The smile shape disappeared, the colours shifting then gelling into a monochrome portrait of Janet. “How do you like your new friend?”
“I’m guessing I have you to thank for her turning up at my door.”
“A little tweak to her bargain basement search-gear, just enough to nudge her in the right direction. It really didn’t take much, once she had your scent it seems she couldn’t stay away.”
“So this is all real? There really is a killer out there re-staging ancient myths?”
Janet’s portrait disappeared, replaced by some kind of dense script, the language unfamiliar, strangely ordered symbols and pictograms scrolling across the dermi-screen. “What do you see, Alex?”
I shrugged. “Something I can’t read.”
“No, you wouldn’t know how. It’s a trinary coding language, conceived to take full advantage of the power offered by the first generation of true quantum computers. What you’re looking at is the first program written in that language.”
“Not seeing the link here, Freak.”
“The person you’re looking for can read this, in its raw form, uncompiled. You’ll find a copy on your smart.”
“So I’m up against a genius programmer?”
“That and more.”
“Too much trouble to just give me a name I suppose?”
“I don’t have any names to give, none that would help in any case.”
I looked again at the scrolling code. Math and science always left me a little cold, but even I could see there was a depth and complexity to this, far beyond normal understanding.
“Did they write this?” I asked.
“No, I did. Many years ago. It was one of the tasks I was made for. Quantum computing was first conceived in the late twentieth-century but a means of harnessing its potential eluded scientists for the next two centuries. The complexities involved in the most basic programming were a challenge for even a genius level human mind. But with my extended cortex, my makers hoped some kind of practical interface could be found.”
“Looks like they were right.”
“Up to a point.”
The code suddenly shifted, the dense lines becoming fragmented, twisting into spirals and fractals with increasing speed, symbols spinning from one cluster to another, forms changing and expanding in a mesmeric kaleidoscope.
I closed my eyes against the sudden headache. “Whoa! What was that?”
Freak’s dermi-screen faded to mottled crimson. “As with any complex system, chaos, or what appears to be chaos, inevitably begins to effect the program.”
“You mean your first program crashed.”
There was a long silence from the speakers and I wondered if Freak had ever had to admit failure before, or if s/he even knew what it was. “It generated unexpected results,” the speakers said eventually.
“So I’m looking for a homicidal math whizz who’ll recognise this code. That’s what you’re telling me?”
“In essence, yes.”
“This code that you wrote before Colonel Riviere rescued you from that lab orbital?”
“Quite so.”
“This a relative, Freak? Some fellow lab-rat, all gene-fucked like you except he or she can walk around looking like the rest of us?”
“He can certainly do that.”
“So it’s male, thanks for that at least.”
“You shouldn’t limit your options. Appearance is highly malleable to him.”
“Great, so it’s a shapeshifter now. Can you tell me something that will actually help?”
Freak’s eye opened, once beach-ball size now it was over seven feet wide, the pupil seemed very large and very black. “He knows by now that you’re looking for him. It’s not in his nature to hide from threats. Please be careful.”
The eye closed and the speakers fell silent.
“Audience over, huh?” I said.
There was no response save for the soft hiss of the exit opening.
Chapter 4
“Pretty,” Janet cooed, her slender hand playing in the holo of the swirling code Freak had uploaded to my smart. “What is it? Some kind of art piece?”
“Not exactly sure.” Her face was devoid of anything I could discern as artifice. Most vampires I’d met were lousy liars, maybe it was a fault in the gene sequencing, the boundless human gift for deception getting lost in the mix somewhere. In any case she had either never seen the code before or had forgotten it, and I had serious doubts she was capable of forgetting anything.
I switched off the smart and sat back in my seat, regarding the as yet unsipped glass of Kentucky Red on the table. We were in the bar on the Yang One viewing tier, the cavernous trans-steel ceiling two hundred meters above offering a fine view of the Axis, a slowly spinning, serene blue-green globe caged in a web of carbon 60. Except, of course, it wasn’t spinning, we were.
“Is it really a giant squid with a human brain?” Janet asked, a straw protruding from the corner of her mouth as she sucked on a beaker of plasma adorned with a cutesy cartoon of a ferret. Apparently the blood of small mammals had a sweeter taste.
“I think there’s more octopus in the mix than squid,” I said. “But more brain than anything else.”
“Some among the splice community continue to come together to offer it supplication, sending messages through the net marked ‘prayers’. They just sit on the servers waiting for it to read them. I once tried to write a paper on it but found every research avenue blocked. There’s not even a single net page on it. Amazing really, a being of such importance completely absent from contemporary records but known to all through word of mouth.”
“Freak doesn’t do interviews, if that’s what you’re angling for. Did seem to like you though.”
“It should. I am eminently likeable.” She finished her plasma, suctioning up the dregs with a loud rasp, and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, a pleasing flush on her cheeks. “So, what did the living splice god have? Beyond an interesting piece of abstract animation.”
I tapped my finger against the shot glass, watching the few bubbles detach and rise to the surface. “You don’t need to do this anymore. Best if I work it alone.”
