Marlowe looked in the rear view mirror. Gwen and Artie had de-opaqued the mirrored windshield and were glaring at him. Gwen was foaming at the mouth, fists shaking with apoplectic rage, while Artie’s mono brow had furled into a thick angry slash across his forehead, his hand pounding on the light switch.
“Car, how many times have we driven around the block?”
The Studebaker gave three quick honks. The car couldn’t talk; Marlowe had ripped out the audio system as soon as he’d made the last payment. The car was very whiny and prone to verbalizing its views on Communists and the latest fashion trends, which drove Marlowe nuts.
“Three times? No wonder they’re angry back there. Just drop me off out front, and keep circling until you find a spot or I call you.”
The Studebaker finished its circuit and paused just long enough in front of the entrance to City Hall for Marlowe to get out. The stretch tank with Gwen and Artie plowed up onto the sidewalk and stopped just short of the marble steps, sending pedestrians scattering. The hatch popped open and the Governor’s two enforcers climbed out.
Gwen was tall, broad-shouldered, and layered with muscles. She had black stubble for hair, was missing her left eye, and this morning had a drooling problem. Artie was short, swarthy, and extremely irritable when he wasn’t beating someone up. Marlowe knew this from experience. Artie also had large flapping ears, suffered from male pattern baldness, and was sensitive about his mono brow.
“Gwen, Artemis, how are you?”
Gwen stepped to his left, Artie to his right, each talking hold of one arm. They lifted him and started up the marble steps. Because of their height difference, though, Marlowe saw the world through a new, tilted perspective.
“Oh, nothing but these dreadful errands,” replied Artie. “The Governor needs a certain individual, and who does he send out to collect him? Us. I tell you, our talents are wasted.”
Gwen grunted. “I uz at the denis.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“She was at the dentist’s office, getting a new implant. She hates going to the dentist, and just wanted to get it over with. But the dentist had no sooner jabbed her with the NoMoPain, when the Governor called. ’Go and collect Marlowe, right now!’ So she’s gonna have to go back and get another injection.”
Gwen’s grip, already uncomfortably tight around Marlowe’s arm, increased in strength.
“Well, that explains the drooling, eh, Gwen?”
She squeezed even tighter, and Marlowe’s left hand began to tingle.
“Well, Artemis,” continued Marlowe, who had learned never to call him Artie to his face, “now we know the answer to the age old question.”
Artie was starting to huff and puff, a sheen of sweat forming just above his mono brow. “What age old question?”
“Where does a four hundred kilo gorilla park his stretch tank? In front of City Hall.”
Gwen and Artie, without slowing down, looked at each other and nodded. Suddenly Marlowe found himself upside down, his head not so gently bobbing against the marble steps.
“What was that, Marlowe? Did you say something you thought was funny?”
“Ew know, a ‘uvernor dinnit say anyhing about Marwo being conchus.”
“I’m sorry, Gwen, I couldn’t quite make that out from this angle.”
“She said,” Artie interjected, dropping Marlowe on his head with each syllable for emphasis, “that the Governor didn’t say anything about you being conscious when we brought you in.”
“But he did. To me. Didn’t he tell you why I’m here? Doesn’t he trust you enough to keep you in the loop?”
And suddenly Marlowe was upright again. They had cleared the steps and now had him pressed up against the marble facade, where a stone facsimile of his brother’s nose dug into his right shoulder blade. Gwen held him down as Artie pounded him in the gut a couple of times, and then they traded places and Gwen took a turn pounding him. Marlowe had gauged correctly – they were in a good mood and receptive to the playful banter. Had he misread them, he’d be getting new teeth while in the Governor’s waiting room. They had a dentist on hand at City Hall for just such occasions. A session with her invariably meant a trip to a private dentist afterwards to undo the damage. But Artie and Gwen, despite her aborted dental visit, were feeling OK today and just roughed him up moderately. His plasma-resistant armor absorbed most of the impact anyway.
The rest of the journey through City Hall to the Governor’s office was a blur. Maybe because Gwen had socked Marlowe once in each eye before they resumed their trip. But as the eyes watered and the nano probes restored them to their spherical shape, Marlowe was alarmed to discover that he hadn’t been dumped in the Governor’s waiting room to cool his heels for a couple of hours, but had been deposited directly into the Governor’s office. And not the official one, with all the hidden cameras and microphones. This was the private office, the office he’d been called to as a kid when father was angry.
As offices went, it was actually pretty tasteful. Modestly sized, with a brushed aluminum desk, dark wood paneling, and a shimmering purple heather rug that rippled in the simulated breeze. Some tasteful watercolors adorned the walls, and a large bay Virtu-window opened out onto a green pasture where a herd of cows quietly nibbled on grass and chewed their cuds. Marlowe recognized the view – channel eighty six on satellite. A very expensive channel; Marlowe couldn’t afford it at home and had to pirate it.
Gwen and Artie dumped Marlowe into a pastel yellow leather sofa resting against the wall across from the desk. Marlowe sank into its depths, literally hugged by the cushions. The embrace had the disconcerting effect of preventing him from standing.
