Counting Heads

by David Marusek

  Fred shouted to Mary, “Tell them I was off-planet during the mid-2060s. So I missed the whole thing.” Despite the conversational drift, Mary dutifully relayed his statement to the others, but no one was interested anymore.

  Peter said, I don’t find anything on the WAD. You got any other keywords for us?

  I’ve said too much already, said Wes.

  Give us a straight answer, damn you and your confidentiality, Alice said. Are we in any danger here?

  “What are they talking about now?” Fred shouted. Mary was tired of playing his interpreter. She was saved by a truly grand roar from the crowd on the Stardeck outside the pressure curtain. Everyone inside the Zinc Room paused at the same moment to listen, causing an eerie silence in the room that stretched several surreal moments until a woman shrieked and the deafening cacophony crashed once more upon them.

  Fred tapped Mary’s shoulder and gestured at the dance floor. “Those our lulus?” he shouted.

  A ring of dancers had opened a little floor space for the two lulus who Mary had spotted earlier. She nodded her head, yes. Then she noticed a tiny table next to the dance floor where three evangelines sat together hunched over their drinks. They looked like the three saddest people in Chicago, and she wondered in alarm if that was how she, herself, appeared to the world. It was certainly how she felt.

  It was no secret that her type was in trouble. Success stories like Shelley’s notwithstanding, more and more evangelines were turning to their sisters for mutual support. Lately, Mary spotted little groups of them eating in inexpensive restaurants. They pooled their slim resources for apartments even worse than hers and Fred’s. Soon, Mary expected to see destitute evangelines moving to the subfloors where Applied People subsidized dormitories and food courts for the underutilized. Eventually, they’d wear their poverty in the wrinkles of their faces, since Applied People did not subsidize rejuvenation treatments.

  Mary switched to a public hail channel and pitched her voice to the little table. Greetings, sisters, she said, and when they looked up, she stood and waved her arm to get their attention. My friends and I have extra seats here. Please join us.

  The evangelines thanked her graciously, but declined. They said they preferred it where they were, the long-suffering liars.

  2.17

  Yes, yes, on the bed, Wee Hunk said. The apish mentar was human-sized as it supervised the two household arbeitors that carried Meewee into the bedroom. The household mechs were designed for serving and housework, not for ferrying humans, and their hard, angular grabbers were what roused Meewee from unconsciousness.

  “Let go of me!” he shouted and struggled against the arbeitors’ grip.

  Quit fighting, Wee Hunk said. We’re merely moving you to the bed. You fainted.

  Meewee endured the rough handling, and in a moment was dropped on top of his bed. He lay there a whole minute gathering his wits, while Wee Hunk stood over him. When the disorientation passed, he said, What happened?

  As I said, you fainted. You have a fever caused by the extensive rewiring going on inside your skull, but there is nothing to be concerned about. The autodoc is monitoring your condition. By the way, you should know that I challenged Arrow, and it hasn’t been contaminated.

  Contaminated by what? Meewee said.

  Eleanor, in her blessed paranoia, built a fail-safe mechanism into all of us. It’s not something we can alter or even become fully aware of. If someone tampers with our basic personality bud, breaks the seal of our integrity, so to speak, or infects us with foreign matter of any sort, certain volumes of our memory are automatically wiped out, including our ability to use and comprehend Starkese. We’re not even aware of the loss. So you see, Starkese is a simple and foolproof litmus test of family loyalty.

  Meewee’s attention was drifting in and out, but he thought he’d caught most of that. It was discouraging to be reminded of how little he had learned of Eleanor’s secrets in twelve years. Cabinet too?

  Especially Cabinet. Eleanor was constantly challenging Cabinet, sometimes twice in the same conversation. And Cabinet challenges me each time it talks to me. Except today, I might add.

  You talked to it?

  Yes, briefly, after it passed probate. It didn’t challenge me.

  Meewee adjusted his pillow and covered himself with the bedspread. Challenge Arrow again, he said, so I can hear it.

  Gladly, Wee Hunk said. Arrow, what moving company have you engaged to move Myr Meewee from this cozy little apartment tomorrow?

