Terra Nova: An Anthology of Contemporary Spanish Science Fiction

by Mariano Villarreal

  Impatience wouldn’t let him wait any longer. He didn’t want to fight with any cheap thief for the jacket. He crossed the street and climbed the bars. He got as far as he could, stretched his fingers, and caught the sleeve of the jacket. He pulled on it until he managed to get it off.

  He let it fall to the ground with his loot. He was exhausted. The lining of the jacket had ripped a little but the money was still in the pocket. Holding onto the little wall, Padovani stood up. He remained upright until the dizziness passed. He put on the jacket. He had to find Terry as soon as he could. He was worried about what had happened to Leidi. He wasn’t going to be as foolish as to take any pill, but... is that what had happened?

  Then he heard voices. On the other side of the street some black men who he recognized in an instant had just seen him. They took off toward him in an attitude that didn’t promise friendship. Padovani decided that the trick of shouting “police” wasn’t going to work with this group.

  He started running in the direction of Gran Vía with the hope that a crowd might dissuade the Africans before they caught up. He didn’t know what speed his client’s body could reach —and maintain— but he would find out soon.

  IX

  He entered a flower shop panting. The clerk gave him a look, noticing the tails of his shirt. Padovani tucked them back into his pants, dried the sweat on his forehead, and with a trembling voice asked for three roses. The florist stopped paying attention to his clothes.

  “What color would you like?”

  The Indian leaned with a hand on the counter and swallowed before he answered. The air was heavy with the odor of flowers.

  “Gray... like a flagstone.”

  He took the last bill of one hundred euros from the pocket of his shirt. The rest he had thrown in the air as he ran to entertain his pursuers. He had also dropped the jacket.

  “Can you change this bill for me?” He paused to breathe and touch his chest. “I couldn’t get change for it. Please.”

  It seemed like a reasonable request, but he was afraid the clerk wouldn’t want to help him. He felt like a student who had memorized everything except the question that happened to be on the test. He looked at the man on the other side of the counter whose physical appearance seemed on the frail side. The florist took the bill with a tired air, put it in the cash register, and returned the Indian his change, including all the necessary coins. Padovani grabbed the bills and coins, dropped what he didn’t need, and put seventeen euros and eighty-nine cents on the counter.

  This was the exact code to contact Terry: one, seven, eight, nine. No doubt there were a lot of others. But the French Revolution belonged to his old comrade.

  He saw the owner of the flower shop count the money.

  “You’ll have to wait a little,” the man said. “You can take that seat.”

  Padovani closed his eyes and fell to the floor.

  He dreamed he had his neck in the stocks of a guillotine. He recovered consciousness, tied hand and foot to a dentist’s chair. He saw double. He tried to focus his sight on the strap that held his right arm. He struggled with it.

  Then he realized that he was not alone. A man dressed in a green surgeon’s scrubs seemed intent on moving around a variety of sharp metal objects that rattled on a tray on a side table. It took a few seconds for Padovani to recognize him. He had uncombed thin white hair, glasses, and seemed a lot heavier. The years had changed his body. But not as much as mine, Padovani thought.

  “Terry.”

  “Who are you?”

  “It’s me....” His tongue was asleep, as if he had been anaesthetized. “The Indian Padovani.”

  Terry raised a plastic glass to Padovani’s mouth, who drank the liquid on one swallow. He had thought it was water, but it had a bitter aftertaste. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  “I thought you’d changed back. That’s why I tied you to the chair.”

  It was hard for the Indian to keep his eyes open.

  “Could they do that if I didn’t take the vacating pill? Untie me, please.”

  Terry returned to the side table and left the plastic glass there.

  “The vacating pill is a FarmaCom fiction.... They need to make the European Commission believe their drugs are necessary, but the IPv12 hardware does the work. We’ve known that for years. Europol knows it, too. In fact we learned it thanks to them, although that’s another story.”

  That explained what happened to Leidi.

  “They exchanged someone who escaped with me. They brought the client back without the pill....”

  “The client?” Terry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what happened. When you escaped from the nursery, FarmaCom lost control over you, which is good, but it has a bad side: the police network takes over. They’re supposed to have to ask for a judicial order to change a body, but in practice they do it whenever they want. They have people prepared for this kind of exchange. Your friend is probably now inside the body of a Europol staffer, and probably they’re interrogating him right now.”

  “And the client?”

  “The client won’t even find out. He’ll still be happily on vacation, then he’ll go back to his body, interchanging his mind with the staffer who has it now, without noticing a thing. It’s three-ball billiards.”

  Padovani felt so deflated that he was surprised that the straps that held him down weren’t too big. He didn’t understand why Terry wouldn’t let him go, but he didn’t have the strength to insist. But he had enough for a new question.

  “Why haven’t they exchanged with me?”

  “No idea. They have some reason. But they’ll do it at the best moment for them, and you can’t stop them. Except....” He grabbed some long tweezers from the side table and smiled. “Except if you’ve had the inhibitor installed. For now you should stop thrashing and stay tied down.”

