Lilia laughed. "I didn't have to pretend. I still have nightmares about calculating the area inside an ellipse."
"And this from a Nuclear Darwinist. Amazing. How do you calculate half-lives?"
"I ask Gid to do it for me."
"Well, that won't work any longer, will it?" He cleared his throat, then made a joke to ease over the moment. "Unless you have abilities beyond most of my students. Have you had a third eye removed?"
Lilia spoke lightly, her tone dismissive despite the leap of her pulse. "That would make me a shade, wouldn't it?"
They laughed politely together, then he shook his spoon at her again. "Odds were against you being as incompetent as you were, given that you'd been accepted into the Institute. I've no doubt that Gideon took encouragement from your difficulties."
Lilia had never considered that Gid might have thought she'd been exaggerating her incompetence. "Maybe he did."
They sat in silence for a moment, then Dr. Malachy cleared his throat. "I wondered, you know, whether the two of you would be happy. You have quite passionate opinions about the Society, Lilia, ones that I doubt Gideon shared."
"Married people don't have to agree on everything, Dr. Malachy. In fact, it's probably more interesting to disagree on some—"
He interrupted her with a wag of one heavy finger. "I always wondered why you even became a Nuclear Darwinist."
Lilia said nothing. Something about his steady stare made it impossible to summon a lie, even for the best liar on the Frontier.
"If memory serves," he said, "and you may be fairly warned that mine usually does, you arrived at the Institute with your bias against the Society fully formed. Rather a strange course of study for one so vehemently against the Society's practices, wouldn't you say?"
"Would you believe that I enrolled to annoy my mother?"
Dr. Malachy laughed. "Yes, of you, I would believe that. But time has clearly failed to mitigate your opinions. I would have thought that Gideon would change your thinking."
"Maybe I've seen too much."
"Maybe you haven't seen enough. Nothing is ever black and white, Lilia, and nothing is ever fully good or fully evil. Life would be much simpler if that were the case. We could all make the right choices if things were laid out so neatly for us, which truly would change the world. Instead we must choose the lesser evil."
He leaned closer and Lilia smelled the smoke of his pipe clinging to his jacket. It was a reassuring scent and one that made him seem all the more paternal. "You have to balance your view, Lilia," he said gently. "You have to acknowledge the good that is done by the Society, the care given to shades, the emotional and financial relief given to the parents of shades who can entrust them to other hands. A disabled child is a terrible burden upon a family."
Lilia gritted her teeth at the familiarity of this argument. "They should have the choice."
"And who could choose dispassionately?" he demanded. "Who could perceive the greater good through the haze of obligation?"
Lilia remained silent, knowing how precious it would have been to have had the chance to choose for her own child.
"What about the drugs developed by the Society?" Dr. Malachy argued. "Our drugs alleviate pain and suffering throughout the Republic at large. They could never be patented without our research."
Done on shades.
Like Delilah.
Lilia swallowed at a memory she didn't want to review.
"What about the research, like Gideon's, that more precisely quantifies the risk of radiation exposure? Did you tell him that his work was for a bad cause?"
"No, of course not."
"Did he think that you disapproved of his work? Did you extend your distaste of the Society to include your husband?"
Lilia was shocked by this suggestion, but Dr. Malachy had evidently given it some thought. "No!"
He watched her over the rim of his cup, his gaze shrewd. "How could his alliance with the Society and your determination to be against everything connected with the Society not have been an issue in your marriage?"
"That's a very personal question." Lilia made to leave the table but Dr. Malachy put a hand on her wrist.
"I was very fond of Gideon. He worked many hours since your discovery of those controversial shades, so many hours and so far away from the Frontier that it is difficult for me to imagine that you spent much time together before his death."
Lilia didn't answer. If Gid hadn't confided in Dr. Malachy about their split, then she wasn't going to tell tales.
"My concern, Lilia, is for Gideon and his frame of mind at the time of his death."
"What do you mean?"
