Tears in Rain Part 18

Bruna went over the information on Annie Heart's false ID tag again and verified that she was sufficiently well versed in it. She was ready. It was time to get going. Bruna stood up, grabbed Bartolo by the neck, removed from his mouth a wad of paper napkins he was eating, and then called Yiannis.

"Hi, I'd like to see you. How are you doing for time?"

The old man's face looked strained and nervous.

"I'm glad you called, Bruna, I've got lots of things to tell you."

"What things?"

"Not like this. In person."

"Oli's bar in two hours' time?"

"Perfect. See you then."

The rep cut the link, ordered the computer to play music (playlist 037, hyperacoustic themes that were relaxing but at the same time had a slightly euphoric effect), and then pulled out the small oven that was built into the kitchen. She put her hand inside the cavity and opened the little trapdoor right at the back, behind which she hid her box of secrets-all those things she didn't want anyone to see, like the little plasma gun for which she didn't have a permit. And her supply of silicon skin. It had been a while since Bruna had disguised herself, but it was something she had always been good at. The first thing she did was strip naked, then she warmed up a little bit of dermosilicon until it liquefied, and rapidly spread the delicate pink film over the line of ink that ran around her body. The bit at the back was probably not so well applied, but that would, after all, be hidden by her clothes. She stood under an ultraviolet light with her arms and legs outstretched like Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man, and two minutes later the thin film had already dried and fused perfectly with her skin, completely covering her tattoo. Now, she could only remove the silicon with dermosolvent. Next, she put in contact lenses. She had chosen dark green ones that looked very natural and camouflaged her distinctive feline pupils. Then came the wig, ash blonde and autoadhesive with body heat, and fake eyebrows of the same color, a little thicker than her own. She padded her cheeks with the help of two prostheses made of anatomical rubber, and then put on padded underwear that increased the size of her b.u.t.tocks and added two sizes to her small Amazonian b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Then came the makeup: a trifle exaggerated, slightly retro, with bright red lips and eyes highlighted using gold eye shadow. She chose a dress with a culotte skirt, a boringly conventional outfit that she wore only on these occasions, and she carefully styled the wig's silky hair, which fell to her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror. The best thing about having such an eye-catching appearance was the speed with which she could alter it. It had only taken her twenty-five minutes to transform herself, and even her own mother wouldn't have recognized her. If her mother had existed, of course. She was so blonde, so seemingly feminine; would Nopal like her more if she were like this? The memory of the writer slipped across her mind, leaving behind a fiery trace. She found that thinking about him was too troubling. She was sickened by memorists and she found Nopal intimidating and ambiguous. But the previous night in the disco, in the warmth of his embrace, with the exhilaration of the music and the oxytocin, Bruna would have given herself to him. The rep savored again the taste of Nopal's blood on her lips. Uneasy and confused, she shook her head. She would, in fact, prefer never to see him again.

She opted for a pair of discreet, comfortable shoes-because you never knew when you might have to run for it-and removed her own ID tag from the chain around her neck, replacing it with the one Mirari had given her. Then she put what she needed into a handbag and headed for the door. Just then, a call came in. She checked the caller identification; it was Lizard.

"d.a.m.n!"

She switched her screen to invisible mode and answered. The policeman's fleshy face appeared on her screen.

"Husky, are you there?"

"I'm here."

"Why have you turned off your image?"

"Are you calling to give me the results of Nabokov's autopsy?"

"Why have you turned off your image? According to the GPS signal from your mobile, you're at home. Is someone holding a plasma gun at your head?"

"Could you do me the d.a.m.n favor of not tracking me?"

"It's a serious question, Husky."

He said it with a small sardonic smile and yet it seemed to Bruna that, deep down, there was a degree of genuine concern. As if the inspector had faked that smile in order to hide the fact that when he said he was talking seriously, he really was talking seriously. The rep shook her head; everything seemed so ridiculously stupid with Lizard.

"Believe me. Nothing's going on."

"So why can't I see you then?"

He was as stubborn as a mule. Nopal had already said so.

"Because I don't want you to see what I look like."

"Why not?"

"Hmmm...Let's just say it's because I'm not looking attractive enough for you."

The detective had spoken sarcastically, but it suddenly crossed her mind that maybe she was being sarcastic to cover up that when she spoke about being attractive to him she really did, in fact, want this to be the case. Oh, by all the d.a.m.n species, muttered Bruna to herself.

"Listen, Lizard, I haven't got time for this nonsense. If you've got nothing to tell me, I'm off."

