No Dogs in Philly, page 12
There was a click and slide of the door unlocking itself—how? It swung open slowly and the light from the hallway crept in, a long, growing rectangle that cast Jojran in a spotlight.
“Freeze,” Jojran shouted, or tried to—his voice cracked and came out cartoony. The gun shook in his hands, slippery wet with sweat, hard to hold onto; he gripped it tighter and then BANG! it went off with the sound of a cannon in his ears, flying backward, snapping his wrist, slamming into his mouth and bending back his two front teeth. He yelped at the pain and the panic splashed out of him through his low-level connections to the apartment. Every light, faucet and appliance sprang to life—the kitchen and living room overheads, the LEDs and heaters in the floor, the lamps, the oven, the microwave, the waffle iron, the percolator, the pizzafast, and the mixing bowl, all the window screens, the sonic shower, the autovacs shooting from their cubbies and rolling around the floor, and his stereo blasting metal at maximum volume. He fell to his knees and crawled to the bedroom where the drawers rattled with the vibrations of his sex machines, and his love doll moaned and begged for him. He slammed the door behind him, swiped the lock, and dove onto the bed.
He sat, resisting the urge to crawl under the covers, cradling his wrist, which was sending sharp, nauseating pain through his arm and down to his stomach, every motion a fresh nausea, a new threat of vomit. The gun was gone. He found his mind bouncing around in his skull, desperate to escape, running down the long hall of doors to the Net with so many wonderful distractions—cute animals and naked women, bad puns, witty jokes, endless streams of news and recipes for biscotti, games and viks where he was safe and in control. He felt the familiar pull of the Net and fought, fought to keep his focus on the terrifying present, buzzing the guard station over and over again, calling everyone he knew in the real world, which seemed suddenly to be no one.
Saru wasn’t picking up—you bitch I’m gonna die because of you! Where are you, passed out in a drunken stupor somewhere? Grunting on your knees with that lawyer you love so much? His mom answered the call and immediately started to complain—you thief, you liar, what, do you need money? He hung up. The cops, thank God, they were on their way! He just needed to hold on. But when would they arrive? What had he told the officer? There was a stranger in his house; he needed help. He felt a coldness down his spine, mixing with the nausea in his stomach. What had Saru told him about dealing with the cops? Rule number one: cash upfront. He called back, ready to offer a fortune, but all he got was a busy signal. It was hard to focus with the pain in his stomach and his wrist and his mouth; he needed to search, find the number of a mercenary, or private justice, get someone over but he kept losing the thread, distracted by the fear.
The music outside stopped and his drawers stopped clattering, the love doll stopped rubbing her nipples and lay still. Footsteps, soft, coming close, stopping outside the door.
“Come out, Brian. You’re safe now.” Oh thank God, it was Saru, and in the voice he’d always imagined she’d use with him, breathy, soft, sweet, heavy with suggestion. She’d even used his name, his real name that he’d never told her, but somehow that contradiction didn’t bother him, the voice was too sweet, he could feel it like a delicate finger tracing down his neck, felt his pain recede, fall back, felt other things, other sensations more pleasing rise to the surface. He stood and walked to the door, unlocked and opened it. There she was, as beautiful—no, more beautiful than he remembered, her features finer, lips and breasts fuller, and she was smiling. She smelled of tropical fruits and it looked like she’d even showered and washed her hair.
“Come,” she said, giving him a smile that made him gasp. She held out her hand and led him back to the living room, which was now quiet and dimly lit with candles that he didn’t own. He knew now, knew that this was not Saru, not the real Saru, but that if he wanted it he could have her, have her forever and more, anything he wanted, anything at all if he would pay the price. She guided him to a couch and pushed him down gently so he floated into the cushions. His hand brushed her naked thigh as she turned—of course, the real Saru never wore a dress like that, shimmery and scant, that actually fit her and made every curve a tease. She sat across from him, crossing her legs, and he saw a flash of red lace between them. He felt himself melting in an agony of desire, the pain of the broken wrist and teeth nothing compared to this longing. She smiled at him.