"I would hate to think that such a fine man believed himself to be unworthy of his wife's affections." He gave Lilia such a hard look that she realized his implication.
But now, thanks to the ruthless slaughter of every person she contacted, Lilia knew it wasn't true. She spoke with confidence. "Gid didn't commit suicide."
Dr. Malachy raised a brow. "How probable do you think it would be for an expert in the calculation of radiation exposure to have erred so fatally in assessing his own circumstance?"
"I think it was pretty low."
"As do I." Dr. Malachy was stern, his gaze relentless. He'd discarded the official cause of death for the same reason as Lilia, but derived a different solution. "How probable do you think it would be for Gid to fail to turn in his research?"
Lilia blinked. "I thought you knew what Gid was working on."
"He didn't turn in his results. It was most unlike him, perhaps a sign of emotional devastation." Dr. Malachy leaned forward, his expression intent. "I remember that tattoo. He had the melusine already, of course, but she had no face until he met you."
Lilia felt the color drain from her face. She hadn't imagined that anyone else knew about Gid's tattoo. Dr. Malachy probably could figure out that Gid had been celebrating a sexual conquest, but not why Lilia had chosen to surrender.
Not unless Gid had told his trusted advisor the truth.
Delilah.
XV
Dr. Malachy pushed back in his chair. "I do not intend to make you uncomfortable, Lilia. I always felt a kinship with Gideon."
"I know that he was fond of you, Dr. Malachy."
The professor harumphed and frowned into his cup for a long moment. Lilia rose to excuse herself, then he spoke. "It seems plausible that Gideon and I could have shared a similar amorous disappointment. It's whimsical, of course, but I'm old enough to have license to be whimsical on occasion."
"You disagreed with your wife?"
"Never had the chance. The lady in question and I did discuss marriage. She shared your skepticism of the Society's merit and we argued about it. In fact, she broke our engagement as a result of that argument."
"I'm sorry." Lilia sat down again. "What happened to her?"
"I don't know, not for certain." His next words were so softly uttered that Lilia had to lean closer to hear them. "She went to Gotham, to visit her sister. It was thirty years ago."
Lilia straightened. "Not then?"
"Then." His gaze drifted from his coffee cup to the almost-empty room. "I've often wondered whether we could have come to a compromise, if we'd talked one last time, if I hadn't been so proud." He sighed. "I would have liked Gideon's story to have had a different ending."
"I'm sorry, Dr. Malachy."
"So am I." He patted her hand. "Just as I will always be sorry to have lost Gideon. The truly bright lights don't come very often." He gathered his cane as if he'd excuse himself.
"Dr. Malachy, what was Gid working on?"
"It's not that interesting to the layman."
Lilia refused to be insulted. "It's interesting to me. Besides, how will I know whether I come across his research results, if I don't know what I'm looking for?"
Dr. Malachy's gaze brightened. "He was calculating the patterns of radiation effect in the population over time, and making extrapolations from those calculations. It's
the kind of quiet work that few people heed, but it's sufficiently challenging that it can be its own reward. I would have liked to have seen his results."
"Do you know why he was in the old city?"
"Maybe he just wanted to see it. The destruction of Gotham is impressive and I wouldn't be surprised to find any Nuclear Darwinist sufficiently curious to plan a sightseeing expedition." His gaze fell on Lilia's glowing radiation badge.
"Busy month at the circus," she said quickly. "I had to double up to clear the time to come to the conference."
Dr. Malachy nodded, his expression mild, and Lilia realized that he'd probably heard a lot of excuses in his time. He stood and braced both hands on his cane. "I had the sense that Gideon was on the cusp of a big discovery, but that was just my feeling. He never said anything, although I wouldn't have expected otherwise. He liked absolutes in his reporting. That was why I had hoped he had sent you something."
Lilia shook her head. "Nothing."
"Ah, well, then, we'll never know."
"Too bad his palm was wiped clean," Lilia said.