The policeman rubbed his heavy jaw.

"Actually, yes, I do have things to tell you. But hang on..."

He leaned forward and the picture disappeared.

"Lizard?"

"I'm still here. It's just that I like to be on an equal footing."

He had switched to invisible mode, too. d.a.m.ned, arrogant, pigheaded man, thought Bruna.

"Fine by me. Though you could just send a robot messenger," she grumbled disdainfully.

But it was true that she found it somewhat irritating not to be able to see his face.

"Nabokov's body was too destroyed by the explosion. They can't even establish if she was carrying an artificial memory. She was in the terminal stages of TTT and had ma.s.sive cerebral metastasis, so her behavior could well have been due to her illness."

"We already knew that. Is that all you've got to tell me?"

"Almost."

Then there was silence, during which the detective couldn't stop herself from staring at the empty screen, as if the nebulous blur of pixels was going to reveal an important secret.

"We found something in Nabokov and Chi's apartment."

Bruna's imagination again pictured Lizard's ma.s.sive body hunting among the filmy, lilac banners in the bedroom. It was not a pleasant image.

"A data chip, hidden in a ring underneath the stone. An ingenious hiding place. We might never have found it if the stone had been pressed shut properly. When the ring was moved the chip fell on the floor."

"And?"

"It's some sort of supremacist pamphlet. There's no reference to Hericio's party, but it claims to speak on behalf of some vague panhumanism. It maintains they have a plan to exterminate the reps, and what's most important is that there are pictures of all the victims, including Chi, showing the tattoo with the word revenge. Which suggests that the chip was made by the killers."

Bruna frowned, trying to slot in this new piece of information.

"And why do you think Nabokov had that, Lizard?"

"I don't know. But I think someone might have sent it to her to mess with her head."

It was a good hypothesis. If Nabokov, as ill as she was, saw that rubbish, her violent reaction was much more understandable.

"That was why she spoke to me of revenge when we b.u.mped into each other."

"By the way, there was also no way the medical examiner could tell if Nabokov had any tattooed word. There's nothing on what's left of her."

"They're done in the Labaric script of power. The tattoos, I mean."

Bruna was somewhat surprised at herself. Amazed at the ease with which she'd given that piece of information to the inspector. Clearly, the fact that he had saved her from a beating fostered a certain trust. She barely hesitated before she told Lizard everything she knew. She told him about Natvel, and Cain's other job at Hungry, and what the mutant with the third eye had told her. In the end, she told him everything except that she had disguised herself as a human, and that she was getting ready to infiltrate the HSP. It didn't seem wise to reveal that she was breaking a whole slew of laws.

"Since you have an official role in the investigation, you could demand that the priest at the Emba.s.sy of Labari provide you with information about the tattoo on the victims."

"Not a bad idea, Husky."

"By the way, did you run the two dead reps through your anatomical-recognition program to see if there was a match with the eye in the knife?"

"Yes, I did. And no, no matches. It wasn't them. I ran you through the program too, to see if it was you."

Bruna stared at the blank screen with indignation. A few seconds later, she heard the man's thick, calm voice again.

"There was no match with you either."

Thanks for the show of confidence, thought the rep.

"Well, that's good news," she said icily. "Bye, Lizard. I've got work to do."

There was no response. The screen was humming faintly. Had he disconnected without even saying good-bye? But the green connection light was still on.

"Lizard?"

Then his voice was audible again. Slow, fuzzy, heavy.

"Be careful, Husky."

And the line went dead. The rep frowned; it was as if the policeman knew something. As if he sensed something. She breathed out, ridding herself of the awkward thoughts. The lengthy conversation had held her up; she was going to be late for her rendezvous with Yiannis. She took off her wrist mobile and removed the battery. Then she took out the untraceable mobile, and when she switched it on, saw the screen welcoming Annie Heart; Mirari thought of everything. She switched the computer off, put it in her bag and raced out of the apartment. As she was going down in the elevator, she thought to herself with a certain degree of delight that at least this time the bicho wouldn't know it was her. But when she pa.s.sed by Maio, the alien looked at her with his sad eyes and said, "Be very careful, Bruna."

The sentence had a watery softness to it, but it resonated shrilly in the rep's ears. By all the d.a.m.n species, was her disguise useless? And why had that weirdo told her to be careful? Did he suspect something too, like Lizard?

Furious, she stopped a cab and gave the address of Oli's bar. Here and there, on the street corners, you could see pairs of soldiers on the alert. Not a single combat rep, just humans. Which was pretty unusual.

