Tears in Rain Part 27

"When she tried to split open my head that night. That was the first and only time I saw her. What sort of question is that? What are you trying to insinuate? What are you after, Lizard?"

"They killed her with a small plasma gun-with your gun, Bruna. It's covered with your fingerprints and DNA."

Bruna expelled the air that she hadn't even realized she was holding in. A cold sweat spread across her back.

"Ah, the gun. It's true. I did have a plasma gun. An illegal weapon, yes. I admit it. But they took it from me. Yesterday, when the killers of the memorist attacked me. And I now think they probably attacked me for that reason: to take my weapon so they could incriminate me."

Paul nodded, tight lipped. An intense emotion hardened his features. Pent-up anger, maybe. Or sadness, perhaps.

"I shouldn't have told you all this. You're a suspect. I know you didn't shoot Dani, because she died early this morning and at that hour, you were in my apartment, sleeping, sedated, with me."

That with me gave the rep a strange feeling in her stomach.

"But you're hiding things from me, Bruna. I shouldn't trust you. Maybe it's true that a techno conspiracy is underway, who knows? I distrust humans and reps equally. We can all be sons of b.i.t.c.hes. So it may well be that you want to kill me."

"Or maybe what's happening is that someone is trying to set a trap for me."

"Yes. That would be the most satisfactory hypothesis. The trouble is that I don't trust satisfactory hypotheses. We tend to believe them no matter what logic might tell us."

"Maybe. Maybe it's simpler than that. When they attacked me, I remember firing a shot. Maybe Dani was one of the a.s.sailants; maybe I wounded her at that point and she died hours later."

"She was executed, Bruna. A shot to the back of her head next to her ear, point-blank range. Instant death. And it happened at around five o'clock this morning."

"So?"

"So stop lying to me and tell me everything."

How could she explain that she didn't trust him-that, in a certain way, she was afraid of him? And yet Bruna breathed in deeply and told Lizard everything he didn't yet know. She told him about Annie Heart and her appointment with Hericio. She felt like someone allowing herself to fall down a slippery, icy slope, putting up with the vertigo and the fear of crashing at the bottom.

"Who knew about your meeting with the mem pirate?"

"I've been thinking about that already. Nopal, of course. And Habib, but he didn't know the time or the place. And my friend Yiannis, but he's above suspicion."

And you, she thought. You knew about it, too, Lizard.

"No one's above suspicion," grunted the man.

It was the last thing he said before he cut off, and the sentence left the rep with a sense of unease. Suddenly she remembered Maio. The alien was capable of reading her mind and so might have picked up on her meeting with the memorist. He was, moreover, from an extragalactic civilization, a remote world to which he could retreat without any fear of reprisals from Labaric thugs. Yes, it was true that Maio was supposedly a political exile and would be in danger if he returned to his planet, but to what extent could she believe him? Even more to the point, what did Earthlings know about bichos? And what if the aliens were trying to stir up violence between the species in order to destabilize Earth and in this way be able to colonize it, as xenophobic groups maintained? Bruna was ashamed of her thoughts and pushed down her irrational fear until it was buried deep within her. It was unlikely that the immense distance that separated the two worlds would encourage a colonialist adventure.

But the possibility remained that Maio might be implicated in some conspiracy. For money, perhaps. Now that she thought about it, wasn't it surprising that the Omaa had suddenly appeared in her bed? And what should she make of his insistence at standing guard at her front entrance? By the great Morlay, what a paranoid world! Bruna said to herself with sudden disgust. Not only was she suspicious of everyone individually, but to make matters worse, it was enough for someone to treat her with affection for that person to be deemed even more suspicious.

She missed her huge, half-finished jigsaw puzzle; she needed to relax and the puzzle was the best way for her to switch off quickly. But there wasn't much time, so she carefully put on her makeup and pulled on her Annie Heart wig. Wrapped in the hotel's bathrobe, she used her mobile to log in to an Express store and buy a thermal wardrobe for her character. While she was waiting for the robot to arrive, she spoke with Yiannis and sent Habib a message. Both of them were worried about the political situation. The clothes took barely twenty minutes to arrive-Express stores were expensive but efficient. She dressed herself in a pink jumpsuit that matched a padded jacket she thought was hideous but which blonde Annie would undoubtedly adore, and then-the perfectionist's touch-she took two necklaces she'd brought along for the occasion out of the safe in the room. Nothing like a piece of jewelry to finish off her disguise as a conventional, intense young woman. She immediately rejected the light pectoral, which didn't go with her thermal clothes, and picked the other piece, her favorite: an ancient ivory netsuke, a smiling little man with a sack over his shoulder who hung from a string of rubies and little gold beads. The necklace was part of her packet of fake mementos; her mother had supposedly given it to her before she died. The netsuke was an unusual object, as the package of technohuman souvenirs always consisted of simple, ordinary objects: children's toys, holographs, cheap rings. However, Bruna had taken the netsuke to a specialist, who had certified that it was a genuine seventeenth-century j.a.panese piece from the Edo era. An extremely extravagant piece. Yet it wasn't the netsuke's financial value that Bruna appreciated but its unique grace and even the emotion it awoke in her. Despite knowing that her mother had never existed, she couldn't help loving the netsuke with an affection that seemed to come from the depths of her impossible childhood. Whenever she wore the little man with his sack, she felt protected. And she needed to be protected when she confronted Hericio, whose status had so recently grown. She put on the necklace, checking that the clasp was well secured, and after a final glance in the mirror, went downstairs to the hotel bar, swaying her hips with the help of the high nonslip heels on her feminine snow boots, which were also pink and revolting.