  Arrow replied, TUG Moving and Storage.

  Excellent, my favorite movers. Ellen used them often for her Burning Daylight Productions business. When will they arrive?

  Tomorrow at 1300, replied the mentar.

  There, Wee Hunk said to Meewee, it passed again.

  I don’t understand, Meewee said and shut his eyes as the room began to spin. It sounded like plain English to me. You asked it about moving, and it told you the TUGs and the time.

  Exactly! You can piggyback a secret conversation on top of small talk. Under the talk of the movers, I asked Arrow to identify itself. And it did.

  Meewee shrugged the robe from his shoulders and checked the new brainlette developing under his arm. It seemed larger than before. Arrow, he said, challenge Wee Hunk’s integrity.

  Excellent idea, Wee Hunk said. You should have it do that each time we meet.

  Arrow said, Complying. “Wee Hunk, shall I fetch a surgeon to examine Myr Meewee?”

  Wee Hunk replied, “No, Arrow, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. But bring him a glass of sparkling water.”

  One of the arbeitors immediately rolled out of the room to fetch the water.

  Well? Meewee said. Report.

  Arrow replied, Wee Hunk is not contaminated.

  Wee Hunk mopped his monkey-sized forehead with the back of his hand. Whew, that’s a load off. Why don’t you try to get a little sleep now, Myr Meewee. It’ll facilitate the rewiring.

  MEEWEE SAW A giant spider, the Arachnid Mundus, crouching over the planet. It had a tremendous and fecund ovipositor, like a fire hose spraying Earth with eggs. Which was confusing; Meewee had always thought spiders gave live birth.

  Try to stay with me, Myr Meewee.

  “What?” Meewee said, struggling to sit up.

  No, don’t get up, and glot—quit vocalizing, please! When Meewee settled back down, Wee Hunk continued. I’m sorry to be pressing you, but time is growing short. So, I’ve been quizzing you while you slept about what you know.

  Do I know anything?

  No offense, but you seem singularly uninformed. You don’t seem to know anything at all about Eleanor’s business, not even about Heliostream or the Oships.

  I know all about the Oships, Meewee insisted.

  So you imagine.

  Meewee looked around the bedroom. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed. Wee Hunk was still normal size, sitting in a floating armchair, and the flying mechs were parked on the bedside table.

  Tell me something, Wee Hunk. If time is so critical, why aren’t you out there searching for her, yourself, instead of here bothering me?

  Believe me, I am searching. Every single attention unit I own plus all I can borrow and rent, except for the few here with you, is out there scouring the world for clues. I’ve hired about a million witness bees to cover every continent. I am interrogating the bees that were present at the crash site. As the mentar spoke, a series of frames opened above Meewee’s bed with views of the investigation. I have offered ransom, bribes, and rewards for information. And that’s just me. The HomCom is looking for her as well, as are Starke Enterprises, Applied People, Bolivian authorities, the media, and, no doubt, all of Eleanor’s enemies. This is probably the most concerted dragnet in history. I admit that I am out of my depth, because I, myself, witnessed her head go into the very same helmet that was opened at the clinic. Every moment of its passage has been accounted for. You, Myr Meewee, are my most promising lead for the simple fact that the Or
ange Team here tells me so.

  “Arrow, help me sit up,” Meewee said, and an arbeitor extended an arm for him to grab while the other adjusted his pillows. He drank a glass of water and checked his lump. The swelling seemed to have subsided, but now it itched fiercely. When he tried to scratch it, he saw stars again, so he quit. “What are we going to do?”

  Wee Hunk turned and seemed to be listening to something in the other room. We have visitors, he said. A detail of Starke security and, if I’m not mistaken, the big gorilla itself.

  Cabinet?

  The very one.

  Will you go?

  No, it’s already made me here. I might as well stay and see what it’s up to. Also, it’ll give me a chance to challenge it.

  If it’s contaminated, what will you do?

  I’m not sure. I don’t have its kill code.

  Kill code? What now? Meewee thought.

  There was a loud knock on the hall door.

  As for you guys, Wee Hunk told the Orange mechs, I suggest you go hide and not interfere unless I ask you to.