“You want me, Brian.”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“What else do you do want?”
There were things he knew, power probably, not like a king or a businessman, but power inside him, to be strong, to be tall, to be brave maybe. To be perhaps the hero of a fantasy, to wield a sword against the darkness, to be admired and loved and to feel those deep, deep emotions that come from adventure. They were stray thoughts, stupid thoughts, childish thoughts, hard to control with her sex washing through him.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Whatever you want you will have. Anything.”
From somewhere the fear returned, a small, nagging thing. Memories of the women being cut open, of elzi covered in sores and worms, wandering the streets, eating cigarette butts and scraps and fresh meat when they could get it. Why would he think of those awful things now? It annoyed him. But he should ask, make sure everything was on the level. It seemed too good to be true.
“What do I have to do?” he asked.
She looked away and touched her neck.
“There is a price,” she said. “But one you have nearly paid.”
“I don’t want to be an elzi,” he said suddenly, unexpectedly, desperately. He couldn’t resist, he knew; whatever this was had owned him, knew him and controlled him. He would give in now, later, one day or another. It had come and he would follow and he was just a small mind, a weak soul—had always been weak, everyone had known that about him, he had always known. He would surrender, but he had to fight, just a little, struggle at least a bit. He would not become an elzi, he wouldn’t, wouldn’t let the real Saru find him like some beast, naked and broken and mindless, rolling in the garbage. The other Saru laughed, a tinkling kindness that warmed him, set his mind at ease, like she knew his thoughts and was gently guiding him back to safety, back on a course that led to her, his only course, the inevitable.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, leaning forward with her hands back so her breasts rose up. “The elzi pay a different price. They aren’t like you. You’re intelligent, Brian. You have a good mind, a strong mind. No one would ask you to give that up. No Brian, keep your mind, but give me your body. What do you need it for anyway?”
She leaned forward and touched his knee. Heat spread out from her touch, traveling up his leg into his groin, his heart, his brain. What did he need his body for anyway? Everything good was in the Net, that was the real world, that was where he could do anything he wanted. All his body did was slow him down—it was a big sack of chores with all the eating and sleeping and shitting. He wouldn’t need to do any of that. She would give him a place where he was free.
“If I say no, will you leave me alone?” he asked.
She smiled. “Oh Brian, you can’t say no. You could never say no to me.”
Of course she was right. He didn’t remember saying yes, but he remembered her standing and coming over to him, crossing her legs as she walked, bending over and kissing him on the forehead and then her kisses traveling down his neck and finding his mouth. He remembered her hand tugging at his hair, her body wrapping around his, and the two of them coming together at last. He felt her nails digging into his back, felt the heat of her breath, the soft, delicious moans, and the sound of his name whispered in his ear. It seemed at some point in all of that he died, leaving his body and going into hers, that inside her was a whole new world, vaster and more beautiful than he had ever imagined, and that his old, lumpy bone and skin had been a burden all along.
Chapter 14
She was free! Free to waltz out, to kick the guard in the shins and laugh, to click her heels and give little love smacks to every pig she met. Fear. And anger. But mostly fear in their faces as she skipped by, the bitch that had smashed up half of Broad Street, untouchable, unstoppable. She had friends, the barefoot man in the suit who didn’t seem quite right, who told their bosses behind the big oak desks what was what, who went to jail, which bothers disappeared, and which lucky cunts ran free. They handed her back her gun, loaded, right there in the office, and the prod, and the dart launcher, and the micro grenades, and her clothes, of course, that someone had even washed. She was pleased that half her tricks had remained a mystery, delighted they’d never found the hair-thin shiv lying just under the skin of her outer thigh.