Dr. Malachy wasn't surprised. "Researchers can be proud of their attributions and many program their palms to erase their contents upon the cessation of the pulse." He patted Lilia's shoulder. "Mind you don't get reckless in Gideon's absence. It's easy to forget the value of our own lives when we're bereaved."
"Was there ever a Mrs. Malachy?"
He averted his gaze. "No. So I won't be the one to tell you that it gets easier, Lilia, or that the ache of loss goes away." He looked at her steadily, his eyes bright, and his voice turned hoarse. "I've never lied to my students and I don't intend to start now. I can only hope that trust is repaid in kind."
With one last hard look, Dr. Malachy strode away, leaning more heavily on his cane. He looked older and smaller as he crossed the floor, and Lilia sighed that he had taken Gid's death so hard.
Did he know that she had lied to him? She felt the press of the datachip against her ankle and wondered whether she should have told Dr. Malachy about it.
But she didn't even know what was on the datachip. Better that she met Montgomery and knew what she had to offer before she handed it over to the Society. Gid had chosen not to do so himself, which made it highly probable that there was a good reason for his choice.
Montgomery's palm had sent him two more alerts regarding Lilia being the likely killer of Stevia and the shades. It was as if someone somewhere was becoming impatient with him. He lingered in the precinct locker room to read them again. Was there a backup team to move into action if he didn't arrest Lilia?
He jumped when Tupperman spoke behind him.
"Montgomery, I've been looking for you." The older man looked haggard and must have been coming off duty.
"Yes, sir."
Tupperman stopped beside Montgomery, unzipping his pseudoskin as he stood in front of the lockers. He heaved a sigh and frowned. "Long night."
"Yes, sir."
"I never get used to the bad ones. I guess that's a good thing."
"I'd think so, sir. A sign that we're all human."
Tupperman spared Montgomery a sharp glance. He swallowed, then spoke quietly. "I want this killer."
"Everybody does, sir."
"No. I want this killer and I want him today. I don't, however, want you taking ridiculous chances to close the case."
"I don't understand what you mean, sir."
"I don't want to lose a man, Montgomery, especially you."
"Sir, can you tell me about these alerts I'm receiving?"
Tupperman seemed to be choosing his words. "No. Not specifically. The system sometimes works in mysterious ways." He impaled Montgomery with a glance. "The system works for the benefit of the collective, not that of the individual."
Montgomery understood that he was being warned. "Yes, sir."
Tupperman heaved a sigh. "What you might not know, Montgomery, is that we have something in common. I came from Topeka as well. It's been awhile but I have fond memories of my time there."
Did Tupperman mean the earthly Topeka, or was he implying that he shared Montgomery's celestial origins?
"And now the bad news," Tupperman said with a frown. "I know how bright the lights of the city can be to a young man fresh from Topeka, because I've been that man myself. All the same, I don't want to lose a man over an equipment malfunction."
"I don't intend to be lost, sir."
"No one ever does. The fact remains, Montgomery, that you enter high-risk areas during your personal time and that's dangerous. I've never seen such dysfunction in an ear monitor, for example. The cleaning staff never broke a transmitter connection, not until last night. And now this morning, your stud is fried, as well."
"My rotten luck, I guess, sir."
"Maybe." Tupperman unfastened his boots and straightened to look Montgomery in the eye. "Maybe not. Your visits to the pleasure fringe have been noticed. Tech Support thinks that the ear monitors might be more susceptible to radiation exposure than previously believed."
"I turn in my radiation patch monthly, sir."
"Of course you do, and it's within tolerance. Trust me, I made that argument." He sighed. "But the matter has gone above me."
"Sir?"
Tupperman held Montgomery's gaze and spoke quietly. "You're to report for a complete physical exam, tomorrow at 11:00."
Montgomery's heart stopped cold. They'd find his scars. "I had one in Topeka, just three months ago, sir. A physical is only required on an annual basis, per protocol 786B."
"My superiors don't give a shit about 786B. They want your monitor fixed and they want it fixed now. I know you're busy right now and I did my best to have it postponed." Tupperman shook his head. "Tomorrow is the longest they'd wait. Be there."
