “From a friend in the mayor’s office. He thought I’d want to know. Kids playing near Ash Creek found a body this morning. And the police think they recognize the man.”
“Wade Tanner,” said Lucas.
Surprised, Gatlin straightened his back. “How did you know?”
“We had a hint,” said Pete, and then he couldn’t talk anymore.
Nobody was talking. Nobody reacted or moved, except for Gatlin who was embarrassed to have his awful news stolen from him. Besides the wind, the only sound was a soft low moan rising from nowhere.
Then Sarah closed her mouth and the moaning stopped.
Downtown fights to wake up. City buses roll past on their way to still-empty stops. Bank tellers move through darkened lobbies while bank machines count piles of electronic money. Apartment lights come on, but the hotels have never been dark, filled with anxious refugees living on the government plan. A pair of long-haul boxes point in opposite directions, burning soybean juice to keep sleeping travelers warm. Out from the bus station comes a bearded man wearing a fine suit and carrying an I-tablet. Except the suit is filthy, both knees looking like they have been dragged through grease, and the tablet is dead, and talking in a loud crazed voice, he says, “Stop being proud. Accept Satan as our leader, and let’s build a clean, efficient Hell.”
The pace lifts, the group crossing into the old warehouse district. Concrete turns to cobblestone and black scabs of asphalt. Low brick buildings have been reborn as bars and pawnshops and coffee shops, plus one little store dedicated to runners. Dropping to the floodplain, the street ends with a massive stone building from the nineteenth century. In one form or another, this place has always served as the city’s train station. Ha
lf a dozen travelers are waiting with their luggage, hoping for the morning westbound, and the little boy in the group gives the runners a big wave, saying, “Hey there. Hi.”
Nobody talks. The group turns south, gloom following them into Germantown. Warehouses give way to little houses, and they turn right, pointed west again, and the pace lifts another notch.
“Slow down,” says Pete.
Nobody listens. Runners and the street cross an abandoned set of railroad tracks. Little twists of vapor mark their breathing, shoes slapping at the pavement. Then comes the Amtrak line, and that’s when the houses start to wear down. Cars sporting out-of-state plates are parked on brown lawns. A solitary drunk stands at a corner, calmly waiting for the race to pass before he staggers a little closer to what might be home. The final house has been reborn as a church, its walls painted candy colors and with holy words written in Vietnamese. That’s where the street ends. A barbed-wire fence breaks where a thin trail snakes up through flattened prairie grass. The sky is dawn-blue with a few clouds. And somebody is running on top of the levee: A narrow male with tall legs and long arms carried high. It’s a pretty stride. Not Lucas-pretty, but efficient. Strong. The man’s legs are bare and pale. He wears a long-sleeved T-shirt, gray and tight, and maybe a second layer underneath. White butcher gloves cover big hands, and riding the head is a black baseball cap set backward, the brim tucked low over the long neck.
As if their legs have been cut out from under them, people stumble to a halt.
“What’s he doing here?” says Sarah.
Crouse is first to say, “Jaeger.”
Normally easygoing, almost sweet, Slow Doug puts on a sour face and says, “That prick.”
“What is he doing?” Masters says.
“Running, by the looks of it,” says Pete.
Jaeger is cruising south on the levee road, heading upstream. The other runners stand in shadow, but he is lit up by the dawn, his gaze fixed straight ahead, the sharp face showing in profile.
“So what?” says Audrey. “We’ll just run the other way.”
“I’m not,” says Pete.
People glance at each other, saying nothing.
Starting toward the fence and trail, Pete says, “I don’t change plans for murdering assholes.”
Gatlin and Varner fall in behind him.
Lucas turns to Audrey. “Want to go back?”
She pulls off her hat and a mitten, running her hand through her short, short hair. “Maybe.”
“We can’t just stand here,” says Masters.
“I’m not turning around,” says Sarah, short legs working, the ponytail jumping and swishing.
Crouse trots after her. Then Audrey sighs and says, “I guess,” and catches them before the fence.
“This is stupid,” says Masters. But then he starts chasing.
Lucas stands motionless. Nobody can run out of sight on him, except Jaeger. Maybe. He has time to pull off a mitten and wipe his mouth, ice already clinging to his little beard. Then he touches his phone to wake it, pulling up the familiar number with an eye and placing his call.
“How’s the run going?” says Wade.
Lucas doesn’t talk.
“I see where you are,” Wade says. “Are we running the creek today?”
“We’re supposed to.”
“So why aren’t you moving, Lucas?”
“Jaeger’s up ahead.”
There is a pause, a long breath of nothing before the voice returns. “You know what I want,” Wade says. “I told you what I want. Find out who killed me, okay?”
FOUR
Wade was five days dead.
The heat and drought had returned, and the Saturday group met long before the Y opened. Standing in the broiling darkness, they said very little. Even Harris was playing the silent monk. One minute after six they took off to the east, aiming for Jewel College. Harris grabbed the lead, Lucas claimed the empty ground between him and the pack. Then Crouse put on a surge, catching Lucas. “Have you tried Wade’s number?”
“Why would I?”
“Maybe you’re curious,” Crouse said.
“Not usually,” said Lucas.
“Well, you can’t get through. Voice mail answers, but even if you leave a message, the backup can’t call you back.”
