One odd detail did catch her eye: a d-mat transmission from the unit to the Science of Consciousness Applied Research labs in Delhi. This surprised her until she remembered that Jonah had been investigating a series of bomb threats prior to the explosion. Where KTI was a leader in the field of transport, SciCon was the innovator in terms of artificial intelligence, and such “soul-less” machines naturally came under the hammer of WHOLE's brand of public relations too, even though Lindsay Carlaw, one of their most prominent members, had been one of SciCon's founders. No doubt Jonah had made a trip or two to look at the scene, to see if the threats had been serious. The explosion that had taken the life of Lindsay Carlaw had occurred the very next day.
Whether SciCon had collaborated with Jonah in his attempt to investigate the threats she didn't know. SciCon's security force was renowned for being draconian, and rumoured to have been deadly on occasions, although the rumours had never been proven. The strict measures were justified on antiterrorist grounds, as well as to enforce the secrecy required to maintain its position in the avant-garde of AI technology. But Marylin shared the private belief of many in the EJC: that SciCon, despite being a theoretically “headless” corporation run on principles of democracy and joint leadership, was in practice directed by a handful of empire-builders spread throughout the ranks. These people wouldn't tolerate even the slightest incursion from the outside, and used their security force with swift ruthlessness against any perceived threat. Had Jonah constituted such a threat, he would have had no luck at all investigating the bomb-threats, despite being Lindsay Carlaw's son.
When she followed the lead of the d-mat transmission one step further, to see how quickly he had returned, she discovered that the person transmitted had not been Jonah. It had been Lindsay himself.
She frowned. That didn't make sense. More likely someone had altered the records or somehow attributed the transmission to Carlaw's UGI, although the latter was theoretically impossible—QUALIA checked DNA data against UGI for every transmission to prevent such fraudulent travel—and the former seemed unlikely given that not even QUALIA had managed to penetrate the defences of Jonah's housekeeper.
Lindsay Carlaw using d-mat? It just didn't ring true.
Rising from the chair, she stretched and walked the short distance to the far side of the room. Fassini was staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling, his legs crossed beneath him.
“Anything?” she asked.
“Not unless you think a list of his power bills for the last five years might be important.” He blinked and focussed on her. “Or how often the carpets have been cleaned.”
She considered the latter. “Is it regular?”
“Once every three months.”
“No chance the cleanings coincide with any of the murders?”
“None. The last, apart from when we took out the body, was ten weeks ago.”
“What about maintenance calls?”
“None in the time we're looking at. There was a heap of activity prior to McEwen going into deep sleep, but nothing too out of the ordinary. No stocking up on supplies, for instance.”
“Or paying bills in advance,” she said, remembering her own data.
His eyes followed her as she walked across the room, returned, and leaned against the desk.
“He's innocent,” he said.
“I don't know.”
“But it couldn't have been him—”
“Not this version of him, no. He was there when the apartment was sealed, three years ago. There's no way he could've got out without leaving some trace.”
“So what's the problem? He's innocent.”
“It's not that simple. Not if he copied himself and the copy committed murder. The law might regard him and his copy as a single individual since they share the same genetic code.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Jargon.”
“But it's a valid point. What if he copied himself with the intent to commit murder via the copy? That at the very least makes him an accessory to murder.” A thought struck her: the person who had opened the door on April 19, 2066, might have been Jonah after all. To d-mat out would have left evidence proving that a copy existed. How else could Jonah have left the apartment yet remained in the tub at the same time?
“Lots of people have thought about murder and never committed it,” Fassini persisted, playing devil's advocate with stubborn devotion.
“This is more than thinking about it.”
“Unless he was copied against his will. Or the copy was forced to act against its will.”
She shook her head. The whole issue was full of questions that had little bearing at that moment. Their main priority was to gather evidence and, ultimately, to apprehend the killer. What happened after that was up to the lawyers.
“Or it's all one big setup.” She closed her eyes and summoned the video feed. Jonah was on his hands and knees; not moving anywhere, just holding himself in that position as though trying to prove to himself that he could. He was like a child, self-centred and stubborn in degrees that varied from annoying to admirable.
“I still can't work out whether you're pissed at him or not,” he said.
She smiled despite herself. “To be completely honest, neither can I.”
QUALIA interrupted her before she could take the thought further.
“Marylin, you have an incoming call.”
She blinked and checked her overseer. The AI was right. The feed had kept her from seeing the flashing window. She selected it immediately, guessing it would be Whitesmith.
She was wrong.
“I hear we have a problem, Officer Blaylock,” said Jago Trevaskis, his face a dark blotch on a red background.
She unconsciously straightened, consciously cleared her workspace of any distraction. “What do you mean, sir?”
“You and Jonah McEwen have had over twenty-four hours to establish a civil working relationship, and have failed. My personal opinion is that this experiment has gone on long enough. Do you agree?”
