“Uh, yeah. Twelve o’clock?”
“Yeah, twelve’s good.”
“Where’d you want to eat? Henty’s or—”
“Sure. Henty’s.” Backing away now. “Sounds good.”
He nodded slowly and went back to the car. She raised a hand in farewell. He pulled out, looking back. They watched him out of sight before Sevgi turned to the door of the building and showed the scanner her face. The door cracked open on a hydraulic sigh.
“Sixth floor,” she said, hefting her shoulder bag. “No elevator.”
“Yeah? Why’s that then?”
“Period charm. You coming?”
They took the stairs at a trudge. LCLS panels blinked awake on each floor as they climbed, then died to dimness in their wake. The bright white glow shone on pre-Secession grafitoform murals and embedded holoshots of the building in its various stages of growth. Sevgi found herself noticing them for the first time in months as consciousness of the man at her back lit everything for her the same way as the LCLS. She bit back the impulse to play tour guide.
In the apartment, she went from room to room, showing him where things were. He went to use the bathroom as soon as she was done. She checked the windows while he was in there, set the locks, organized herself. Fetched sheets and a quilt from the cupboard in the en suite. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she took the bed linen down, and didn’t recognize the look on her face. There was a warm, irritable confusion rising in her as to how she should do this. Back in the living room, she powered up the futon and remote-extended it. She was putting on the sheets when he came out and joined her.
“All yours,” she said, finishing and standing back up.
“Thank you.”
They stood looking at the crisp, clean sheets. He seemed to be waiting for something. Maybe in response, a circuit clicked shut somewhere inside her. She put her hands in her jacket pockets and hooked his gaze.
“The door’s double-locked,” she said. “It’s DNA-coded.”
His brow creased. Silent query.
Ah fuck it, here we go. “You may as well know this now, Marsalis. You’re going to find out sooner or later, so it may as well come from me. My last relationship was a thirteen. He’s dead now, but I know how that shit works.” She tapped fingertips to her temple. “I know how you work up here. Right now, you’re probably mapping the shortest possible route across town to East Forty-fifth and First.”
No visible reaction. She plunged on.
“And you’re right, it’s not far. Three, four klicks and cross the lines, you’re home free. UN territory, right here in the heart of New York. I’m not sure how they’d get you out after that, but my guess is the powers-that-be here in the Union wouldn’t kick much. They’ve got a better working relationship with the UN than with COLIN most of the time. Truth comes down, they don’t like us much better than they do the Republic.”
“That must be very upsetting for you.”
“You’re too kind. So, like I said, I know what’s in your mind. I don’t even blame you much. It’s not like you’re a free actor here—you’re locked into something you’d probably rather not be a part of. You’re under duress, and I know how badly that plays in the thirteen mind-set. You’re looking for a way to pick the locks or smash down the door.”
Ethan’s words. He used to grin as he said them, that something-burning grin.
She waited to see what he’d do. If he’d move.
He didn’t. He raised an eyebrow instead, looked down at the open blade of his right hand. She recognized the displacement training, and a faint shiver ran through her.
He cleared his throat.
“Well, it’s nice to know I’m so well understood. But you see, Ms. Ertekin, there seems to be a major flaw in your procedures here. If I’m the ravening, duress-shattering thirteen motherfucker you—”
“I didn’t say—”
“—have me down as, then what’s to stop me caving in your skull here and now, slashing you open to get some warm blood for your precious DNA locks, and then doing my predawn sprint across town after all?”
“The lock only works off saliva.”
He stared at her. “I could always scrape it out of your dead mouth.”
“Do you think you’re going to scare me, Marsalis?”
“I couldn’t care less if I scare you or not.” For the first time since she’d met him, his voice tightened toward anger. “You were fucking some burned-out genetic augment who said he was a thirteen, and you want to delude yourself I’m him, that’s your problem. I don’t know what I symbolize to you, Ertekin, what you want me to symbolize, but I’m not up for it. I’m not a fucking number, I’m not a fucking gene code. I’m Carl Marsalis, I think we met already.” He stuck out his hand bluntly, mock-offer of a clasp, then let it fall. “But in case it hasn’t sunk in, that’s all I am. Got a problem with that, then fuck off and deal with it somewhere I don’t have to listen to you.”
They faced each other either end of the stare, a couple of meters apart. To Sevgi, the room seemed to rock gently on the axis of their locked gazes.
“This is my house you’re in,” she reminded him.
“Then book me into a fucking hotel.” He held her eyes for a moment, then looked down at the extended futon. “One with room service that doesn’t lecture the guests.” Another pause. “And an elevator.”
Out of nowhere, the laugh broke in her. She coughed it up.
“Right,” she said.
He looked up again. Grimaced. “Right.”
She seated herself on one arm of the couch. Hands still tucked in her pockets, but she could feel the tension in her begin to ease. Marsalis raised an arm toward her and let it fall.
“I’m tired,” he said. It wasn’t clear if he meant it as an apology or information. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m not going to try and run out on you. I’m going to get some sleep and see if we can’t make a fresh start in the morning. Sound okay to you?”
Sevgi nodded. “Sounds good.”
“Yeah.” He looked around, fixed on the futon again. “Well. Thanks for making up the bed.”
She shrugged. “You’re a guest.”
“Could I get a glass of water?”
She stood up and nodded toward the kitchen. “Sure. Chiller on the counter. Glasses are in the cupboard above. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. G’night.”
She went to the bedroom and hooked the door closed behind her. Stood there for a while, listening to him move about in the kitchen.
Then she took her right hand out of her jacket pocket, opened her palm, and considered the Remington stunspike it held. It looked innocuous, a short thick tube in smooth matte gray. The charge light winked green at her from one end. Thrown hard or jabbed into the target by hand, it carried enough power to put anything human on the floor and leave it there for the best part of twenty minutes.
She hesitated for a moment, then slipped the spike under her pillow and began to get undressed.
He lay flat on his back on the futon, head pillowed on his crossed palms, and stared at the ceiling.
Still locked up, then.
Stupid fucking bitch.
Well, not really. She saw you coming a thousand meters out. That makes her pretty fucking smart.
He sighed and looked across at the window. Six floors up, probably jacked into the same security as the door anyway. Not a chance.
Could always—
Oh fuck off. Weren’t you listening to Sutherland? Only do what you are happy to live with. She made your bed, for fuck’s sake. You’re out of the Republic, you’re out of jail. How bad can it be? Sit it out, look at the case. Make some suggestions, let them get comfortable with you. If they want this to work, they can’t keep a leash on you twenty-four seven.
He reached over for the glass and propped himself up to drink.
So she’s an unluck-fucker. Doesn’t seem the sort.
The sort being? Zooly?