  Padovani woke up at once. The end of the tweezers held some kind of little metal spider.

  “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Poke it up deep in your nose. Don’t worry, I gave you an anesthetic dissolved in the water.

  “A pill....”

  Terry laughed.

  “Trust me. I’m not paid by FarmaCom.” He scratched his head with his free hand. “Although I admit I bought the drug from them.... But it’s not a vacating pill. Or it is, and I don’t know about it.... Well, what does it matter? It’s only a painkiller. Stay still.”

  Padovani couldn’t believe he’d been so careless. At the first opportunity, he’d let someone drug him. Just what he’d promised himself to avoid when he got to Europe. He felt pain in his chest. His heart was beating fast again but crazy, skipping one out of every three beats. Terry said he didn’t work for FarmaCom, but he could be working for Sink-Tooth.

  “Do you stay in touch with our old comrades?”

  “Hmmmm.... No. Although I read the news. Lately they’ve mentioned us a lot.”

  The doorbell rang. Terry turned.

  “Shit. Someone’s at the door.”

  Padovani stretched his neck to look in the same direction as Terry. He recognized Ringo in the little closed-circuit monitor.

  “That’s one of the people who escaped with me.”

  “Did he follow you?”

  “No!” Padovani was drenched with sweat and his chest burned. “He told me... he told me he wanted to pass some information on to you. I don’t know how he found us.”

  “He followed you. I don’t like this. Let’s finish this right away.”

  “Please....”

  He let his head fall back on the chair. The pill dissolved in the water wasn’t agreeing with him. He’d never had a heart attack and didn’t have anything to compare the pain to, so he didn’t know if he had time to announce that he was dying or if it was worth the effort. He needed the inhibitor or the police would find him, and that would be as bad as death.

  If it was all a trap by Sink-Tooth, Terry would have already said so. They’d want to know what he knew
and for him to know who was killing him and why. But Terry didn’t seem to know any more than him what was happening.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “My arm....” he moved his head toward the left.

  “Do you have heart trouble?” Terry adjusted his glasses and took another look at the monitor, where Ringo was still waiting. “You don’t know, of course. The truth is that I didn’t read the instructions for the analgesic. I hope there weren’t warnings.” He added under his breath, “That would be fucked up.”

  The doorbell rang again. Terry held the tongs halfway toward Padovani’s nose.

  “Finish it now,” the Indian begged.

  “I’m thinking about whether this guy,” he pointed to the monitor, “hasn’t actually exchanged.... Probably he’s an undercover cop who infiltrated the nursery. They do those kind of things.... Of course, that’s why he wanted to find me.” He began to puff. “We’re both fucked.”

  Padovani couldn’t breathe. The pain in his chest and arm was unbearable.

  “Hurry....”

  Terry’s hands trembled. He missed the nostril and the little spider fell on the ground. He didn’t try to look for it.

  “I can’t do it! I have to get out of here. I’m sorry.”

  He threw the tweezers on the table. Padovani shouted.

  “Listen....”

  Terry didn’t wait for him to finish. He ran from the room, leaving him tied in the chair. If he hadn’t left, the Indian might have sworn at him, something not too elaborate but very sincere about his mother. He also wanted to point out the illogic of his hypothesis: if Ringo was a cop, and the person who had entered Leidi’s body was a cop, why the hell had they fought in Retiro? He could have said all this if he had had the breath to do so and if someone had been there to listen to him. But that wasn’t the case.

  He tried to cough hard because he’d read that this was what you should do in the event of a heart attack if no one can help you. Suddenly something began to buzz in his skull. He clenched his teeth. The doorbell rang again, but by then he wasn’t there to hear it.

  X

  His hands were still tied, but now he was lying on a bed. From the corner of his eye he saw a shadow that was moving to his right. He turned his head that way and found himself looking into the eyes of someone he knew. A second later, silent as a ghost that had just been frightened, the man slipped out of the room and shut the door.

  He easily freed his wrists from the head of the bed. They had used a silky-feeling handkerchiefs to immobilize him. He sat up in the bed. At his side was a naked woman with a slender brown body and long black hair, laying face down. She seemed to be sleeping.

  He was also naked. Even a little more to see waist-down. His eyes stopped on the erect penis, which pointed straight up at the ceiling. He hadn’t passed enough time outside to fail to recognize his own dick, although he hadn’t seen it that tense for many years. His client must have taken advantage of the lack of cardiac problems swallow a pill to achieve such a prodigious effect. The quality of his companion must also have had some effect —and her experience, judging by the silk handkerchiefs.

  Padovani sighed. He was back. In what seemed like a hotel room, bigger than many of the houses he had lived in as a boy.

  He heard the noise of running feet in the hall. Hand banged on the door.

  “Police!”

  Shit, he thought. The voice was familiar. He got out of bed and ran to the window. He couldn’t open it. They pounded on the door again. He looked at the bed. The girl with the long hair kept sleeping in spite of the noise. Padovani swallowed. He realized she was dead.

  Double shit.

  “Open the door or we’ll knock it down, Indian!”

