played Ping-Pong with the Trojan a few mil-
your avatar was an accurate rendition of your
lion times, bouncing it around various private
physical body, you were still running an
networks, encrypting and decrypting it mil-
avatar. Any rational player would have known
lions of more times, before sending it on. If
that. An irrational player—someone so dam-
Cyber-Pol’s monitors had kept up, they might
aged they believed the reality of the avatars—
be able to trace the message traffic all the way
yeah, there were those, too. Furries, aliens,
back to the source—but even if they could, it
morphs, posers, replicants, repetitions, cele-
would take months just to sort through the
brocities, historicals, fictives, presenters, flu-
sheer number of transactions, and at the end,
ids, there weren’t enough words for all the
they’d f ind little more than a burner ID. The
variants. Not a problem; most of the outliers
best they might come up with would be the
clustered, and someone too far off the mean
ENDLESS CITY
121
ANALOG
would be easy to identify and track—
roller, angled my thighs into position and
Okay, leave that, it’s not low-hanging fruit. If
dropped into the exo-legs. It took a moment
necessary, come back later. Work through the
for everything to settle into place, then I was
evidence first. What story does it tell?
ready to go—I could walk, run, stroll, stride,
Cobie had a high-end sextable. You don’t
slide, saunter, stagger, shuff le, shamble,
spend kilobucks unless you’re in deep. So,
scramble, amble, toddle, totter, trot, truck,
what was his kink? Had he used the bot for
tango, boogie, march, waltz, polka, or pirou-
solo adventures? Or had he paired up with an
ette. The pirouette would not be graceful,
online partner? Maybe several? It would have
however—I’m not balanced for it.
had to be someone with a compatible rig, an-
other high-ender; Cobie’s rig was new, not
There are things I know how to do, but it’s
compatible with older models. Okay, check
cheaper and easier and faster to hire someone
the connections, see if Cobie had partnered.
else for certain tasks.
There’s a thought.
I went to see Miranda.
Maybe “Death by Oompah” hadn’t been
No, not in person. Nobody sees Miranda in
planted by malware. Maybe Cobie had a
person. You go to a public access, an empori-
hookup, a regular one, someone he trusted.
um, a café, never the same one twice. You get
Maybe the hookup had said, “Let’s share a fan-
a private booth, you punch in the number Mi-
tasy,” and sent him a kink. And then, our little
randa has given you, then you wait. Miranda
Cobie, trusting the hookup, not noticing it
gives a different number to each of her cus-
had been f lickering around the net, had
tomers, that’s how she knows who’s calling—
plugged it in and—
by what line you come in on.
But, no—that’s stupid. If you’re planning a
If Miranda wants to talk to you, the screen
murder, you want to make sure you leave no
f lashes with another number—a burner, a
fingerprints, especially not digital ones.
proxy, a labyrinth. You take that to another
Okay, wait—
booth, not close by either, tap that, and you’re
Consider. The hookup knows he’s going to
connected. Or not. Sometimes Miranda will
kill Cobie—so he builds a burner identity. It
take you through two, three, a dozen separate
has to be a sophisticated one, with an elabo-
burner-tracks.
rate history, one that would fool even a high-
If you don’t follow Miranda’s rules, if you
level sniffer. And if Cobie had a high-end bot,
try to trace Miranda, if you ask the wrong
then he’d likely have a high-level sniffer. And it
questions, you get permanently blocked. Mi-
would have gone off like a f ire alarm if it
randa disappears from your world. Forever. In-
didn’t trust the source.
stead of a number, you get a “no results”
So no. That didn’t make sense.
screen. And no, you can’t go through proxies
Okay, wait—
either, human or otherwise—once you’re
Let’s say the hookup created it, bounced it
blocked, you’re blocked. Miranda’s a tracker. If
around, sent it to himself—herself ?—and
she blocks you, she assumes you’re an enemy,
then sent it on to Cobie from the burner iden-
and she watches you very carefully.
tity. Yeah, maybe. That might work. And as
Some people speculate that Miranda’s not
soon as Cobie died, the burner identity would
human, just a very good A.I. Or maybe she’s a
vanish.
conglomerate. She could be, she charges
Um, no. There’d be a record of the identi-
enough—I don’t speculate. I just pay for her
ty—there just wouldn’t be a trackable source
services.
for it. It would probably have gone through
Miranda lit up quickly. Today, her avatar was
the same maze of connections as the kink.
a very skeptical Bette Davis. Very Margo Chan-
Hmm. Hm. Hm.
ning, cigarette holder and all. “Cobie Fergu-
I might have to leave the office for this one.
son,” she said.
