by Colin Harvey
"I've had enough of this." Sunny pressed a switch and, as the showroom doors slid open, he strode across to the Thunderbird.
"So much for energy conservation," Marietetski said.
Sunny snorted. "Such words are the bleating of sheep. I might have guessed you'd be one of them." He gunned the engine and drove off.
Marietetski said, "There goes a man who earns his income from his father's empire of drugs, prostitution and moneylaundering. Yet I find that more forgivable than that damned heap of junk."
Rupa reappeared a couple of minutes later. "Mr Kotian let him go four weeks ago," she said. "We have an address, if that helps." She read it out.
Marietetski checked that it was the same as they already had. He nodded. "Thanks," he said as she strode across to the switch and closed the doors.
"Come on, John. Let's go shake Papa's tree. See if anything falls out."
"You don't think they're going to be that dumb?"
Shah grinned. "No, but it'll make me feel better."
"Mr Kotian," Shah said. "You know this lady?" He sent a picture to Kotian's eyepiece.
A few feet away Marietetski wrinkled his nose at the overpowering aroma of spices.
"Aurora," Kotian said. "She's kept me company sometimes. Is she in trouble?"
"She's missing," Shah said.
"Really?"
"Really," Shah said.
Kotian's eyes narrowed. "You're suggesting that I've done – what?" When no one answered, Kotian said, "If you have some evidence, charge me. If you don't, get off my property and stop wasting my time."
"We'll leave, Mr Kotian," Shah said. "But we'll return. Be sure of that."
XVI
The Pacific fog is finally clearing the tops of the pines, firs and cedars, and the sun is breaking through. A chill westerly from Asia puckers the flesh on your thighs. It's been three days since you slept indoors – this part of rural Oregon is sparsely populated. You probably stink, but there's no one around to smell it.
You've been walking since first light and the blisters on your feet have split already, but you've almost reached the top of the hill and if you keep going, you might actually see your destination.
You allow your mind to go blank, lifting one foot, then the other. Trudge. Trudge. Ignore the squelch of blood and pus. Feel the sun on your face. Into the vacuum of your thoughts comes the memory of Old Man Button's voice, from one of his endless history lectures: "We always try to reduce the world to simplicity. Think of those old films where the people of the future wore shiny silver suits. As if the whole world could ever be reduced to homogeneity. A time-traveler from the twen-cen to one part of our world would think, 'Wow! All these people and their clever devices!' If they visited another part, they might think the locals were savages." He sighs. "But given that one function of history is to over-simplify the past so we can understand it, think this of your parents' generation; as the oil began to run out, humanity was at its technological apex. Think how things might be different had they managed to eke out five more years' progress before we had to ration what oil was left. Think how it would be if we could spend our time advancing our civilization instead of – as we so often must – merely keeping things working. To a large extent we haven't stopped inventing, just stopped making new things, especially those that rely on petrochemicals."
Finally, the brow of the hill is in sight. You see a rusting green sign that says "Siskiyou Mountain Summit" and beneath it, "Elev. 4310 ft."
The answer to his rhetorical question is on the other side of the summit, a mile to south – the California Wall. Rumor has it that it's impassable, but there are other rumors, that there are gaps in the wall.
You have to take the chance. North of Jefferson it's over four hundred miles to Seattle, and the tales of gold-paved streets in San Francisco and Los Angeles make it no contest. You were always headed for California the minute your mom's new friend Vern put a meaty hand on your leg. It just took a few years for it to become clear.
Trudge. Step. Trudge. Step.
Finally, there it is. The ground starts to slope downwards. It's a mile to the state line.
There's the Wall, looming out of the fog.
It has to be at least a half a kilometer high, concave, a beige concrete line scarring the entire width of the valley ahead of you, running from the Pacific around California's state line, implacable in its purpose.
You make out what looks like a township at its base. Hitching your bag strap higher on your shoulder, you start walking with renewed purpose and the faintest of hopes. Maybe you can work your way to an upgrade, become a cyborg – if they exist – serving the Upload Nation as an interface with the world of the flesh.
Your hopes fade as you approach, slowly, your speed decreasing with every weary step. The township is simply a ragged band of canvas tents leaning against the base of the wall, most of them with the fabric rotting away.
You sit down on the tarmac, and give way to despair.
XVII
Saturday
"Snow?" Shah muttered as they emerged from the betting shop. "What the hell is this? Snow in late May – what happened to the climate getting warmer?"
"That was last week's prediction," Marietetski said. "This week's is the Gulf Stream'll switch off, like they thought years ago." He snorted. "It'll be something else next week."
Shah might as well have not heard him. "Where did this come from? It weren't snowing when we set out."
"Climate change," Marietetski turned up the collar on his coat, but making no more effort than Shah to leave the comparative shelter of the awning. "Don't you just love it?"