  That was Mendoza, he said to himself. He took advantage of the few seconds he had left before they smashed open the door to get a towel from the bathroom and cover his erection. Since he couldn’t escape, at least he could surrender with dignity. Mendoza and Salinas knocked down the door and came in at the same time, pistols drawn and pointing at him.

  He wanted to welcome them with some ironic comment to keep his reputation up, but they didn’t even let him open his mouth. Mendoza smacked him with the pistol butt on the jaw and sent him right down to kiss the floor.

  “Son of a big bitch.... What did you do to Veronica? I’m gonna to kill you!”

  That was the voice of Salinas, who was usually the more reasonable one. Padovani made an effort to move his jaw again so he could say something in his defense before they did him in.

  “I didn’t do it. I just got here.”

  The two police officers had by then picked him up, grabbing him by his arms, and got ready to kick the shit out of him, when a light went on in the Indian’s head.

  “It was Ruggeri!”

  Salinas slapped him on the face and asked, “Who’s that?”

  Mendoza added, “Answer,” and slapped him again.

  “Sink-Tooth’s lawyer, the one with the suspenders. I saw him leave the room right when I arrived.”

  The policemen dropped him on the ground, just in case he wanted to kiss it again. He lay curled up, his senses alert. He’d told the truth, but if they didn’t believe him, they’d forget all about their old friendship. He’d try to bite one of their ankles and kick the others in the balls. Although it didn’t seem like they were going to attack him at that moment. Mendoza and Salinas looked at each other with an expression filled if not with intelligence, then at least with malice.

  “That spaghetti faggot.... We passed him.”

  “And he seemed nervous. I think droopy here is telling the truth.”

  “You’ll find out when Willy J does. But why did he do it?”

  “He’ll want us to blame it on the Indian.” Mendoza looked down. “I might like that.”

  “Get a grip. Lets not fuck up everything.”

  Droopy, thought the Indian. It seemed that during his absence they’d changed his nickname. Assholes.

  “Can I go now?” he asked.

  The police officers laughed. At least they didn’t hit him again.

  XI

  He had to admit that the crime scene looked good: lying beside a girl whose throat had just been slashed, and the police about to enter. Ruggeri had prepared it for him, but Padovani doubted he was the only director of the show. The synchronization of the lawyer with the person or people who had prepared his exchange had been almost perfect. The “almost” was what had let him live to tell about it.

  As far as he knew, only FarmaCom or Europol could have made him return. So Ruggeri had to be related to one or both of these organizations. What did Sink-Tooth have to do with this? He guessed that, now that he was locked in the same jail as his former partner, he was going to find out traumatically.

  His previous history was enough to condemn him to death —or, from the perspective of the previous regime, to merit a medal— without needing to add Veronica’s murder. While he was in preventive detention awaiting trial, the days passed with the blessing of solitude. After the trial, they sent him to a jail as dirty and overcrowded as in any other country, but it was obvious that this one hadn’t been chosen at random.

  It wasn’t like the FarmaCom nursery. They bathed once a week, organized by decks, in a room with tiles halfway up the walls and in which there were a couple of showerheads spewing freezing cold water. The experienced pariahs hung together in the corners and tried not to call attention to themselves. But there was always someone who was still learning.

  “I’m innocent!”

  A short, bow-legged half-breed kept blabbering on. From the moment they entered the showers, it was the same song. Padovani looked at the poor bastard. He tried to guess how long until someone got tired of him and smashed his head.

  And while he did that, he let down his guard. Someone came up to him from behind. He didn’t realize it until he heard a voice whispering in his ear.

  “Go to Sink-Tooth’s cell at four o’clock.”

  Th
e hair on the back of his neck stood up. The Indian felt the order like a punch in the kidneys. He could only study the back of the boy who had transmitted the message. He wore a muscle shirt and low-hanging jeans. Padovani hadn’t seen him come. I’m a foolish old man, he thought, worse than this screaming half-breed. In any case, it was a good sign that Sink-Tooth wanted to talk to him. He wouldn’t kill him in his own cell. If that had to happen, it would be somewhere else. Probably in the showers.

  At two minutes before four, he entered the cell of Gonzalito Mendieta, alias Sink-Tooth. “Because if he sinks his teeth into you, he doesn’t let go,” Padovani recalled, the explanation given many years ago, almost a millennium. It was best not to make him wait. He sat on the cot that faced the one occupied by his former boss, comrade, partner, and during some brief time, maybe six or seven days during thirty years, friend.

  Sink-Tooth smiled, and the Indian almost choked to see a gold tooth. He had thought about the best way to greet Mendieta, but in his surprise, he forgot about that completely.

  “Buddy... more sunk in than ever, Sink-Tooth.”

  “What?”

  “You bit a gold brick.”

  “A tooth fell out. Age is unforgiving. They’ve told me the same about you, that there’s no danger anymore about little Indians being born into this world.”

  Sink-Tooth’s laugh showed the gold tooth again. Padovani had no urge to laugh or to beat around the bush.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “What do I want, sucker? They told me you were looking for me, that you wanted to chat about something.”