She drew back a little, lips twisted in suppressed amusement. “Oh, I get it. Dire warning of grave peril, right? Got your chivalrous engine all revved up.” She leaned forward, hands flat-drumming on the table. “Well, forget it. I’m the Special Investigator here, and like I said, I can protect myself.” She began clicking her fingers and moving her head from side to side in time with the rhythm. “Yes I can, yes I can. Oh yeah.”
“Remind me to get you a smaller measure next time.” I got up, feeling the comforting weight of Karnikhov’s Python in my coat pocket.
“You haven’t touched your drink.”
“No.” I picked up the glass and tossed the contents into a nearby plant-pot. “I haven’t. Come on. There’s a merry widow you should meet.”
*
Julietta DeMarco was an ardent fan of rejuve, appearing to be all of thirty-five when she was in fact the north side of fifty. She had been so dominated by grief during our previous interaction that I’d failed to notice the natural elegance with which she held herself. She wore an expensive dark blue business suit, brown hair tied back and shot through with a single streak of grey. The sophisticated aura was only slightly tarnished by a broad Yang-side accent, and judging by the glint in her eye when she caught sight of Janet, she and her husband had had more in common than a love of rejuve.
“More questions, Inspector?” she said, not without warmth which surprised me. We had been welcomed into her spacious office in the corporate district on Yang Twenty-Seven with expensive smelling coffee and a cool handshake, making me wonder if she wasn’t justifiably pissed at the lack of progress in tracking down her husband’s killer. But it seemed from her tone that any resentment was either absent or suppressed.
“Thank you for seeing us,” I said, deciding it was best not to enlighten her as to my current of
ficial status.
“I had my lawyer make some enquiries with the Chief’s office a couple of weeks ago. He gained the impression the investigation was pretty much dormant.”
“We may have a new angle.” I nodded at Janet. “Dr Vaughan here, our new Special Investigator, has some questions.”
Mrs DeMarco smiled broadly at Janet, eyes tracking her from head to toe. “Dr Vaughan? And what exactly is your speciality dear?”
I was surprised Janet didn’t blush under the intensity of the woman’s scrutiny, but realised she might not be able to. “Classical studies,” she replied, continuing quickly, “Mrs DeMarco, would you say your husband was a spiritual man?”
“Julietta, please.” Mrs DeMarco reclined in her real leather executive swivel chair, expression at once sad and amused. “Thomas was raised Trad-Catholic, we both were. I’m happy to say it wore off in adulthood. He used to say ‘Why do I need a god when I have a goddess at home?’”
“So he had no interest in religion? Maybe he expressed an interest in a new faith, something unusual.”
Mrs DeMarco’s expression became more serious. “Thomas lived for three things, dear: family, business and sex. In that order. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him otherwise.” Her gaze shifted to me. “I’m no criminologist but this line of questioning would indicate a ritual aspect to Thomas’s murder, would it not?”
“We’re just being thorough,” I said. “Exploring every possibility.”
“Including a serial killer, right? A ritualised murder signifies repeat behaviour. Someone’s done this before, or since. That’s your new angle.”
“I see you’ve been reading up,” I replied, tone as light as I could make it. Bitter experience had taught me to reveal as little as possible to a potential witness, or suspect.
“Thomas left me with a business to run.” Mrs DeMarco gestured at the expansive office space. “And a not inconsiderable fortune. Enough to purchase the services of the best private investigators and criminal psychologists, found Upside or Down. Want to know what they came up with?”
“Certainly.”
“Absolutely fuck all. Over two mill in folding green for squat. Plenty of theories of course, but no answers.” Her shrewd eyes fixed on Janet again. “But none of them asked if Thomas was religious. What’s it all about, Jedette? Spill or I’m making a call to the Chief’s office.”
“Well…” Janet glanced at me for guidance.
“There are two other possibly linked homicides,” I told Mrs DeMarco. “One Downside and one on the Slab.”
“What’s the link?”
“Myth. Greek myth to be precise.” I briefly laid out the three scenarios.
“Hence Dr Janet and her classical studies,” she mused. “You figured all this out, didn’t you dear?”
“She did,” I said.
Mrs DeMarco’s gaze didn’t lift from her. “Brains as well. Thomas and I would have enjoyed you no end.” She clasped her hands together, forefingers under her chin as she thought it over. “Can’t recall Thomas giving much’ve a shit about mythology. Like I said, family, business and sex.”
“He may well have been targeted simply because he fit the killer’s criteria,” I said. “I’m guessing whoever’s doing this doesn’t much care whether the victim believes or not.” I got to my feet. “I think that covers it for now. As ever, if you think of anything…”
“Naturally.” Mrs DeMarco rose to shake hands again, keeping hold of Janet’s a touch too long.
“Nice big present in it for you, Jed,” she told me. “If you find this sicko. And I don’t expect him to make it to trial.”
“I’m in it for the love, not the money,” I replied, which made her laugh.