"Especially when – as far as you're concerned – you just been in California in the summer, earlier this morning." Shah glanced at Marietetski. "Did ya study that clip?"
Until now, Marietetski had tended to concentrate on phone work and liaising with other departments – one of the reasons his solve rate was so much better than Shah's. He didn't solve cases, but moved them on. But ever since Shah's arrest Marietetski seemed to have a new perspective on clips, as if having to study them had made him realize how difficult a job Shah's was, and he carefully studied each download after Shah had been over it.
"Yeah, I had a look. No dates, no times, no signs of building work to give it a date–" Marietetski just caught Shah's triumphant grin and added hastily, "except that the building of the California wall wasn't until…" he checked his piece. "2034."
"Good man. You're improving. Sherlock Holmes used to say about Watson, 'You see but you do not observe,' and that's what a lot of download work is. Observation." Shah added, "Interesting memory of her teacher."
"The one that said that our grandfathers were at the technologial apex?" Marietetski said. "Pfui."
"Pfui yourself. You've seen the clips of thirty, forty years ago. How many more people there were, how everyone had foreign holidays, drove cars. Christ, we got to sign a car out the pool for any long distances, and walk or subway everywhere else."
"That's just conspicuous consumption, that's not clever," Marietetski said. "Did they have memory burns? Eyepieces? Look at the prosthetics available to those who want 'em; plus whatever's happening in California."
"Yeah, exactly – whatever in California's case. Eyepieces? Just a fancier version of an eyepod or whatever it was came before it. Memory downloads was the last great advance, and that's only a side effect."
"Of what?" Marietetski said. "We got twenty times the access to information that my grandpa had."
"But he had fifty, a hundred times what his grandpa had. If Homeland Security hadn't been looking for a better way to get info, we'd never have had 'pieces at all. It isn't the first time The Man's developed something that the rest of us found a better use for."
"Nah, Pete, we was always going to end up with something hands-free. And if it weren't for the Dieback and then the oil crash, we'd have much more stuff–"
"That's my point, John! We got so far, and then ran out of materials �
� not intelligence – to develop new technology. Most of our research now is to work out how we can stretch the lifetimes of stuff that's already built, or making things work without reliance on petrochem, not inventing new things."
"Come on, man! You can't say we're sliding back to barbarism? That's bull!"
"Not yet. We're cleverer than ever at stretching our resources, but we got less of 'em, and what we have are owned by fewer and fewer people. But unless something changes, unless California takes down the walls, or the Pan-Asians or Pan-Islamists make a real go of space exploration, unless something changes, we could be about a generation away from falling back to maybe something like a Pre-Industrial Age."
Marietetski snorted, clearly unconvinced.
Meanwhile, Shah peered up at the leaden sky. He sighed. "Not the tiniest bit of blue. This isn't going to pass over anytime soon." He shivered in the bitter wind. "Why don't we randomly audit a deli?"
Marietetski's shoulders shook as he blew on his hands. "Van Doorn will chew us a new windpipe."
"If he finds out."
"He could find out anytime he wants, just by downloading your eyepiece."
"OK, we'll compromise," Shah said. "We won't walk back yet." Earlier that morning a crash on the line had gridlocked the subway system, and the streets were mysteriously empty of pedicabs, while neither man could afford a mechanized cab. "But we'll remember some questions we forgot to ask Forry earlier." He jerked his thumb at the betting shop.
Marietetski shook his head. "Just bite down on it." He set off, followed by Shah.
The snow was just heavy enough to stick, which suited Shah. He hated it when the stuff turned to slush, which it doubtless would as soon as the flurry passed over – he could now glimpse the first tiny patches of blue in the cloud's wake.
Marietetski was waiting for him at the corner, but the younger man swiveled from side to side, impatiently looking to see if the street was clear. "Was there anything else on that California clip?"
"Nothing useful," Shah said as he caught up, and they crossed gingerly. "Sturgeon's Law applies."
"Who?"
Shah said, "This guy decided that ninety percent of everything was crap." He laughed. "He must have worked for NYPD. This clip was one of the ninety percent. It isn't that old, but there must be something else washing around, 'cause there's nothing there to indicate where the ripping happened, or who did it."
"So another dead end?"
"Sturgeon's Law certainly applies to our caseload."
They walked in companionable silence for several minutes, until they neared the end of the next block and the next crossing. Marietetski checked his watch. "You realize we aren't going to be back for shift end?"
"You go straight home, John. I'll finish up some things."
"Pete, you aren't going to go treading on anyone's toes, are you?"
"What do you mean?"
Marietetski looked troubled. "Showing Aurora's picture to Kotian, when it's Hughes and Beckett's case."
"Oh, I was just cranking him up, John. No, I'm going back to the office. Paperwork seems strangely appealing compared to going home."
"That good?" Marietetski said.