“You know, a word from me and that sofa will crush you like a cockroach.”
Behind the brushed aluminum desk, in a matching pastel yellow leather-upholstered throne, sat Marlowe’s brother, His Most Honorable Governor of the City. Marlowe could hear the hum of the magic massage fingers emanating from the plush, majestic chair. The Governor was a tall man, a regal man, a man who couldn’t grow a beard to save his life. Not that this fact stopped him from trying. He had a splotchy, threadbare-in-places rug of a beard that made Marlowe cringe just to look at it. Or maybe that was a residual effect of the beating from Gwen and Artie.
His brother had tried implants to fill out the beard, but his immune system had rejected them. The nano probes could counter this rejection, but they had to work so hard at it he needed to completely replace the probes every two weeks. That was too costly and invasive. He tried synthetics, but hadn’t been pleased with the results – despite years and years of research, no one had been able to get synthetic hair that looked real. Spray-on hair looked better, but still not that great, and was just too much effort and led to embarrassing stains on his hands if he stroked it too much. Finally, his brother gave up, and took to imprisoning anyone who commented on his facial hair.
Despite a colony of Botox that had been genetically engineered to survive indefinitely under the surface of his skin, the heavy burden of the Office of Governor had ravaged his face with deep gouges and lines. The skin was pasty, the eyebrows sagged, and the only thing soothing about his visage were the placid gray eyes. They shimmered, in a soothing way, the result of iris implants.
“You’re not going to kill me. You’ve gone to too much trouble bringing me here just to kill your only brother.”
The Governor laughed, though the heartiness seemed forced. “How ya doing, Spares?”
The sofa squeezed a little in response to Marlowe’s involuntary stiffening. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Sorry, sorry,” said his brother, the gray eyes flashing sympathetically. “Terribly insensitive of me.”
“Sorry to disturb you,” piped up House’s voice in Marlowe’s ear, “but he’s most likely attempting to evoke a nostalgic response with the nickname, to soften you up. And his eyes are flashing a subliminal message to trust him. I have taken the liberty of employing countermeasures. Also, I
have some wonderful news to share. But I’ll wait until you get home. You’ll be thrilled.”
Marlowe cleared his throat. He couldn’t respond to House without his brother hearing, or he would have launched into a tirade about surprises and keeping things from him. It would have to wait.
“Marlowe, I find myself in a delicate situation, and I need your expertise to extract myself from it.”
“One hundred Cituros a day, plus expenses.”
“Dearest brother, I’m family!”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. Two hundred a day.”
“Really, dear brother, you forget yourself. Where do you think you’d be without me watching over you? I think you’d find life a lot more difficult without my, shall we say, patronage. Don’t you agree?”
“No. I’d almost certainly be a lot healthier. I wouldn’t have quite so many run-ins with Gwen and Artie, for starters. You’d think being the brother of the Governor would afford me some slack in life. But despite your comically haphazard attempts to pretend I’m not a relation, which fools only the most dimwitted and least threatening of your opponents, the bulk of your adversaries are under the mistaken impression you care about me. They keep trying to hurt you through me.”
“I know. I deliberately foster that belief so they don’t hurt the people I do care about.”
“Well, I certainly respect your honesty.” Not, he mentally added.
“Listen, Gervase, or whatever you’re calling yourself these days, I need someone I can trust to handle a slight problem. You forget to send me Xmas cards every year, I contemplate having you deported almost daily. We have our issues. But we both also have a common enemy. Obedere. A defeat for me is a winner-takes-all victory for him, and I know you’ll want to deny him that. If not to save our lives, then just out of sheer spite. And, as an added bonus, I pay very well. Three hundred Cituros a day, plus expenses, plus the full backing and resources of the Office of the Governor if you’ll handle this.”
Three hundred a day got Marlowe’s attention. “I’m listening.”
“Just over an hour ago, a craft of some type crashed into the Northeast Rural District One collective farm. The crash completely wiped out the Brussels sprout crop and severely damaged the kale yield.”
“Go on,” said Marlowe.
“There was one survivor. A woman.”
Marlowe shrugged. “So what’s the problem here? The law’s clear. She damaged City food production, she’s facing a capital charge. You’ve never had any qualms about executions before.”
“A news vid team managed to get on the scene and report the crash,” said the Governor. “The people know that the Brussels sprout crop has been wiped out. The quantum computers are already projecting eighty percent odds she’ll become a folk hero, and executing her could lead to a rebellion with her as the rallying cry.”
“So don’t execute her. Give her a medal, make nice with her and ride the coattails of her popularity.”
The Governor shook his head. “Not that easy. Obedere was first on the scene. He’s already arrested her, and if I had gotten wind of all this just two minutes later than I did, she’d have already been executed.”
“So Obedere wants to carry out the law.”
“Of course,” said the Governor, “and that’s the great irony. He has every legal right to do it, but if I let him, it causes me no end of trouble. There have been more whispers of discontent lately, and I don’t need that right now.”
“You never need it. So where do I come in?”