She thought frantically. Who was she to tell the Director of the MIU what she thought of his opinion? “With respect, sir, there have been extenuating circumstances. Jonah's condition, both physical and mental, has placed an enormous strain on proceedings to date. Our first meeting was exceedingly awkward for that reason. And this time—” She stopped, painfully aware how close she was to the precipice. There would be no excuse for insubordination with the Director of the MIU.
“Yes, Officer Blaylock?” he prompted.
To hell with it, she thought. “This time our attempt has been hampered by an inequitable exchange of information.” She chose her words carefully, trying to minimise the damage they would do. “He gave us his data; we should reciprocate in kind. I am in the awkward position of attempting to gain his trust while representing an organisation that has lied to him and kept information from him. Is it any wonder that we're not having much luck so far?”
Trevaskis nodded. “It may surprise you to learn that I agree with you. Nor do I blame you for your failure to date. It simply seems to me to be a case of cutting our losses and trying another course of action before we lose any more time. If you and he aren't able to work together under these circumstances, then obviously it would be fruitless to try further.”
“But, sir, all you have to do is give him the file on Lindsay Carlaw and—”
“And I will be giving in to his demands. Why should I do that? He has no power, Marylin! It's important that he be reminded of that. And you too, it would seem.”
Marylin bit her lip, feeling a terrible disappointment bloom in her stomach. She had been given a golden opportunity both to atone for the past and to prove herself in the eyes of her employers, and she had succeeded at neither.
Then she caught herself: the game wasn't over yet. Officially, Trevaskis was only asking for her opinion, not handing down a decision. Not yet.
And besides, it wasn't her fault if Trevaskis put his own insecurity ahead of the job befo
re them. She had the feeling that she was caught in the middle of an interdepartmental power struggle.
“What have you decided to do, sir?”
He almost smiled. “As a matter of fact, I've decided to give him the file when he comes out of the unit. We'll just let him sweat a while, first.”
“He won't bargain with you again.”
“I'm not even going to try. He'll get his three hours, of which only one is left. In fact we'll make him take it. As of now, all links into and out of the unit have been severed apart from those that lead directly to the MIU. He can't call anyone without our knowledge and permission, and no one can call him, either. I've also overridden the isobloc's security charter, so his door won't open unless I say so. He won't like it, but that's bad luck. If he doesn't come out on schedule, I'll send in an armed response team.”
She shook her head. “Sir, I think you are overreacting—”
“Over or not, some sort of reaction is called for. If you can talk sense into him by then, maybe I'll reconsider. But I'd advise against trying. The situation down there is volatile enough without you exacerbating it any further. As of now, I'm tired of watching valuable time and resources slip through my fingers. I want results, Officer Blaylock, and I intend to get them.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good. You can assume that I have Officer Whitesmith's full agreement on this. He will be arriving in Faux Sydney shortly, with the response team, should worst come to worst.”
“But—”
There was no point arguing. He had already gone.
But have you gone completely crazy?
She tried to call Whitesmith to see if he really did agree with Trevaskis, but he was locked in an unbreakable conversation. Out of desperation, she tried Herold Verstegen, too. He was also locked. The same conversation, she assumed. Trevaskis probably had every reason to be paranoid. Served him right, she thought. To hell with them all.
She called up the view of the unit again. Jonah would have realised by now that his lines had been cut. She couldn't let him get away from her this time. There had to be a way to patch things up. Not by “talking sense” via VTC, though—not with Trevaskis listening in. And the door was as good as welded shut.
Jonah raised his head. She followed his gaze and realised that he was staring at the d-mat booth. The green light was glowing in the centre of its open door.
“I thought the booth was powered-down,” she said to QUALIA.
“It was. He instructed the housekeeper to reactivate it.”
She felt a stirring in her stomach that might have been hope—or fear. “Could he escape that way?”
“No. The output lines are sealed.”
“Only the output?”
“Yes.”
Jonah edged one knee forward, crawling bit by bit to the booth. “I'll bet he doesn't know that,” she said.
QUALIA didn't respond.
“When I asked you to negotiate with the housekeeper on my behalf,” Marylin asked, “you did do that, didn't you? Just me. You haven't broadcast this feed through the MIU?”
“No, Marylin.”
“Good. Don't.” She switched the feed off, just in case someone was eavesdropping on her workspace. Then she searched through the restricted MIU database until she found the file on the inquest into Lindsay Carlaw's death.
“What are you doing, Marylin?” Fassini asked in alarm as she hurried out of the room.
“Getting results,” she said, heading for the security station d-mat booths.
Her workspace was clamouring for attention when the door opened on the interior of Jonah's unit. She ignored it. Acutely conscious of the fact that, just a couple of days ago, a dismembered body had lain where she was currently standing, she waited until her eyes had adjusted to the relative gloom—overlaid with winking red windows—before venturing outside.