“Why not?”
“He’s evidence,” Crouse said. “And maybe he’s a witness. That’s why they’ve got him bottled up.”
“I forgot. You’re a cop.”
“No.” The man hesitates, laughs. “But remember my sister-in-law?”
“The gal with black hair and that big bouncy ass,” Lucas said.
“She’s a police officer.”
“That too.”
“Anyway, she’s got this habit. She has to tell my wife everything.”
“Okay. Now I’m curious.”
Crouse was running hard. Whenever he talked, he first had to gather up enough air. “Wade ran for Jewel.”
Lucas glanced at him. “Everybody knows that.”
“Came here on a scholarship. Able recruited him. Wade was the big star for the first year. Then this other guy showed.”
“Carl Jaeger,” said Lucas.
“You probably know the whole story,” said Crouse, disappointed.
“Wade told it a couple times. Every day.”
“Know where the coach found Jaeger?”
“In Chicago, in rehab. There were legal hoops, getting him out from under some old charges. But the kid had ruled Illinois during high school, and that’s why Able brought him here. He wanted Jaeger to be his big dog, to help put Jewel on the map.”
Crouse nodded, fighting to hold the pace.
Lucas slowed. “You’re new to this group. You didn’t know. But Wade and Jaeger never liked each other.”
“What about the girl?” Crouse said.
Lucas said, “Yeah.” But then he realized that he didn’t know what they were talking about. “What girl?”
“Wade’s girlfriend in college. Jaeger got her. Stole her and got her pregnant and even married her for a couple years.”
“What’s her name?” Lucas said.
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear that part. But the virtual Wade remembers everything.” Crouse was happy, finding something fresh to offer. “The police department brought in specialists to sort through the files, the software. The AI business. The technology’s been around for a few years, but the experts haven’t seen a backup with this much information.”
“That’s Wade,” said Lucas. “Mr. Detail.”
“He kept training logs,” said Crouse.
“Some of us do.”
“You?”
“Never.”
Crouse found fresh speed in his legs. “Wade’s logs are different. They reach back to the day he started running, when he was eight. And there’s a lot more than miles and times buried in them.”
“Like what?”
“Sleep. Dreams. Breakfasts. And what he and his friends talked about during the run—word for word, sometimes. And he spends a lot of file space hating Carl Jaeger.”
The girl news was unexpected. Lucas thought about it for a minute. Then he said, “So what’s happening? Are the cops looking at Carl?”
“Oh, I’m not saying like that,” said Crouse, reaching that point where his legs were shaky-weak. “I just thought you’d be interested in what’s happening. That’s all.”
Runners are strung out along the levee. On the left little houses turn into body shops and junkyards and a sad pair of gray-white grain elevators. Ash Creek runs on their right, the channel gouged deep and straight and shouldered with pale limestone boulders. Fresh thin ice covers the shallow water. Pete and Gatlin run in front, Varner tucked into their slipstream. Snatches of angry conversation drift back. With a big arm, Pete points toward Jaeger. He curses, and Gatlin glances back at the others. Then the leaders slow, forcing the others to drift closer.
“I can’t believe this,” Masters says. “Why would the
man run this course?”
“He likes the route,” Lucas says, his legs deciding to leap ahead, quick feet kicking back gravel.
Crouse hears the stride coming. “Hey, Lucas, “he says. And a moment later, he is passed.
The women are shoulder to shoulder. Audrey says a few words, laughing alone. Then she looks back at Lucas, her smile working. “What are those boys proving?”
“Don’t know,” Lucas says.
Audrey says, “Men,” and laughs again.
Lucas runs on the grass beside them. Pete is forty yards ahead and surging, body tilting and arms churning. Nobody in that trio talks, every whisper of oxygen saved for the legs.
“Look at them,” says Audrey.
“What about them?” Sarah says, her voice small and tight.
“They won’t catch Carl,” says Audrey.
“The man was in jail,” Sarah says. “For months.”
Audrey’s face stiffens. “We’re talking about Carl. There’s no way they can close that gap.”
Jaeger’s legs and lungs are almost lost in the sunshine. But he isn’t increasing his lead. Maybe he’s starting out on a lazy twenty and holding back. Or he knows they’re following him, and he just wants a little fun.
Lucas glances at Audrey.
“You don’t have to chase,” she says, her voice sharp.
He surges.
“Please, Lucas. Be careful.”
The man who sold shoes to every athlete in town was lying inside a closed box, waiting to be set into the ground, and the church was full of skinny people and beefy old friends, with a few distant relatives sitting up front, hoping for a piece of the Wade pie. Everybody made sorry sounds about the circumstances. Every male tried to spot the ex-girlfriends in the audience. Wade was no beauty, but he had a genius for pretty girls who fell for charm and little hints of marriage. There were maybe a dozen exes in the crowd, some crying for what had happened and others for what hadn’t. Lucas and Pete were pallbearers. They served with cousins and college buddies who didn’t know them from a can of paint. It was a cousin who mentioned that the cops were done with the backup. He said anybody could call the machine and it was almost fun, talking to a voice that remembered when you were ten years old and sitting together at Thanksgiving, watching relatives get drunk and funny.
The Year's Best Science Fiction and Fantasy, 2011 Edition Page 55