"Yes, sir."
Tupperman peeled back the left shoulder of his pseu-doskin with a wince. He watched Montgomery so steadily that Montgomery wondered what the older man was trying to tell him.
Tupperman wore a T-shirt under his pseudoskin, exactly the way Montgomery did.
Did he do it for the same reason? Their gazes met.
"Goddamn pseudoskin," Tupperman muttered as he rolled his right shoulder. The tight pseudoskin didn't move. "Ever since I took that shot in the shoulder, it catches. Give me a hand?"
"Of course, sir." Montgomery wasn't fooled. Tupperman got in and out of his pseudoskin daily and Montgomery couldn't believe that he didn't do it alone. "Maybe you should take some therapy to loosen up the joint, sir."
"Maybe."
Montgomery eased the tight pseudoskin over Tupper-man's right shoulder. He could just discern the ridge of an old scar on the older man's right shoulder blade. There was another scar on the left shoulder, the mirror image of the first.
"You took a hit, sir?"
"Right across the back from a shotgun, just before I transferred in. My back was so full of shot that they had to slice me open to pick it all out." He nodded once curtly. "I don't miss those ranchers in Kansas, that's for sure."
They were from the very same Topeka.
But Montgomery didn't have a cover story on his file.
"I want this killer, Montgomery," Tupperman said with quiet heat. He quickly peeled off his pseudoskin and hauled a shirt over his shoulders. "Don't let me down."
"No, sir," Montgomery said, his thoughts whirling. He had an ally at NGPD, one more than he had expected.
But then, since he was going to fail his physical exam the next day and lose his job, the alliance was immaterial.
Or was it? He had no chance to ask Tupperman more because Dimitri entered the locker room.
Lilia eyed the schedule and decided against the keynote luncheon. Never mind the inevitable faux-flesh entree, just hearing the patent applications always gave Lilia a headache.
She showered and changed instead, choosing a frilly navy ensemble that she'd never put on her back before. She put Gid's chip in the left cup of her corset, liking the security of having it close to her he
art. Then she slipped out of her room, with plenty of time to meet Montgomery, and descended to the netherzones by the back service stairs. They were metal stairs, unembellished in a concrete stairwell. Lilia tried to be silent, but the slight click of her heels echoed loudly.
A grate was locked across the entrance to the netherzones, barring access. Lilia pulled her laze and blew off the lock, taking pleasure in destroying something in New Gotham.
The primary level of the hotel netherzones was filled with laundry facilities and kitchen prep zones. The shades working there might as well have been robots for all the animation they showed. Lilia waited in the shadows until the supervisor turned away, then made a run for the second set of stairs.
The lower netherzones were darker. No one wasted juice on lighting these industrial wastelands. Pulleys groaned and cogs clattered as an army of shades used their physical abilities to generate power for the hotel. Lilia refused to look at them, knowing that she'd only feel compelled to do something if they were bound to the equipment.
She waited at the base of the stairs, willing her eyes to adjust to the shadows. There was a soft sound then, like a footfall on the metal steps overhead and behind her. Lilia jumped and turned, her hand on her hidden laze.
Nothing.
She must have imagined the sound. That kind of delusion could happen to anyone who was hungry, tired, hung over from a palm-rape drug, or otherwise operating at less than her full capacity.
One of these nights, she had to get some sleep. Lilia hurried to the sliding steel door that led to New Gotham's labyrinth. She put her hand on it, then her ear.
There was only a distant hum. Lilia tested the door, found it wasn't locked, and slid it open. The New Gotham netherzones snaked out in half a dozen poorly lit directions.
Lilia headed into the darkness of the labyrinth, in search of Forest Green's beverage bar.
It took her an hour to find it. There were a dozen comparatively attractive shades in the beverage bar, most nursing a cup of something dark. There was little conversation. The music was horrible, twentieth-century disco dance music, and loud enough to mask pretty much anything.
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