It was a challenge not to press her luck, not to hop into one of the squad cars in the parking lot and race off into the sunset. How far did ElilE’s protection go? How much would he stick his dick out for her? What were the stakes? A girl? A dog? The city? The world? Or ten million American dollars? Pick up the phone, Jojran! Her implants were back online, brain awash in smut and news and wacky videos—it was a lonely cage without them. And even though she laughed into the cold night air, it was hard to forget why she’d been tossed in a cell. Her great pile of fuckups that kept killing people she knew—and who would have thought that she actually cared? That woman was nothing but an annoyance, but for some reason she wouldn’t get out of Saru’s head, that image of her, that last glimpse, looking so scared, and McCully had seen it and gone back…
Pick up the phone! She needed information, leads or the appearance of leads. It was clear that even if she found the women on this list she couldn’t babysit them, and the Gaespora were too afraid to do anything. Ha! Free. She truly was free, freer than any of them, freer than the mopey Gods, because she could do whatever she wanted and no one could mistake it for anything but retarded blundering. Yes, she was perfect for the job. She would find these bastards and make them pay as soon as Jojran answered the goddamn phone. What was he playing at? He never ignored her calls. She’d have to go put a boot up his ass, but hell he’d probably enjoy that.
Security let her in without hesitation. It was the same men; she recognized the hard-ass that had hassled her before. He was polite now, “Ma’am,” and he smiled at her. It was a knowing smile, a smile that made her feel naked to the bone. She didn’t want to turn her back on him, and she watched him through her earlobe cam the whole way to the elevator; he smiled the whole time, watching her back. She jammed the button, fifty-seven, and then pressed it a few thousand more times, sensing suddenly the urgency. The music in the elevator was a sterile tune that seemed to her full of menace. She wanted it to stop, searched for some way to end it, but it cackled on.
The doors slid open. The hallway was quiet, perfectly quiet. She walked to the door and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately the door swung open and Jojran stood there. He was dressed nicely, in clothes that fit for a change, and it made him look almost like a man. He seemed relaxed, truly at ease, not the nervous faux confidence, no twitching, no grinding his teeth, no unconscious vocalizations. He wore the same knowing smile as the guard.
“Saru,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Shouldn’t be,” she said, pushing past him. Their skin touched as she went by and the area of contact exploded in a crawling sensation, like fleas swarming on her skin. She shivered. “I’ve been calling for hours.”
“Sorry,” he said. He closed the door behind him. Every motion was so smooth now. The apartment smelled funny, like sex, almost, and something else, something sweet like garbage. “I was occupied. I was trying to reach you too, where were you?”
“Got picked up,” she said. “Broke a few road rules, but they let me out for good behavior. Listen, I need you to find me a vulture, someone with good vibes. I need someone to analyze this.” She withdrew the vial of blood McCully had collected. “This came off of one of our perps, killed a woman this morning.” He didn’t need any more detail.
He took the vial and held it up to the light, swirling it. He smiled even more broadly. She noticed that his teeth were whiter, like he’d gone out and finally seen a dentist, fixed those odd yellow spots. His teeth were almost perfect now.
“I think I can help you with this,” he said. He winked. “I’ve been doing some research, you know, on our friends, the UausuaU.”
She shuddered. The name was nonsensical, some alien transliteration, something with no semantic power, just a sound. She’d stumbled through it, heard other people stumble through it, even ElilE and Friar with their good technical pronunciation—it didn’t sound like this. When Jojran said it it was perfect, a perfect, slithering re-creation of the song, the hidden song she’d heard in the jukebox, in the elevator, in the hallucinations with Friar, the street player with his saxophone, and the screech of brakes as she’d slammed into that car and crawled over her crumpled hood.
“What kind of research have you been doing?” she asked, taking a step backwards, nonchalant. He noticed of course, and his smile grew, even broader now, straining at the edges of his mouth.
“Wonderful research,” he said. “In fact, I’ve found a lead. Fanny Duvak. Do you know who she is?”
