Idolon (24 page)

Night in San Francisco gave rise to afternoon thunderclouds in Japan. Through the d-splay window in his office, Kasuo van Dijk watched the ebb and flow of shadows in the karesansui garden at the Nanzenji temple.

"Submit an interdepartmental query," he told the on-duty datician.

"Recipient?"

"Detective Buhay, with the San Jose Police Department."

Twenty minutes earlier there had been a second damselfly appearance at the street address for Zhenyu al-Fayoumi. A follow-up call to al-Fayoumi had been routed directly to his voice mail. When queried, al-Fayoumi's Call Management System reported that he had not logged into his account in the last 71.4 hours. According to an admin assistant with the department of Developmental Nanobiology at San Jose State, al-Fayoumi was taking some personal time to work on research.

Van Dijk had decided that it was time to do some research of his own.

A message light blinked on his eyefeed d-splay. Van Dijk turned from the window and mentally routed the call to a wall d-splay.

"Sam." Buhay said. "Been a while." He'd simage-cast himself as a lantern-jawed, hatchet-nosed Dick Tracy.

"Sorry it couldn't be longer." Inside the San Francisco Police Department he hadn't been called Sam—short for Samurai—in years.

"Not a problem." Buhay waved off the apology. "What can I do you for?"

"Zhenyu al-Fayoumi. Ring any bells?"

Buhay polished his chin for a moment. "He involved in something you're working on?"

"I'm not sure. I've got a dead philmhead, with a suspicious cause of death, and a missing witness who might be headed his way." Assuming there was a connection to the damsel. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Fly boy," Buhay said.

"Pilot?"

"Bugs. The insect variety. He started philming them a few months ago. Faces. Airplane wings. Like that."

"Sounds tacky but not necessarily illegal. You got a new law on the books I don't know about?"

Buhay smirked. "Apparently his bad taste, and interest in philm, isn't confined to academia."

"What'd he do?"

"Technically he hasn't done anything."

"In the meantime, you're keeping an eye on him."

Buhay lowered his hand from his jaw. "He contacted one of the plainclothes we got working a sting op on the local crack market. Hacking, ripping, and bootlegging of electronic skin and philm."

"Undercover?" van Dijk asked.

Buhay nodded. "Deep six."

Which meant that he had been at it for a long time and was going after a big fish, probably corporate. "What'd al-Fayoumi contact him about?"

"Fly boy wanted to know what was available, what was up and coming. Ware he could get here. Ware he had to get elsewhere, so to speak. Overseas."

"He say why?"

"Nah. He wasn't that stupid. I figure he's doing contract work for a philm studio, as a way to fund his own research."

"Hard up, huh?"

"The grant money hasn't exactly been pouring in for 'skinned flies. You don't get funded, it's only a matter of time."

"I take it he's not tenured."

"Not in this lifetime."

Buhay popped a coffeine drop and chewed. It was van Dijk's turn, and he got to the point. "There's evidence my philmhead may have been a test subject."

"What kind of evidence?"

"First-run philm on unregistered 'skin. Our skin-techs are still trying to REbot the autopsy results."

Buhay popped another drop. "We talking black-market?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Buhay nodded. "Either way, you think there might be a connection to al-Fayoumi. Your test subject have a name?"

Van Dijk shook his head. "Not yet. Both hard and soft DNA came up negative."

"Which is where your wit comes in."

Van Dijk nodded and let Buhay work out the next step for himself.

"What kind of support you looking for?" Buhay said, rolling the drop between his cheek and gums.

"I'd like to pay your fly boy a visit."

"Official?"

That would involve a warrant and van Dijk didn't want to go that far into debt. At least not yet. "Social," he said. "For now."

"I think we can manage that." Buhay bit into the hard-shelled coffeine. "This is a friendly town. Sharing."

Van Dijk took the point. Any information he came across would be passed on to Buhay. "Thanks," he said.

"When should I put out the welcome mat?" Buhay asked.

"Now would be a good time. You might want to have some flypaper handy, too."

Marta had a bad feeling about the TV. The woman wasn't just no-nonsense, she was watch-spring tight. The air around her felt brittle, as crinkly as her cheap 'skin and starched mannerisms.

One wrong step or word, Marta thought, and the TV would crack.

"Are you going to philm us?" Nadice said as the TV led them from their hotel room, down the hall to the elevators.

"All in good time," the woman said. "First things first."

She picked up the pace, hurrying them along the narrow strip of carpet that receded toward a vanishing point of pure white vertigo. Marta tried to imagine white stucco walls in place of the static, paisley frescoes, or velvet pin-striped wallpaper... anything substantive to dispel the feeling that the corridor was narrowing and that she was falling headlong into a singularity from which there was no escape.

Marta hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, just before quitting the Get Reel. If she became any more light-headed she'd float off into delirium. Already her body felt detached, sucked dry by events.

