Self Made
Page 5
Chapter Five
To hear her tell it, she was the only person Dex had ever met who didn’t have an enemy in the world. Of course, there were all those people who believed that multis were a threat to commerce and society and needed to be banished from the ’nets. But other than them, Ivy was loved and admired by all.
Dex was getting tired of it; hell, he was just plain getting tired. He finally told her to send him a list of everyone she talked with socially and he promised to be discreet if he had to talk to them. For once she went one better and gave him the list right then and there. It was short, though. Just three names — Bill Christo, Renna Bellinger and Julie Abrentz.
“Please don’t tell them,” Ivy asked. “You don’t even need to talk to them. They doesn’t know anything about it. We’ve never even talked about multis before.”
“How do you all know each other?”
“I met Bill and Julie through Renna.”
“And what about her?” Dex asked.
“She works in another branch of my firm,” Ivy said, “She’s a UI designer, like me.”
“So you work together?”
“No,” Ivy said, “we met through work, but we don’t work together. We’re,” she paused, as if looking for the right word. “We’re friends. That’s all. I don’t want her mixed up in this, it’s just not fair to her.”
“I told you I’d be discreet,” Dex said, “but if I have to talk to these people, I will. You just have to trust me.” Ivy reluctantly agreed and ended the conversation. Dex added the new information to his notes and poured another drink. It had been a long night and he had another long shift at B&B the next day. But he figured he had enough time to watch a quick video.
• • •
Maksym was lying on the couch, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. There was music playing, loud enough that they had to speak up in order to talk. Maks had his eyes closed, his head slightly bobbing in time to the music as he sang along. This was Dex’s favourite part. The part where they sang along, the way a person might in the lav, loud and off key and perfectly happy. He saw Maks take a drag of the contraband cigarette and the smoke curled up over his head as he sang. Dex remembered that he had sung too and he could sometimes make out the sound of his own voice on the video.
He stilled the image, searched his archive for the song they had been listening to and played it. He sat, sipping his rum and ginger and looked at Maksym’s still face, frozen in song. The song ended, but Dex just sat there for a moment. Then, he took the bottle of SleepingJuice, drank a six hour dose and fell into bed.
• • •
Dex awoke still dressed and feeling as bad as he usually did first thing in the morning. After taking a hit of Flying Fish, ditching his sweaty, wrinkled clothes in the autoclave and spending five minutes in the lav, he felt almost human again. He rode the train into B&B while eating a nutrient bar and checking in on the previous night’s news.
At his work station, he logged into the backdoor and checked his personal messages. Amazingly, a few of the people he’d contacted the previous day from Ivy’s list had answered. They all expressed the same shock and horror at Reuben’s death and offered any help they could. Good. Dex could finally get some kind of a clue about what Reuben was like. He didn’t trust Ivy’s assessment one bit, she was just too close. And by her own admission, she wasn’t exactly a social butterfly — her perceptions of people easily could be skewed.
He started with the first response, from someone called Sterling Ljundberg. Dex’s assigned shift at B&B that day was answering text inquiries, so he was able to send a voice request to Ljundberg. He set his system to process subvocal input, so the conversation would be silent at his end, but translated to audio at the receiving end. Ljundberg answered and Dex introduced himself.
“Oh, yes, Mister Dexter,” the voice at the other end said, somewhat obsequiously, “if that’s the correct way to address you...”
“Just Dex is fine,” he answered. “I wanted to talk to some of the people who knew Reuben, to get a sense of the man. I’m particularly interested in finding out if you have any idea who might have had a grudge...” Dex let the end of the sentence linger, waiting for Ljundberg to fill the empty space.
“It’s just so shocking,” the other man finally said. “I mean, Reuben was such a nice guy. I know that sounds rather, well, lame, I suppose. But in this case it’s just the best way to describe him. He was genuinely nice. He wasn’t like the trolls you get on the boards, he wasn’t even one of those people who get all excited if someone challenges their opinion. He was just a plain old good guy. I can’t believe that someone would murder him. That’s just insane.”
Some people would argue that murder was always insane, Dex thought, but aloud he said, “So, you can’t think of anyone who had it in for Reuben, anyone who specifically didn’t get along with him?”
“No,” Ljundberg said. “He’s not- I mean he wasn’t the kind of person who made enemies. He never got into fights, hardly even got into heated debates. Though I can’t imagine that anyone on the boards people like us frequented would kill anyone, even if they hated each other. We’re, well, we’re intellectuals. We use words, not...” His voice trailed off. “Say, how was Reuben killed?”
Dex knew this would come eventually and he’d already decided to just go with the truth. “Well, it’s a little complicated,” he said. “You see, Reuben Cobalt was an alternate identity.” Dex heard Ljundberg draw his breath in sharply. “He was killed by code.”
“My god,” Ljundberg said. “A multi? But, I... we... he never said anything; I never knew.” There was silence for a while. “Is that really, I mean, do you still call this a murder? Or is Reuben’s... creator dead, too?”
“No,” Dex said, “though I can’t say anything else about that.”
“No, I would think not. A multi. That explains a few things.” Ljundberg seemed almost to have forgotten that he was speaking to another person.
“Such as?” Dex prompted.