“Ah, yes. Here’s the twist. This woman, she claims to be from outer space.”
Marlowe barked out loud with laughter. The sofa tightened up a bit at the outburst. “And I’m a Lost Martian! Sounds like a candidate for the City Municipal Hospital for the Criminally Deranged, if you ask me. Of course, you did want to seem tough on crime and repealed the insanity defense in capital cases a couple of years ago. Not looking like such a bright idea now, is it?”
“Listen Marlowe. I’m not so sure she isn’t from outer space. Her craft, or what’s left of it, wasn’t a jet. And when it showed up on our radar, it came from nowhere. Nothing on the screens, and then a dot at supersonic speed that plowed into the Brussels sprouts field. Like someone dropped it from above right into our air space.”
“Come on, you can’t be serious.”
“Listen to me. Obedere’s been drooling for the Governorship ever since he made Chief Minister of Policing. That’s where I was before I ascended to the throne. It’s only natural to want to move up. If he manages to get her executed, you can bet your bottom City scrip he’ll make sure I bear the brunt of popular discontent.”
“Well,” said Marlowe, “you did write that particular law calling for the death penalty-”
“You see, that’s exactly how it will play out on the street. Whip up some public sentiment against me, have a few trusted and well-placed allies move in, and suddenly I’m dead, Obedere’s Governor, and you’re in the Ministry of Policing Maximum Security Detention Facility, wishing for death.”
“What can I possibly do? The law’s the law.”
“Yes, it is. And if you read the law carefully, you’ll find there is an exemption clause. ’Outstanding circumstances beyond a reasonable individual’s control.’ If you can prove she’s really from outer space, I’ll invoke that clause, pardon her, and then throw a parade in her honor.”
“Prove she’s from outer space?! But that’s preposterous!”
“Listen to me, Marlowe. Your job is to prove she’s from outer space, whether or not she is.”
Marlowe closed his eyes so his brother couldn’t see him rolling them. “And if I don’t take the case?”
“Then your car will be towed – to the impound lot. If you know what I mean.”
“Where do I start?”
“You’re the detective. You decide. The woman is being held at the Ministry of Policing. I did manage to arrange for a more comfortable cell for her, but I wouldn’t dawdle too long before taking her into your custody and out of Obedere’s.”
“Then I better get cracking.”
“If you visit her, and I’m assuming at some point you will, Obedere will be waiting. He’s bound to interfere. He’ll want you to fail. But that’s not an option.”
“Brother, have I ever failed you before?”
“Yes, many times. But in this particular instance, it’s your hide too. You have an incentive to succeed. Coochie, let him go.”
The sofa cushions relaxed and Marlowe was able to get up. Artie and Gwen materialized out of nowhere and each latched onto an arm.
“OK, Marlowe, I’ll update your status on the CityNet. You’ll have almost as much authority as Obedere now, and in some specific situations, more. He’s bound to resent that, which is the primary reason I’m giving you this power. Anyone gives you trouble, tell them to check on the net.
“Artie, Gwen, please be kind enough to take him back to his car. Gently. Oh, and Marlowe, before you go, one last thing I need to mention. An added complication, as it were.”
Gwen and Artie crossed over the threshold of the office door and spun Marlowe around so he could face his brother for this final revelation. The Governor paused for a moment, trying to sound repentant while clearly struggling not to burst into laughter.
“Dad isn’t dead, he’s alive, he’s escaped from the City Municipal Hospital for the Criminally Deranged, and when I secretly committed him to that hospital after the coup, I led him to believe you arranged for the commitment. So watch your back.”
The door sliced shut, cutting Marlowe off from his brother. Gwen and Artie dragged him, backwards and jaw gaping, all the way back to the street. They derived so much mirth from the Governor’s final revelation and its effect on Marlowe that they didn’t even bother to beat him up before releasing him. Well, not much, anyway.
CHAPTER 5
NEVER TRUST OLD FRIENDS OR SPACEWOMEN
Marlowe picked himself up from the foot of the City Hall ste
ps where his escorts had tossed him and hailed his Studebaker, which was still circling around the block in quest of parking. The car rumbled to a stop in the middle of the street, triggering a hail of horn blasts. Marlowe dashed across the lanes and jumped into the already open driver’s side door.
“House, pipe in my favorite music.”
“I never deactivated the encryption.”
“You heard everything in my brother’s office?”
“Yes.”
“OK, then map me out the most efficient route to the following destinations: the three reconstitution shops Tray’s most likely to be at, the Ministry of Policing, and the crash site.”
“I’ve already taken the liberty of downloading them to the car.”
“Car, let’s go. Where’s our first stop, House?”
“Ministry of Policing.”
“Nuts. Why is it always the bad news first?”
“Are you really expecting any good news today?”
“I live in hope.”
A tone of playful mischief entered House’s voice. “Don’t you want to ask me about the surprise?”
“No. I know what you’ll say if I ask. You’ll just bait me with vague hints and a refusal to spoil the surprise.” Marlowe was in no mood to play this game with House.
Marlowe and the Spacewoman Page 5