Crap.
“Yes.”
Okay. Time to put on my legs. I rolled over
“You want him deep-traced, all transactions.
to the sideboard and waved at the walker. It lit
Meatspace tracking, Endless City, and any as-
up, stood up, took three steps forward and
sociated activities. How far back?” She took a
held itself in place. I lifted myself up from the
puff for effect.
122
DAVID GERROLD
JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2018
“A year should do it.”
and screeching.
“Six months should be enough,” she said.
Nice. Very nice.
“But I’ll look for anomalies at least three years
Another clue. Someone didn’t want me to
back. That’s the larger window of probability.
read Miranda’s report. Someone smart enough
Anything else?”
to know I would link to Miranda, but not
“Special focus on relationships, please. I’m
smart enough to know that my off ice was a
looking for motives.”
Potemkin. Obviously, someone who spends
“Of course. I’ll send you an invoice. Do you
too much time in Endless City. Someone smart
want a cap on expenses?”
enough to put a tracker on Miranda—she
I considered it. “The client is covering the
wasn
’t going to like that. Unless this was her
cost.”
doing. Whatever. I couldn’t trust her again.
She paused. She was searching. “The client
Not until this was sorted out. One way to find
can afford it. No problem.” Another pause.
out if she was responsible—call her and see if
“Interesting. The client prepared for his own
I’m blocked. But that would have to wait till
murder. I’ll include all of that too. It’ll be wait-
later.
ing for you when you get home. You might
I got up quickly and headed toward the
want to fasten your seat belt. It’s going to be a
back of the café, not so fast as to draw atten-
bumpy ride.” She clicked off, leaving me won-
tion, but fast enough to disappear from the
dering if she was being sarcastic, or if that had
scene. Out through the kitchen, past the dish-
been a warning.
washers, into the alley, two doors down, and
I found out soon enough.
in, up the back stairs. I had maybe two min-
utes, I needed only one—
My physical office is in a building identical
Stepped in, hit the red button on the wall,
to the one in Endless City. The interior is a
opened the closet, pushed the side wall of the
match as well, a dusty corner off ice with a
closet open, stepped through to the matching
couple of dirty f ile cabinets and various
closet of the apartment on the other side. Be-
framed papers on the wall.
hind me, an entire identity was evaporating.
It’s a deliberate match, another part of the
Everything. It would take less than thirty sec-
performance. Everything is performance. I
onds to shred that existence.
haven’t been inside the building in seven
This apartment was intentionally bare.
months.
Merely a transfer station. I stripped off my
In truth, I’m in the building across the street
clothes, dropped everything—all my hard-
and two floors down. In the afternoons, I park
ware too—into the shredder, then naked back
myself at the corner table of the outdoor café.
into the closet—touched the wall the right
I have a lettuce-and-tomato sandwich on
way and the floor dropped me into the closet
whole wheat and coffee while I study the
of the apartment below, then slapped back
news. I don’t see clients in meatspace, only in
into place. An easy fall, I bounced on the tram-
the City. Realtime is for research.
poline.
My professional persona is a burner identi-
Overkill? Yes. Searchers would certainly
ty, constructed on top of several proxies. Mi-
find the first escape route, they’d assume I’d
randa could trace the path, I doubt anyone
changed clothes and gone out the back door.
else could—probably she already has, other-
By the time they realized that was a dead end,
wise she wouldn’t have taken my business.
I should be on the other side of the city, on
I’m pretty sure a lot of what Miranda does is
my way out of the state.
too deep in the wires to be legal, but I’m too
Padded to the shower, pulled myself out of
smart to ask.
my exo-legs, hung onto the grips, and
I pulled out a burner pad and downloaded
punched for decontamination. Went through
Miranda’s reports. As soon as I tapped to open
the cycle three times, prayed it would be
the f ile, the second f loor of the building
enough, and waited for the blowers to finish
across the street—my office—exploded. The
drying me.
corner windows shattered outward, south and
I hated to lose the legs; they were expen-
east, gouts of fire and glass and smoke, knock-
sive, and I hadn’t f inished breaking them in,
ing down pedestrians, sending cars skidding
but I couldn’t trust them anymore. I couldn’t
ENDLESS CITY
123
ANALOG
even buy another set. If they—the mysterious
If they held up even a week, they’d be gold.