Shah shrugged. "Leslyn and I had a row last night. Something I should have done, and hadn't. I was getting to it, but she never believes it's next on my to-do list. Said I treat her like a housekeeper, which is crap. Just that if I don't do it when she wants it done, it's proof positive I was never going to do it."
"Oh," Marietetski mouthed.
"Needless to say The Chocolate Fireguard backed her up."
Marietetski grinned. "Some day I got to meet this guy, see if he's as big a penis-head as you make out."
"Oh, trust me. I talk him up – he's worse than I make out. Less he knows about something, the longer he can lecture you 'bout it."
They crossed another intersection. Marietetski said, "Why don't y'all come round for dinner? There'll only be three of us, 'cause Neil's working tonight. But that's good, evens the numbers up."
"What, bring McCoy? You really are a sucker for punishment."
"Go on," Marietetski said. "Be brave. Bring him round."
Shah made the call, and the others' avatars popped up split screen in his eyepiece. "Hey, we got a dinner invite, if you have no previous plans."
Shah guessed the pause was while they looked at each other. "OK," they said together.
"I'll get back to you when John's confirmed the time."
"Are you coming home first?" Leslyn said, voice still cool.
"Be home in about an hour. We're just walking back from a call uptown. And yeah, I'll be doing the laundry. Later."
"I left messages with the others," Marietetski said. "Asking them to confirm the time." He looked up at the sky. "Looks like the snow's passing over."
"Good," said Shah, promptly skidding, and slowing down even more. "I hate snow."
They walked in silence for another block, until Marietetski said, "You know, you haven't mentioned this Aurora once since the news broke that you were off the hook."
"Funny that, isn't it?" Shah said. "You think that I'd be talking about it non-stop."
"I guess that as a Muslim, you disapprove," Marietetski said. "Is that right? Does the Qur'an have opinions on intersex people?"
"I think that for most people the word 'abomination' covers it, though a few liberals think otherwise," Shah said, thinking of the Imam. He added, "Can we change the subject?"
"Because you were fooled? Or does the whole subject disgust you?" Marietetski said. "You know I'm bi? Neil and me, it's not like you and McCoy sharing a partner rotationally."
Shah opened his mouth and closed it again. Rotationally? He thought, trying to banish the images the word conjured. "Yeah, I know. I got no problem with that." If he were honest, one of the reasons he'd never visited Marietetski's place before was that he wasn't quite sure how he felt about the possibility of Marietetski and his male partner being openly affectionate. "So you and the girls?"
"Oh, we got a rota for that, too. Just like your laundry."
"Yeah, funny."
"I wasn't when I asked you about your, uh, girl," Marietetski said. "I got no problem with gender, but you obviously have."
Shah exhaled. "I guess I'm mostly pissed because he – she, it, whatever – fooled me. But also, I really liked her. I let my guard down, and look what happened."
"What you going to do if we ever see her again?"
"Nothing. We had to drop the identity fraud charges. We've got nothing to say to each other."
"Haw," Marietetski said. "You're so deep in denial, you're up your own ass."
They had reached a corner, and while Shah stopped for an oncoming pedicab, Marietetski dashed across the road, drawing a barrage of abuse from the cabbie. Shah waited and crossed to where a sheepish-looking Marietetski waited. "Thought you was with me," the younger cop said.
Shah wagged a finger at him. "You are so damned impatient."
"Part of my charm."
"Maybe," Shah said with a grin. "But while I find opinion, impatience and ambition constantly amusing, not everyone finds a rookie with that combination so endearing."
"Uh-oh. I sense a wise sage lecture coming on."
"I'm not going to waste my time, John. I know you think you already know it all."
"I know I don't. That's why they teamed me with you."
Shah continued as if Marietetski hadn't spoken, "You've already irritated a lot of people within the Department, and made enemies out on the streets – that isn't a promising combination for someone who wants promotion." He laughed. "And you're lecturing me on compromise? That's quite something."
"Well, maybe seeing you beat yourself up is the reason I'm suddenly embracing the concept."
"It's a bit late for epiphany."
They had been so deep in conversation that Shah hadn't paid attention to their surroundings; he belatedly realized that they were passing through a block haunted by dealers, hookers and other crims.
Some sixth sense had just triggered.
It was too late. A blow sent him sprawling, and as he landed, a flare of pain shooting up his wrist, a boot caught him in the ribs, knocking the last of the wind out of him. The blow of the impact jerked his head around, scraping his eyepiece away. Moments later he heard the crunch of it being trodden on and ground to minute fragments. "Help!" Shah shouted, but the sound of blows and grunts told him that Marietetski was occupied.
Shah caught a glimpse of a masked assailant, before someone grabbed his ankles and dragged him backwards into an alleyway. Marietetski shouted, "Officer down! Track our eyepieces, we need help at eighty-sixth and–" a heavy thud cut him off as if he'd been shot.