Thirty-two minutes had passed. Longer than she'd hoped; the Pool must still have been congested. Jonah was nowhere to be seen. Mindful of the possibility that he might be lying in wait for her, she skirted around the lounge, then glanced in the dining area. That too was empty.
“Jonah?”
“Marylin?” His voice came from the kitchen, but she didn't see him immediately. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Guess.”
She found him in the pantry, wedged awkwardly against a wall with a metal bar lying limp across his knees. His eyes were sunken and his hands shook with fatigue.
“Were you really going to use that?” she asked, pointing at the bar.
“Maybe. When the door of the booth shut, I didn't know what to expect. It seemed best to take no chances.”
“Or to go down with a fight.”
“Wouldn't you?”
“Yes.”
Her candour seemed to surprise him. He looked down at the bar, then back at her. It clattered to the ground. “I'd appreciate some help, Marylin. I don't think I can move on my own.”
She helped him upright. He was lighter than she had expected and barely able to keep his head up, let alone walk. With her arm around his back, gripping him under the opposite armpit, she managed to shuffle him to the wheelchair. He stank of exertion and urine. She tried not to think what might have happened had he been left alone for much longer.
“I tried to call you,” he said. “Now I know why you didn't answer.”
She straightened him as he collapsed awkwardly into the chair. “Shut up and give me your hand.”
He raised an arm and she locked their palms. Their overseers exchanged brief handshakes of their own, then a line opened between them. He looked up in surprise as data rushed through his modified ulnar nerve and into his inbuilt memory.
“What's this?” he asked.
She squatted next to him. “It's what you wanted: the file on Lindsay.”
He scowled and pulled his hand away, but not before the transfer had finished. “You had it the whole time.”
“Not me—but yes, the MIU did. Director Trevaskis wanted to exploit the leverage it gave us over you before handing it over.”
“And now?” He studied her for what felt like an hour. “You're not supposed to be here, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
He looked obscurely pleased by this confession. “So—why?”
She shrugged. “It's a power thing. I'm young, talented and fit—three things the boss doesn't have in his favour. He feels threatened by me. Every now and again I like to remind him that the feeling is justified.”
He shook his head. “You're lying.”
“Not entirely.” She checked the time. “In about twenty minutes a squad of heavies is going to knock down your door and take you out of here by force. I don't think that's the best way to get you to cooperate.”
“What do you think?”
“That you should walk out of here on your own two feet—or wheels, as the case may be—without causing any more problems.”
“You call that cooperating?” he protested. “I call it giving in.”
“That's up to you, Jonah. I'm not here to give you an ultimatum. I want to work this through with you, if you'll let me.” She waited until she was certain he was listening. “No matter what you do, you'll be out of here within half an hour. Your only choice is what happens after that. If you leave voluntarily, you'll have the information you wanted, time to manoeuvre, and an ally—me. If you make them use force, you'll lose all that for certain, and maybe more.”
“Why should I trust you?” he asked. “What's in it for you?”
“My career, basically, and a chance to catch this sonofabitch. That's all I want, and you can help me get it.”
“Can I? Things are different now. Everything's changed.”
“Don't be ridiculous. You've only been out of it for three years.”
“That's not what I meant. I feel different.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Do you believe I'm innocent?” he asked. “Because I don't know if I'm entirely
guilt-free. There's too much I don't remember for me to be certain. Too much I might have done.”
She didn't know what to say at first. He had sagged into the seat during the conversation, and she was reminded of how he had looked when he had first woken. Then, as now, he had seemed confused and powerless, very different to her memories of three years ago. Whatever InSight had done to him, its effect was most visible in times of stress. She didn't entirely disapprove; it made him seem more human, exposed the weaknesses he normally kept carefully hidden. The only question was whether it made him a better investigator or not.
That was the important thing. His innocence or guilt, by whatever definition, was irrelevant as long as he helped them.
“You're the key,” she said. “The focus. The Twinmaker and his actions connect to you in a variety of ways. It doesn't matter if you yourself committed the crimes; the main thing is that we have you nearby, so if anything happens again we'll be ready.”
“For what?”
“We won't know until it happens.”
He half-smiled. “I won't ask you how that answers the question. If that means you think I did it or not.”
“You shouldn't have to. I can't have changed that much.”
“No, you haven't. Apart from the hair. You always liked to keep your options open.”
He reached out with a hand to touch her skull-cap, and she turned away, self-conscious. His fingertips brushed her naked scalp at the fringes of her cap, and she was surprised at the sudden feeling the touch evoked. Christ. She tensed, and he withdrew the hand instantly. Not now—
She pulled away, mentally correcting herself: not ever.
“Okay,” he said softly.
She turned back to him, praying the flush in her cheeks wasn't as obvious as it felt. His expression was pained. “Okay what?”
“Call them and tell them I'm on your side. No more fucking around. We work as equals and exchange data as equals. I won't keep anything from you.”
Such as? she wondered. “Are you sure about this?”
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