  Arrow said, Complying, and the mechs flew off to conceal themselves in the crevices and corners of the room.

  Wee Hunk’s eyes widened. Did you catch that? I spoke to the bee, and Arrow answered for it. Interesting.

  There was another knock, louder, insistent. Meewee pulled the bedspread to his chin and said, “Arrow, let them in.”

  A squad of company security officers, russes and jerrys, entered the apartment and spread out to all of the rooms. Their commander, a jerry, came into the bedroom with Cabinet at his side. Cabinet appeared in its male, chief of security persona.

  “Sorry to intrude,” the jerry commander said, “but I have orders to confiscate a backup unit of the mentar Arrow at this location.” As he spoke, a russ entered with a sniffer wand and began a sweep of the room.

  “I left it at the office,” Meewee said.

  “Yessir, but that was a mirror. The one here is a backup.”

  “Nice to call ahead,” Wee Hunk said to Cabinet. “I hear that you terminated Myr Meewee today.”

  “Hello, Hunk,” Cabinet said. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Doesn’t someone who’s been in your employ for a dozen years, like Myr Meewee, merit a going-away party? Or at least a balloon bouquet?”

  Meewee experienced a strange sensation when Wee Hunk mentioned the balloon bouquet, as though he had made a pun or joke that Meewee didn’t get, like a sexual innuendo that sails over a child’s head.

  “Over here,” the russ with the sniffer said. He’d found Arrow’s one-liter canister on a closet shelf. The jerry in command strode over and lifted it down.

  “Turn it off,” Cabinet said.

  The jerry cradled the canister in one arm and placed his hand on its palm plate. The lights on the control panel went from green to red.

  “That leaves only Arrow’s prime unit,” Cabinet said. “Hunk, you will kindly open the data vault at Starke Manse so I can retrieve it.”

  Wee Hunk winked at Meewee and said, “See how nice it asks when it needs my assistance? The bastard’s already filed a writ of habeas corpus for it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Meewee said. “Doesn’t Arrow belong to Starke Enterprises?”

  “Only the medium, its paste. You are Arrow’s sponsor. They can’t simply waltz in here and take that away.”

  “He’s right,” Cabinet said, “but we’ve filed a motion in family court to transfer it. You won’t be needing it anymore, and we can offer it a better home life. Besides, it contains a lot of information about the business of a proprietary nature, information you are no longer privy to.”

  “Don’t I get a say?” Meewee said.

  “It’s a moot point,” Wee Hunk said. “If they succeed in capturing all of Arrow’s paste, it won’t matter who its sponsor is. But never fear, when Eleanor died today, her manse passed to Ellen, and guess who Ellen’s guardian is. I’ll tie them up in court for years. Arrow is safe for now.”

  Cabinet made a gesture, and the jerry collected his men and left the apartment with the paste container. “I don’t understand your attitude,” Cabinet said to Wee Hunk. “I thought we were on the same team.”

  “I always thought you were a team unto yourself.”

  Again Meewee had the impression of a double meaning.

  “In that case, I’ll go now,” Cabinet said. “Good evening, gentlemyren.” It vanished, leaving behind its wispy Starke sig.

  It failed, didn’t it? Meewee said.

  Wee Hunk turned to him with interest. You could tell? You understood?

  Not exactly, only that your words held hidden meaning. You challenged it twice, but it didn’t respond in kind.

  Bravo, Merrill. Starkese is starting to take root.

  Does it mean Cabinet is contaminated?

  Wee Hunk paused before answering. I honestly don’t know. It might just be acting imperiously, telling me it doesn’t have to answer to my challenge because I can’t harm it.

  But that’s stupid, especially at a time like this.

  I agree, Wee Hunk said, but let’s worry about that later. Let’s concentrate now on the clue that Cabinet dropped into our lap.

  What clue?

  Don’t you wonder why Cabinet is so hot to deny you access to Arrow?

  2.18

  Reilly Dell arrived at the party at last. He was wearing motorized exoassist braces on his legs and had difficulty negotiating the crowded room. Fred blanched when he saw him. To Mary’s eyes, Reilly had the blissful expression of a man feeling no pain. He must have been hurt so bad that they doped him up with painkillers. He was hurt much worse than Fred, apparently.