But maybe that was part of the plan. Starve them, deprive them of all strength and energy to the point where they were beyond caring. The walls leaned closer. Marta could feel the static attacking the cyst-hard attitude she'd encased herself in, a sort of corrosive fizz bubbling away with carbolic fury. It ate at her will, gnawed at her desire to resist.

"Is there a reason we were locked in our room?" Marta said as they waited for an elevator to arrive. "Not allowed to go anywhere?"

Conversation provided ballast against the acid bubbling, helped to anchor her in who she was.

The woman's gaze scalded her. "It's for your own protection," she stated with tart severity.

"Protection from what?"

"The church has many detractors." The woman's compressed mouth puckered into a sour gash.

"Who?" Nadice said.

"Some people think you're an abomination," the TV said. "They think you should be rounded up and quarantined. Or worse."

"What does that have to do with keeping us isolated?"

"At this point it's better if you have as little contact with the outside world as possible."

Marta shook her head. "You don't want us to know what's going on. That way we can't question what you're doing."

"There's a lot of misinformation being broadcast right now," the woman said. "The newzines report every rumor as if it's fact."

Lies flocked to silence like flies to shit, Marta thought, the quote leaping unbidden to mind. One of Nguyet's favorite aphorisms. "What's your name?" she said.

The woman gave her a look of blank, implacable static. "I don't have one. I gave up my name." The ultimate self-effacement, her expression seemed to say.

"What for?" Nadice said.

"The One name. When it's written on me, I want to be a blank slate, ready to receive my new identity."

_______

The TV took Marta and Nadice back up to the penthouse restaurant. There, several dozen women had been separated into distinct groups. The altar was gone, the tatami mats stacked against one wall. The windows were dark and full of internal reflections. Through the translucent tableau, Marta gazed southeast to the LED-lighted curve of the Bay, looking for the Slab and the Trenches.

Her father must be worried sick. Nguyet, too. Marta pictured her frantically doing a water-crystal reading, then another, and another. Her usual pattern, as if a second or a third reading would revise the first. Only when the readings were the same could she stop, let go.

Generally Marta didn't think twice about Nguyet's compulsion. It wasn't worth the effort. Like most self-help mysticism, there was no way to prove or disprove the results. In the end, it boiled down to faith. Some people just couldn't accept the world as random and pointless. There had to be a hidden meaning, a divine plan. And they believed that if they could get a good look at the master blueprint, it would tell them how to live their lives and the lives of everyone around them.

It was no different with the TVs. They were tuned in. They
knew
they were tuned in. They'd seen the light, and convinced themselves that whatever light anybody else saw was false light.

The only good thing about the water crystals was that they helped Nguyet manage her anxiety. This made life easier for Marta and her father. Without the crystals, Nguyet would be a total basket case and their lives would be miserable. If the crystals kept her from unraveling, more power to them.

"You've been assigned to group Alpha-Three," the TV advised them. She guided them across the restaurant, in the direction of a group of six women huddled near an open door that appeared to lead to the roof, where she could hear the muffled whine of turbine engines.

"Where are we going?" Marta said.

"When your group is called, you are to assemble at the door over there as quickly as possible." She pointed to an exit door. "You will be met there by somebody who will assist you."

"How long before we leave?" Nadice said.

"Not long." The woman clicked her tongue, firm but judicious taps.

The TV left them with their group. The other women stopped whispering. A few smiled in hesitant welcome. Marta grimaced. Distracted by the furtive commotion in the room, her attention skittered.

Dr. Kwan stood near the door. Another TV was with her, a man dressed in a blue seersucker suit. The conversation was animated. Dr. Kwan moved her hands a lot, short, sharp gestures to get across whatever point she was trying to make. At one juncture, she cast a quick sidelong glance at Marta.

Marta's skin crawled. They were talking about her.

Had Kwan finally discovered whatever had been implanted in her? Clearly the doctor was concerned, worked up about something. Why else would Kwan be talking to him, unless there was a problem?

The man listened intently, nodding every now and then in apparent agreement. He glanced once at Marta, confirming her worst fears.

Kwan seemed satisfied. After a couple of last-minute gestures she strode from the room, her gait brisk and confident.

"I have to go to the restroom," Marta said. She needed a few minutes to think, to gather herself.

"You just went," Nadice said.

"I have to go again. Listen. If that TV comes over here and asks about me, tell him..."

"What?" Nadice leaned close to Marta, her voice low but urgent. "What's going on?"

"Don't tell him anything. All right?"

"About what?"

"Anything." Marta reached for Nadice, then snatched her hand back, her fingers curled in a rigor-tight knot. "Explain that we just met, and that you don't know me very well. I haven't said shit to you."

"Okay."

"No matter how nice he is." Desperation scored her voice.

"This is what you can't talk about, isn't it?" Nadice said. "The reason you came here."

"I'm not sure. It could be."

Nadice drew a measured breath. "If it is, what's going to happen?"

Good question. Marta's thoughts flickered around the edges. She shut her eyes, but the palsied waver refused to steady.

Nadice slid a hand to her arm. "They're going to separate you from the rest of us, aren't they? Take you someplace else."