"Since they brought out the army, things seem to be a bit quieter. Just as well," said the driver.

The detective made a scarcely encouraging grunt of agreement. She loathed idle conversations with cabdrivers. The man turned toward her.

"Although at least the disturbances have made those d.a.m.n reps disappear. There isn't a single one on the streets! It's great, isn't it?" he said, giving her a complicit wink.

Bruna thought, I'd love to smash his face. Thought: This means my disguise is working. Thought: Control that anger, conceal it. But she must have shown something, because the driver backed down a little.

"Well, it's not that I wish them ill, you understand. I don't want them lynched or anything like that, but why don't they go, and leave us in peace? Let them build themselves a Floating World. Speaking of which, you have the people of Cosmos and Labari, who don't allow technos on their worlds. They sure are smart. And why do we let them in? Because we're wimps. Because we have a government of replickers and wimps."

The cabdriver had set the autopilot and he was still leaning over the back of his seat, spewing his xenophobic, racist views. Bruna thought, I want to strangle him. Thought: Concentrate on remembering that your disguise works. Thought: Four years, three months, and sixteen days, sixteen days, sixteen days...

She walked into the bar, frustrated and nervous. Fat Oli scrutinized her with half-closed eyes, as she always did any new customer. The detective saw that the mulatto was taking mental note of the striking bruises on her forearm, which the rep had chosen not to cover up. Big Oli missed nothing.

"Hi. What can I serve you?"

"Vodka and lemon with two ice cubes."

She said the first drink that came into her head, something well-defined and yet totally removed from her usual tastes to reinforce her disguise. Clearly Oli hadn't recognized her. She felt optimistic. She grabbed the gla.s.s and walked to the end of the counter, where the archivist was already waiting for her.

"Hi. I think I know you from somewhere," said Bruna, smiling.

Yiannis looked her up and down, barely showing any sign of interest.

"Well, I don't know. I don't think so. You don't look familiar."

"And I'm telling you that I do. You're Yiannis Liberopoulos."

The old man straightened up, surprised.

"Yes, I am, but..."

"Yiannis, Yiannis, do you really not know who I am?"

Up to that point, Bruna had been forcing herself to speak with a deeper voice, but she said the last sentence with her normal voice. The man's mouth and eyes opened wide in a perfect caricature of surprise.

"Bruna! It can't be. Are you Bruna?"

The rep smiled.

"Shhh, don't speak so loudly. I see my disguise is working. Yiannis, I want you to know where I'm going in case anything happens. I'm hoping to infiltrate the HSP. I'm going to go to Saturn, the bar RoyRoy told me about, and I'm going to try to get an appointment with Hericio."

Oli approached with a cloth in her hand and, while she pretended to clean the counter, asked, "Is everything okay down here, Yiannis?"

"Everything's fine."

The mulatto walked away and Bruna looked affectionately at her monumental back. The big mother hen always looking out for her chicks.

"That seems very dangerous to me, Bruna. Really dangerous. Are you sure of what you're doing?" whispered the old man anxiously.

"Absolutely sure. And don't say another word, Yiannis, or I'll never tell you anything again."

The archivist frowned but didn't say anything, because he knew her too well. The rep sighed. In fact, she herself wasn't all that clear about what she was going to do. Infiltrating the supremacists seemed reckless, and it could be a disproportionate and pointless risk. Of course, it could be that it was risk she was looking for; maybe by putting herself in danger she was placating her guilt for living and her despair at being condemned to die. To kill herself ahead of time-young, like Achilles-and thereby save herself the horror of TTT. The rep shook her head to allow that troubling thought to escape, to make it as light as a balloon and rid herself of it, and her biosynthetic blonde hair brushed her shoulders. It was an unexpected and unpleasant sensation, one that caused her to shiver.

"I wanted to tell you something, too, Bruna. I've been keeping an eye on it for some time, but it's getting worse. And this morning, it was something truly scandalous. I've asked for an official investigation."

"What are you talking about, Yiannis?"

"The archive. Someone's manipulating the doc.u.ments, falsifying the facts in order to stir up the revolt against the technohumans."

The central archivists worked under a strict confidentiality clause that forbade them from talking about their work, and old Yiannis, who was a meticulous and somewhat obsessive man, had always kept strictly to this rule. But now he was so worried by the drift of events that, for once, he felt released from his obligations-or, rather, indebted to an even greater obligation. So he spelled out the blatant alterations that he was finding in the articles.

"And that's why I've asked for an urgent investigation."