Saru sensed they were moving in tandem, that he acted only in response to her but so quickly it was like they were mirroring each other. Her Betty jolted to her hand and she fired three rubbers into his chest. He brought up his arm and flicked his wrist, casually, like he was trying to dry his hands. A pain like a knife cut across her chest. She looked down and saw indeed she had been cut, a straight red line from her right hip up through her left breast to her left shoulder. The cut had gone right through her steel-armor shirt. For a second the pain was too much, overloading her senses, and then her combat implants kicked in and shot her full of painkillers and adrenaline. She dove behind the kitchen counter and then peeked over the top.
Jojran stood there, exactly where he’d been, not moved an inch by three rubber bullets from two feet away. They had put holes in his shirt, holes in his skin; she could see blood trickling out. His head swiveled a hundred degrees to look at her, swiveled without the rest of the body moving an inch, bones cricking at the motion.
“Why Saru,” he said, sounding hurt. “Why would you do that to me?”
She stood and leveled the gun at him. Her scans swept up and down telling her over and over again that this was Jojran, their somatic profiles matched—slower heartbeat, slower blinks, regularly timed, like with ElilE, a stopwatch arrangement to every breath and motion, like a machine pretending to be a man.
“What have you done with Jojran?” she asked.
“But I am Jojran,” he said. “You know that.”
“You’re good, but I’ve seen dopples before. You aren’t fooling anyone so cut the bullshit. Where’s the real Jojran, and I swear to God if you’ve hurt him I will show you pain.”
He laughed, neck springing back into forward position, and then he leaned-sat on the back of the sofa causing the nose of her gun to twitch down and stay level with his heart. She didn’t know if a regular bullet would slow him down but the ball buster in the barrel could shred a tank; it would turn a person—even a drugged-up, body-modded psychopath—into goulash.
“You think I’m a clone? No, sorry. This is the real deal.” He held up a forearm and she flinched—what had he used on her before? Some sort of sonic sword or a ring laser? Whatever it was it hurt like a motherfucker and it had gone right through her. Her whole chest felt tight as her platelet injectors flooded the area and accelerated the scarring process. That was one unfortunate side effect of the technology—big ugly scars for everything. She hoped she hadn’t lost a nipple; it was hard to tell. He wagged his forearm at her so the skin jiggled and then he grabbed a pinch and ripped it out, holding it up and shaking it.
“Yep, this is the real Jojran—his body at least. He gave it to me.”
“You sick fuck.”
“No. I helped him. He was sad and afraid and alone and his life was pain. I gave him peace.”
“You murdered him like you murdered those women.”
“Hardly. Murder implies malice and I act only out of love. This world is in disarray, the planets and stars scattered about at random, the organisms fighting each other willy-nilly—what an odd word, willy-nilly. Willy-nilly, willy-nilly, willy-nilly…you see what I mean? It could just as easily be nilly-willy. There’s no order here, no structure. No unity.”
She resisted the urge to just shoot him. This mad rambling was garbage, but he might let something slip, a clue about his hideout or his methods. The danger was if he started making sense, started getting inside her head.
“And you do that by killing?”
“Killing is a meaningless concept. The information is the same no matter how it is expressed, but more useful in the aggregate. An individual can be just as easily unkilled as killed, but then you would lessen the whole. It is better to be whole.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course not. You’re just one mind, one body, ninety years at most of life to learn and save a copy of any wisdom that manages to penetrate your selfishness. I didn’t kill those women. I freed them, and they begged, begged me to do it. They died in pain only because they made it so, according to the rules of your species—nothing is free, there is no love, everything has a price. They forced their payment upon me—for some reason your species has a fascination with pain, and pleasure too, and all the sordid acts of the body. They asked for pain in measure of the gift, and I gave. But we would give freely, without pain, to all if you would only allow us, for mine are the Giving Gods, the Gods of Eternal Life, the Loving Gods.”
“And Jojran? What have you done with him?”