When she sat down on the bar stool, it was 15:40. The bar was empty and the waiter darted solicitously toward her. Bruna ordered a vodka and lemon and a pile of cold sandwiches that she quickly proceeded to devour-she didn't want to be caught fainting with hunger during her interview with Hericio. When Serra arrived, she still had one left on her plate.

"The enigmatic Annie Heart," said the supremacist by way of a greeting.

He didn't look very happy.

"You're not playing dirty tricks on me, are you, Annie? I really wouldn't like that."

"And what makes you think I would be? Would you like a sandwich?"

Serra shook his head. He wasn't taking his eyes off her.

"Good," said the rep, wolfing down the sandwich with delight. It had cheese and nuts. Bartolo would have loved it, Bruna thought ludicrously.

"What happened to you?"

"When?" she mumbled with her mouth full.

"There. And there. You're covered with bruises."

The detective took her time chewing and swallowing. Then she answered dryly: "An accident."

"What sort of accident?"

"Traffic."

"You were knocked over by a car?"

"I was knocked over by the fists of two technos."

Serra looked at her attentively, doubtful but impressed.

"Really?"

"Well, if truth be told, I had told them they should get out of my way, that they should get off the travelator."

"And?"

"They didn't."

"That's why you weren't answering your calls."

"I was at the hospital."

"Have you reported them?"

"No. What for? Those replicking judges would never do anything to them. That's where we're at, as you know. Total impunity for the monsters."

"Do you know who they are? Point them out to me and you'll see where their impunity gets them," bragged Serra, thrusting out his chest.

"No, you can do something better than that for me. You can provide me with a plasma gun."

"A gun? That's a big word."

"But I'm sure that if anyone can get hold of a weapon, it's you," cooed Bruna, flattering him.

The man swaggered visibly in appreciation of the praise.

"Well, I don't know. It's not easy."

"I need it. I need that gun, don't you understand? A small plasma one; I don't need anything more than that. And of course I'm prepared to pay what it's worth. Are you going to allow them to hit me again without punishment when you could prevent it? Life is becoming too violent, and the immediate future looks set to be worse. All good humans should be carrying weapons."

Serra nodded.

"Yes. Absolutely. It's part of our agenda. We're reclaiming our right to defend ourselves. Well, I'll see what I can do. And now, let's go. Hericio's expecting you."

Bruna stood up. She was a head taller than the supremacist deputy. She placed her hand on the man's inflated chest.

"But you have to get it for me now. I'm leaving for New Barcelona tomorrow."

And to add weight to her request, Bruna-Annie briefly rested her head on the man's shoulder, although she had to bend down to do it.

"You are going to help, aren't you?" she asked affectionately.

Serra displayed a fatuous smile of superiority for all the world to see.

"Yes, woman. Relax. You can be sure that you'll have your little gun."

And grabbing Bruna by the elbow with the air of a happy proprietor, he led her out of the bar.

The things you had to do to get your hands on a weapon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

Bruna thought that the meeting would take place in some quiet, isolated place, but they headed for the HSP headquarters. It wasn't exactly the most discreet place in the city right now. A crowd was swirling around in front of the main entrance despite the prevailing cold: journalists, police, and supporters of every shape, color, and cla.s.s. The supporters seemed suddenly to have multiplied exponentially. On the opposite sidewalk, some twenty Apocalyptics were banging their drums and announcing the end of the world with uncharacteristic joy. Serra shoved his way through the crowd and the android followed in his wake. They crossed the police cordon without any difficulty and then the party's security line, which was composed of very nervous young men. As they went through, the deputy arrogantly told them to remain alert; the order was unnecessary, but he was enjoying the ease with which doors forbidden to others were being opened for him, having crowds of people looking at him, and being part of the leadershipof a party that had turned itself into a star product overnight. He was walking so tall, with his shoulders back and his head held high, that he seemed to have grown several inches. Above them, one of the public screens was showing them as they went in. Someone in attendance was sending through the images. Serra swelled with pride and wrinkled his brow a little more, playing the role of important-politician-very-concerned-about-the-situation to the hilt.