“Oh. Well, how do I put it? He was private, I guess. Though, no more than many of us, I suppose.”
“How do you mean, ‘private’?” Dex asked. “What made you think that?”
“Well,” Ljundberg said, “From what I can remember, he never mentioned where he lived. There was a discussion about where we were all from one day and he was notable in his absence from that conversation. I remember wondering if he was still on the board, but then he showed up again in a different conversation. And he never talked about his past. Of course, he never posted any images of himself either, but like I said, none of this is terribly strange, really. But it makes sense now, I guess a different kind of sense. We’re all presenting a particular face to one another here, I suppose. I wonder how many of us really have separate identities when we’re online, practically speaking, whether we know it or not?”
Dex figured the conversation wasn’t going to get anywhere useful at this stage; it must just be a hazard of talking to amateur philosophers. He made the usual noises asking Ljundberg to let him know if he thought of anything that might be helpful. Dex then said that he was sorry to be the bearer of bad news and gave Ljundberg his typical end of interview speech. He made a few notes and moved on to the next name on the list.
Ginette De Moranville had the same non-story to tell, though at least she had a charming accent to tell it in. Dex was surprised to hear an accent — he thought they were all but extinct and only found in historical entertainment vids. De Moranville explained that her parents had been eccentric history buffs and had brought her up speaking French. She’d apparently had a horrible time in school, although it had enabled lucrative careers in voice work and interpretation and translation for historians. Like Ljundberg, De Moranville was shocked at Reuben’s death and also professed ignorance at his being an alternate identity. She seemed nonplussed by the revelation, though, and in between possibly false sobs, she kept repeating, “Mon dieu, pauvre Reuben.”
Aside from the language lesson, Dex’s conversation with her was just as fruitless as his talk with Ljundberg. While he felt it would likely be a continued waste of time, Dex was nothing if not thorough, so he called the last name on his list. Mickey Udo was unavailable, but his messenger told Dex what time Udo would be in Marionette City. The program even provided a link, which Dex noted. He ought to be able to look up Udo after the squad meeting that evening.
Meanwhile, Dex decided it was time to talk to some of the people who were involved more intimately with Reuben Cobalt. His business associates. Dex pulled up the contact information for Alvaro Zuccarelli and pinged him using the independent investigator identity. He figured Zuccarelli would know exactly who Dex worked with, if not why he was calling. As he expected, Zuccarelli answered almost immediately.
“Andersson Dexter,” a smooth voice said. “Lieutenant, I believe. What can I do for you today?”
Dex was surprised that the man knew enough about the Cubicle Men to identify his rank, but he decided to just go with it. “Correct, Mr. Zuccarelli. But, you have the advantage of me, I’m afraid.”
“How so?”
“You seem to know a great deal about me, but all I know about you is that you’ve done some business with someone I want to know a little more about.”
“And who might that be?”
“Reuben Cobalt.”
“Hmm,” the silky voice said. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. In what context would I have encountered Mr. Cobalt?”
“Well, that’s more or less what I was hoping to find out from you, Mr. Zuccarelli.” Dex was being a trifle disingenuous, since Ivy had explained that Zuccarelli had essentially been Reuben’s banker. A multi that was functioning independently needed a way to pay for things and as it turned out, Reuben had an income as well. But all financial transactions were tied to a person’s everywherenet authentication, as well as an individual bank account. Ivy’s system could fake the authentication, but it didn’t come with a built in bank account. Enter Alvaro Zuccarelli.
“I’m sorry that I can’t be of more assistance, Lieutenant. Perhaps if you allow me to check my records, I may be able to find some information my inferior brain has forgotten.” Zuccarelli was going out of his way to be an ass now, Dex figured, since he highly doubted that there were any records the man couldn’t have accessed while they talked. Still, he’d go on playing it nice. For now.
“I’d be very grateful for any help you could provide, Mr. Zuccarelli,” Dex said, his voice almost betraying the contempt he felt. He ended the call and went on a break. He visited the toilet and then headed to B&B’s break room for a coffee. When he got back to his work station, he addressed a few more complaints and scanned over the agenda for the weekly squad meeting that evening. He wondered what Zuccarelli was hiding. Being Reuben’s banker was no big deal and Dex was sure that Zuccarelli’s personal experience with the Cubicle Men would have made it crystal clear that Dex wouldn’t care about that. Maybe it was pure professionalism — Dex imagined that part of the package was anonymity and though he figured that usually would end when the client died, maybe it didn’t for Zuccarelli’s operation. More out of habit than for any real reason, he played the recording of the conversation back to himself at double speed, while he answered a few enquiries for B&B customers. He was in the middle of copying and pasting a section of the instruction manual for one hapless customer when it dawned on him that he’d never gotten around to telling Zuccarelli that his client was, indeed, dead.
On the upside, Dex figured that having that bit of data still in hand might make the bad cop version of the conversation go a little smoother — at his end, anyway. He finished up his last few bits and pieces for B&B and logged out of all systems before heading out the door. The reader in the doorway logged him out, as well as thoroughly but ineffectually scanning him for any extracurricular system activity. Once he was through the door, he linked into Marionette City and while his body was headed home, his avatar headed off to the office.