Cool fingers shackled her wrist. Marta's eyes snapped open. She should go now, put as much distance between them as she could while there was still time. Nadice hadn't asked to get involved. She didn't know what she was getting into. It wasn't fair to drag her along.

"I'm not going anywhere," Marta said. The hand held her in place.

"It's all right," Nadice said. "I understand." She seemed reconciled.

"No." Marta's wrist hurt. The dull throb, carried through her veins, clotted in her chest and throat.

"Shhh." Nadice's gaze slid sideways, dragging Marta's with it. "Here he comes."

The decision had been made for her. She'd waited too long. The TV had approached to within a half dozen steps of them. Nadice squeezed her wrist harder, just for a second, then let go.

"Hello, Nadice. It's nice to see you again." Jeremy smiled and tipped his head at them.

His features traced shadowy outlines behind the blizzard of pixels. Only his eyes were recognizable, a fixed steady blue, like twin bits of sky beaconing through the flurry. Marta resisted the urge to massage her wrist.

"How are you?" Jeremy asked. "Is everything all right?"

Nadice pursed her lips. "Fine."

"Good, good." The TV turned his gaze to Marta. "Do you mind if we have a brief word? In private."

"The woman who brought us up here told us we were supposed to stick together," Nadice said: "So we don't get separated."

"This won't take long. A few minutes."

"Don't worry," Marta said to Nadice. "It'll work out. I promise."

Straightening her shoulders, she followed the TV to a pair of rubber-sealed double doors that hissed at her as they parted.

_______

The doors led to a banquet-staging area. Through scratched plastine windows in a second pair of double doors directly in front of her, Marta could see a stainless-steel kitchen.

Forcing bravado, she stopped and said, "What's all this about?"

The TV touched a finger to his lips.

She slowed her breathing, tried not to sound anxious. "I just don't want to get left behind."

"In here," Jeremy said, opening the door to a storage closet where the altar table was kept. He ushered her in and closed the door. Other than the table and several stacks of plastic chairs, the room was bare.

Now what? They were alone. If she called for help, no one would hear her; there was nothing she could do.

Jeremy gestured to one of the available chairs, offering her a seat. "We can speak freely now. It's safe."

Marta stood her ground. "Talk about what?"

"Relax," the TV said. He sat on one corner of the table. "Have faith."

Marta stiffened. She pictured the weathered sign outside the shop: EGGED, ROWED, AND OLE GOODS. It wasn't possible, she thought. He couldn't know the password. The man had recruited Nadice at the homeless shelter. Kwan had obviously gone to him with a problem.

The man was watching her, waiting. Clearly, he expected a response. And soon.

"Become..." Marta faltered. "Become a true believer ... and all your prayers will be forgiven."

There. It was done. No turning back.

Jeremy reached into his robe, took out a dermadot, and handed it to her. "Before you keel over."

"Thanks." Marta peeled the backing from the der-madot and placed the antitox on her tongue, where it dissolved, as bitter as tannin.

Jeremy became suddenly agitated. He seemed anxious, pressed for time. "Well?" he said. "What have you got?"

Marta hesitated, at a loss.

"Let's start with the purpose of the pluglet," he said.

Marta shook her head. "I'm not sure I understand."

Jeremy pushed away from the table and began to pace. "Dr. Kwan found a pluglet in you. That's what she came to tell me."

"Pluglet?" Marta said.

"Plug-in applet." The static on his brow altered frequency. "You weren't told what you were carrying?"

"No. The person I—whoever installed it didn't say anything."

Jeremy massaged the base of his skull. "According to Kwan, it's a small modular circuit, an add-on to existing wetronics. I assume it's to augment the ware Kwan found in Nadice. That's why I put you in the same room."

"Nadice told me she was smuggling something. But she didn't know what it was."

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me. Kwan's never seen anything like it. She thinks that It might be a new type of quantum circuit that connects 'skin, turns it into shareware."

"What does the pluglet do? Rewire it?"

"Kwan's not sure. She's still analyzing it, trying to figure out if it's a threat or not." Jeremy pinched the bridge of his nose, fingers merging with his face. He appeared tired, his emotions threadbare, as if he'd been on edge for way too long.

"What are you going to do?" Marta asked.

"Until I receive further instructions, everything I can to protect you, maintain your cover."

A pop-up d-splay opened on his right wrist. He glanced at it, frowned. At the same time a shadow surfaced beneath the pixels of his face, hesitated, then slid from view, some subtle imbalance or perturbation, more imagined than real.

"... unfortunately Kwan refuses to authorize your release," the TV was saying. He combed pale fingers through his nonexistent hair. "For the time being, my hands are tied. There's nothing I can do."

Marta blinked. "You're keeping me here?"

"Kwan wants to hold you for further observation. I'll arrange for your release as soon as I can, but it's going to take some time. I'm sorry."

"What about Nadice?" she said.

"She's going with the others. Kwan wants to keep you two separated until she knows more about the ware each of you is carrying and what it does. I'll do everything I can to look after her."