“they”—were tracking buyers, the same set of
legs would be a big red arrow pointing at me.
I could afford it, but I was still pissed. Dis-
I whistled for—god, I hate them, but no
appearing, transferring, reinventing—it was
choice—the fat lady. Two f lubbery dark ele-
time-consuming, it was expensive. And I was
phant props. Not graceful, but . . . you want to
no closer to solving the case. If anything, the
be invisible, be a fat black lady waddling off to
case had gotten far more complicated.
some night job cleaning toilets for people
Someone had found a perversely ingenious
who think their money deodorizes their turds.
way to commit murder—he or she or whatev-
The disguise took a while, too many parts to
er had killed Cobie Ferguson. But Cobie Fer-
it—the fat suit, the dress, the hidden compart-
guson had found out somehow. He’d
ments in the legs, under the tits, under the
discovered he was in danger—and he must
folds of flesh, even behind the big fat ass, and
have taken steps to protect himself, but just in
a few other places too—and then power up
case he’d also taken care to provide for the
the new identity, hoping to hell it hasn’t al-
subsequent investigation. He’d put a lot of key
ready been compromised, grab the purse and
pieces in place; he’d hired me. But he didn’t
two huge shopping bags that pass for luggage
know who the murderer would be, that was
when you’re scraping poor—
weird in itself, and now someone—probably
If it got me out of the city, it was f ine. I’d
the same murderer, but don’t make assump-
pass through at least two more identities be-
tions—had tried to stop me from investigat-
fore I came up for air and looked around. Four
ing.
blocks away, a circuitous route, there was a re-
Had to think about that. I’d assumed that
cycling station—the fat lady would go in, a
the person who’d planted the bomb wasn’t
teenage screwhead would wander out, a skin-
smart enough to f ind me in meatspace—but
ny junkie-hustler with a peg below the knee.
what if I was mistaken about that? What if he
He’d shamble aimlessly for a while, then take
was, and the bomb wasn’t an attempt to kill
the tube north toward the Jumble, and some-
me, just scare me off ?
where in there he’d vanish too. Max
But . . . no, I don’t get scared off. Not that
Blankman—not his real name, just a transfer
easily. If anything, the disruption of my busi-
identity—would catch a train or a bus or
ness, the destruction of a carefully const
ruct-
maybe a ferry across the river—
ed identity, had pissed me off—enough that I
And three days from now, a f luffy old lady
was more committed than ever to crack this
with a couple of robot cats would purchase a
one.
little pink gazebo in Lavender Meadows. Her
I still had Miranda’s report. I’d relayed it to a
wife had died a few months previously, and
safe haven, scanned it, and stripped it of all
she still hadn’t f igured out what to do with
tracking macros. Now, I f inally had time to
the rest of her life. Zoe Elaina Kilmartin had
study it in depth.
been a librarian once, a specialist in arcane re-
Miranda’s research had been thorough, but
search of all kinds. Occasionally she still ac-
it still didn’t reveal much. Cobie’s online iden-
cepted part-time work from authors and
tity was respectable—too respectable; obvi-
f ilmmakers, so she maintained a T-3 band-
ously he’d run himself through a cleaning
width.
service, probably several. There weren’t any
Lavender Meadows was not specif ically
connections that called attention to them-
part of Endless City, but it used some of the
selves either. Probably, the circles he moved
same data-pipes. A skilled wirehead could
in, they all had continuing cleaning services.
proxy through. Of course, Ms. Kilmartin
I sat in the little pink gazebo, studying the
couldn’t possibly know that the access in her
wraparound display, frowning to myself, tap-
gazebo had been proxied by a skilled wire-
ping my teeth, and saying some very unlady-
head several years before, and any deep search
like things.
of her hardware would reveal that most of the
Miranda’s reports were always hyper-de-
research jobs she’d taken on were deliciously
tailed. Sometimes she pointed out interesting
kinky but nowhere near dangerous or illegal.
anomalies. Sometimes she left them for me to
But, oh those proxies—
discover myself. And sometimes they just
124
DAVID GERROLD
JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2018
leapt out of the display and shouted, “Here I
morphs’? That’s useful information. If the blot
am!”
goes into a store, what kind of a store? Cloth-
Let’s start with an assumption, a logical one:
ing? Male? Female? Uni? If the blot moves from
that whoever planned to kill Cobie Ferguson
here to there—did it take a bus? A taxi? The
had been tracking his movements, stalking
Analog Science Fiction and Fact Page 34