"Things have reached boiling point," he commented once inside the lobby.

And he couldn't hold back a happy, toothy little grin.

It was a squalid office building, and the HSP was on the fourth floor in a large, ramshackle s.p.a.ce with winding corridors and narrow cubicles everywhere. The door on the landing was permanently open, and hordes of people were going in and out. An air of chaotic, frenetic activity prevailed.

"Follow me."

They went through a maze of cheap, sliding part.i.tions and windowless inner s.p.a.ces lit by faint residual light.

"This is a labyrinth. It's served us well until now and it was cheap, too. But given how big this has become, we'll have to move to a more appropriate location."

They reached an office that was better furnished, and stopped in front of a desk manned by a youth whose chest was crisscrossed with straps and who had two plasma guns under his armpits. What a nerve, thought Bruna. How powerful they think they are.

"He's expecting us," Serra growled at the guard.

The youth nodded without saying a word and tapped the screen on his mobile. A reinforced door behind him opened with a click.

"Go in by yourself. When you leave, ask for me," said the deputy.

There was a short corridor on the other side of the door, and at the end of it, another reinforced door that unlocked when Bruna got to it. She opened it. Hericio's office was large and rectangular, with two more doors on the right and a big picture-window. Hericio was standing next to it, gazing out pensively, and the android had the feeling that this was a scene prepared especially for her-that, like Serra, Hericio was playing the role of leader-calmly-contemplating-his-historic-responsibility. Bruna crossed the room, ostentatiously swaying her hips, fully in the role of Annie the Destroyer. If there are going to be performances, everyone should perform, she said to herself.

"Annie, Annie Heart. Finally, I get to meet you," said the man, shaking her hand. "Come, let's sit over here; we'll be more comfortable."

They arranged themselves on the synthetic leather armchairs. The picture window, Bruna observed, wasn't real. It was nothing more than a projection of a street on a constant loop, similar to the images in the mem pirate's house-or, rather, Pablo Nopal's house. In reality, the office was like a strongroom, with all the doors armor-plated and no access from the outside. The pretend window, the artificial leather, and the fake leader.

"I understand you want to make a donation to the party. I apologize for getting right down to business, but as you can see I'm very busy. Things are moving very quickly and I don't have any time to lose," he said pompously.

Then, as he listened to himself speaking, he thought he might have been too impolite.

"Or rather, in your case, no time to enjoy, to relax, to converse. I haven't much time to talk to you, something I regret."

"That's fine, Hericio, I understand. And I'm grateful to you for seeing me during these difficult times. But you also have to understand that I want to be sure that my money is going to end up in the right place."

"Rest a.s.sured. With an FP, you'll know what your money has been spent on down to the last G. Everything will be used for the party, of course. Speaking of which, our permit is on the point of expiring. We'd have to process your contribution within the next ten days."

"That's not a problem and that's not what concerns me. I'm even prepared to invest funds outside the law. What I need to know is whether the HSP is deserving of it-whether you are worthy of it."

Hericio lifted his chin with an angry, nervous twitch.

"Have you seen all those people downstairs? Out on the street? All those people asking us to intervene and save the situation? Look, Annie Heart, years ago during our period in the wilderness, we might have been desperate for your support, but today...You're the one who's asked to see me. If you want to partic.i.p.ate in this transformational project, if you want to collaborate in the rebirth of humanity, then do it. And if you don't, you can happily leave by that door."

The tone in the man's voice had become increasingly pompous, and he ended his speech as if he were at a rally. That was why he'd received her today and here, at party headquarters: to impress her with his success. He was a salesman and he was selling his party, which was on the rise. The rep fluffed up her hair with her hand and smiled, unperturbed.

"Well, all I can say is that it's in your best interest to convince me."

Bruna's aplomb disconcerted the politician. He leaned back in his chair, put his fingertips together in the manner of a preacher and scrutinized her with distrust.

"May I ask how much money we're talking about?"

"Ten million Gs."

Hericio gave a start.

"You don't have that much money, Annie."

"It's not just mine. I didn't tell Serra, because it's information that shouldn't be out there and it's none of his business, but there's a group of top-level professionals and businesspeople from New Barcelona backing me-quite well-known people. We've formed a supremacist lobby group, a clandestine group, because we support direct action. We're fed up with the traditional parties, who've led us into this despicable situation. But we've been thinking that the HSP might perhaps be different. We've followed you, we've listened to what you have to say, and we've liked what we've seen. And when we saw you were asking for an FP, we thought it was a good opportunity, and that it might be an indication that you were planning something. Although I have to tell you that we're still not convinced that you really are our man."

Hericio's face was a catalog of contradictory emotions: vanity, greed, distrust, excitement, fear, indecision. Greed won out.

"And what would I have to do to convince you?"