We were at the door when something made me pause. “Sorry ma’am, but you said you and Thomas would have, erm…” I glanced at Janet who gave a loud sigh of annoyance.
“We certainly would,” she said, reaching out to tease a lock of Janet’s hair. “We shared such things, you see. Thirty years of marriage can make a couple hungry for new experiences.”
Shared? This didn’t gel with Thomas DeMarco’s behaviour or his Yang-wide stable of lovers. “I was under the impression your husband liked to… enjoy such things without you.”
“Hardly.” She returned to her desk, opening a drawer to extract what looked like a thin metal hair-band. “Neural Immersion Transmitter.” She tossed the item to me. “The latest thing. Still in its infancy really, but Thomas had a contact at MEC who put us on the beta-test list. They’re trialling it for two years to work out the bugs.”
I looked at the band. It seemed fairly innocuous, a thin arc of metal with a bulb at each end. “How does it work?”
“Just put it on your head, the person wearing a connected set can feel and see what you do, or vice versa.”
“So when Thomas was…”
“Fucking someone’s brains out I could feel it, yes. Or he could feel it when I was with someone, you just switch from send to receive. Or you can record the experience for playback later.” She gave a wistful sigh. “It was pretty amazing, I must say. Way better than any immersion porn you’ve ever had.”
“This is your headset?”
“Yes.”
“And Thomas’s?”
“He had it with him the night he went missing, he was visiting Daniel. One of my favourites…” She trailed off. “You’ve never seen this before.”
“No, I haven’t.” I turned to Janet, holding up the headset. “Check the crime scene reports. Look for a match.”
She took a cap of the headset and ran it through a search. “Zilch. Not in the Pipe carriage or the, er,” she looked up at Mrs DeMarco and stopped herself saying ‘slaughterhouse’, “…the place where the body was found.”
“Compassion too,” Mrs DeMarco murmured. “Lucky man, Inspector.”
I ignored that. “We’ll need the name of your husband’s contact at MEC.”
“Of course.” She fetched her smart and called up the ID. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”
“It may be nothing.”
Mrs DeMarco gave me a smile just as bright as the one she’d given Janet. “Screw that, Jed. You know it’s not.”
*
“You think someone killed him for this?” Janet sounded dubious as she examined the neural immersion band Mrs DeMarco had let us take away. We were on the Pipe, retracing Thomas DeMarco’s last journey, alone in the carriage thanks to some official sounding bluster at the last stop. Not having an ID to wave around forced me to up the intimidation quotient and the passengers had exited without any fuss.
“I mean they’re trialling it already,” Janet went on. “The competition must have got hold of the specs by now.”
“It’s not a motive,” I said. “At least I don’t think so. We found most of DeMarco’s effects in the barrel with the rest of him. Whoever put him through the cutters didn’t bother to undress him. Smart, ID, green all present and correct, if pretty soggy. But this,” I tapped the band, “this was gone.”
“Souvenir maybe? I read somewhere people who do this like to collect mementos.”
“Some do. Seems a little mundane for our guy though. He’s cut from a different cloth.”
“Then why take it?”
“No idea. But I’m pretty sure if we find it we find him.” I checked the read-out on the overhead info board. “We’re five minutes away. Better call Sherry.”
She punched in Sherry’s ID. “Dr Vaughan?”
“We need an override on a Pipe carriage,” I said. “Green Line, Axis Bound.”
“Recreating the event, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“OK. I can only give you fifteen minutes though. Transport Exec get pissed if we do this too often.” There was a pause as she ran the authorisation code. “All set. Remember, eight tonight.”
“I’m all a-tingle in anticipation.”
A grunt of what might have been amusement and she was gone.
> “Dreading it, aren’t you?” Janet asked.
I shrugged. “Don’t intend staying too long. And you shouldn’t feel obliged.”
“After you went to so much effort to get me an invite, how could I not?” She gave a demure pout, batting her eyelashes.
“Very nice. You practice that in the mirror?”
“Us creatures of the night don’t have a reflection, haven’t you heard?”
The Pipe carriage slowed and came to a none-too gentle halt. I got up and peered through the windows seeing only dimly lit tunnel wall. “Nothing,” I muttered. “Nowhere to hide, unless he came through the ceiling, which was sealed tight and undamaged.”
“There’s a gap here,” Janet said. She was at the door, gesturing at the darkness beyond the glass.
“Can’t see it,” I said, moving to her side.
“You don’t have enhanced night vision. It’s about two feet wide with what looks like a bottomless shaft on the other side.”
I consulted the Pipe map on the carriage wall. We were halfway through Yang Five, Quad Gamma, near the terminus of the main ventilation shaft.
“Check your smart,” I said. “There should be an override for the doors in the case file authorities folder.”
She found it and punched in the code, the doors sliding open to treat us to a blast of cold air.
“Sheesh!” Janet exclaimed, blinking in the wind. She took a firm hold of the handle next to the door and leaned out. “Can’t see anywhere someone could have been waiting,” she shouted. “Nothing to hang on to.”
Slab City Blues - The Collected Stories: All Five Stories in One Volume Page 9