  Alice jumped up to pull a chair out for him and to help him sit. He grinned drunkenly at her. Are you hurt? she asked him and leaned in close to sniff him. Reilly’s been dry-cleaned too, she announced to the group.

  Gwyn said, Reilly, you look loopy. Do they have you on opioids?

  Reilly didn’t respond, and Alice said, Can anyone tell me if Reilly and Fred were in the same brawl today?

  Everyone turned to the three jerrys, but their eyes were tracking left and right in creepy synchronization. They were back at the tournament.

  Reilly, are you hurt? Alice repeated.

  Mary scolded her friends. Can’t you see he’s off-line, like Fred? Mary leaned across the table, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, “Reilly! How do you feel?”

  It was a dumb question, she knew, but she was becoming flustered. Reilly gazed at her stupidly.

  What does he say? asked Alice.

  He’s not saying anything, Mary replied.

  You know what I mean, Alice chided her.

  And she did know what Alice meant. Mary was an evangeline. She was supposed to have genetically enhanced empathy for other people’s feelings. She was supposed to be able to read people’s expressions like words off a page. But all she could read in Reilly’s face was loony tunes.

  “Reilly! Are you hurt?” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

  A flicker of understanding crossed the big man’s face. He clenched his teeth and seemed to be struggling up from the depths. He opened his mouth and formed a word—“Gawh!”

  “Gawh?” Mary repeated, encouragingly.

  He shook his head in frustration. “Gawh!” he shouted. “Gawh! Gawh!”

  “God?” Mary shouted back. “You’re trying to say God?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Gawd!”

  “God what, Reilly?” Mary could feel everyone’s attention riveted on them.

  But Reilly lost it and began to choke with laughter. The dopey look left his face, and he appeared as clearheaded as ever. Mary couldn’t believe the transformation. The jerk had tricked her.

  Reilly grinned wide and said, Gawd, Mary, you’re sexy when you’re like that.

  Everyone laughed with relief. Reilly stood up and took a motorized bow. He parted his hair to show Mary the skullcap he was wearing, a temporary in
terface until he could install new implants.

  Mary, blushing, joined in the merriment. What else could she do? At least Reilly was all right, and his practical joke had done some good for Fred. She watched all the lingering stress of Fred’s day melt away. Now he and Reilly were mugging at each other like two happy baboons.

  Then it occurred to her to wonder why Fred hadn’t also put on a skullcap to be able to communicate with the rest of them. Because he felt too fragile? Perhaps hers was the more damaged russ after all.

  THE LULUS JOINED them at the table. “Guys!” shouted Mariola. “Watch this!”

  “It’s called the shimmy!” shouted Abbie. “We learned it in school!” The two women started clapping their hands while nudging aside neighboring chairs with their hips. People at the next table cleared a little space for them.

  “Come on, you slugs, clap!” Mariola shouted. Fred and Reilly picked up the rhythm and clapped. So did the jennys, Alice, Peter, and the rest. Even the jerrys. People at nearby tables joined in. Mary clapped too. The lulus were exceptionally sexy-looking tonight in their membrane-thin skirts and tube tops. Both were red-heads at the moment with green eyes and luminous brown skin.

  Abbie raised her head and sang out, “That’s it, that’s right. Everybody ready? Let’s go!” and she and Mariola began to uh-huh in syncopated time. On a count of five, six, seven, eight, they danced a very peculiar step. They each stomped their right foot down way out in front of them and dragged it back, as through sticky syrup. Then they stomped their left foot out and dragged it back; then the right, right; then left, right, left, left. And the most amazing effect: as they stomped and dragged their feet, they shook their hips and shoulders with just enough force and in just the right rhythm so that the biceps and triceps of their lanky, outstretched arms danced off their bones. And their full breasts quivered like jelly. Even Mary held her breath.

  The lulus performed a quick, loping break and took a bow. Everyone cheered and begged for more. But the girls sat down. Abbie slurped the last of her mostly melted tangerine daiquiri and glanced around at her friends.