But there wasnt any way out of that contract, she said. Not legally.
Thats right Undoing the knot, unlacing the sneaker. Not legally.
Oh So thats what you do for a living?
Yes. Sneaker off now, she wore no sock, the ankle swelling badly. This is a sprain.
What about the other people, then? You had more peoples back there, in that ruin? Somebody was shooting, and those flares...
Hard to say who was shooting, he said, but the flares werent ours. Maybe Maas security team, following you out. Did you think you got out clean?
I did what Chris told me, she said. Chris, thats my father.
I know. I think Im going to have to carry you the rest of the way.
But what about your friends?
What friends?
Back there, in Arizona.
Right. Well, and he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, cant say. Dont really know.
Seeing the white-out sky, flare of energy, brighter than the sun. But no pulse of electromagnetics, the plane had said The first of Rudys augmented dogs picked them up fifteen minutes after they started out again. Angie riding Turners back, arms around his shoulders, skinny thighs under his armpits, his fingers locked in front of his sternum in a double fist. She smelled like a kid from the up-line burbs, some vaguely herbal hint of soap or shampoo. Thinking that, he thought about what he must smell like to her. Rudy had a shower Oh, shit, whats that? Stiffening on his back, pointing.
A lean gray hound regarded them from a high clay bank at a turning in the road, its narrow head sheathed and blindered in a black hood studded with sensors. It panted, tongue lolling, and slowly swung its head from side to side.
Its okay, Turner said. Watchdog. Belongs to my friend.
The house had grown, sprouting wings and workshops, but Rudy had never painted the peeling clapboard of the original structure. Rudy had thrown up a taut square of chainlink, since Turners time, fencing away his collection of vehicles, but the gate was open when they arrived, the hinges lost in morning glory and rust. The real defenses, Turner knew, were elsewhere. Four of the augmented hounds trotted after him as he trudged up the gravel drive, Angies head limp on his shoulder, her arms still locked around him.
Rudy was waiting on the front porch, in old white shorts and a navy T-shirt, its single pocket displaying at least nine pens of one kind or another. He looked at them and raised a green can of Dutch beer in greeting. Behind him, a blonde in a faded khaki shirt stepped out of the kitchen, a chrome spatula in her hand; her hair was clipped short, swept up and back in a cut that made Turner think of the Korean medic in Hosakas pod, of the pod burning, of Webber, of the white sky... He swayed there, in Rudys gravel driveway, legs wide to support the girl, his bare chest streaked with sweat, with dust from the mall in Arizona, and looked at Rudy and the blonde.
We got some breakfast for you, Rudy said. When you came up on the dog screens, we figured youd be hungry His tone was carefully noncommittal.
The girl groaned.
Thats good, Turner said. Shes got a bum ankle, Rudy. We better look at that. Some other things I have to talk to you about, too.
Little young for you. Id say, Rudy said, and took another swig of his beer.
Fuck off, Rudy, the woman beside him said, cant you see shes hurt? Bring her in this way, she said to Turner, and was gone, back through the kitchen door.
You look different, Rudy said, peering at him, and Turner saw that he was drunk. The same, but different.
Its been a while, Turner said, starting for the wooden steps.
You get a face job or something?
Reconstruction. They had to build it back from records He climbed the steps, his lower back stabbed through with pain at every move.
Its not bad, Rudy said. I almost didnt notice. He belched. He was shorter than Turner, and going to fat, but they had the same brown hair, very similar features.
Turner paused, on the stair, when their eyes were level. You still do a little bit of everything. Rudy? I need this kid scanned. I need a few other things, too.
Well, his brother said, well see what we can do. We heard something last night. Maybe a sonic boom. Anything to do with you?
Yeah. Theres a jet up by the squirrel wood, but its pretty well out of sight.
Rudy sighed Jesus... Well, bring her in...
Rudys years in the house had stripped it of most of the things that Turner might have remembered, and something in him was obscurely grateful for that. He watched the blonde crack eggs into a steel bowl, dark yellow free-range yolks;
Rudy kept his own chickens. Im Sally, she said, whisking the eggs around with a fork.
Turner.
Thats all he ever calls you either, she said. He never has talked about you much.
We havent kept all that much in touch. Maybe I should go up now and help him.
You sit. Your little girls okay with Rudy. Hes got a good touch.
Even when hes pissed?
Half pissed. Well, hes not going to operate, just derm her and tape that ankle. She crushed dry tortilla chips into a black pan, over sizzling butter, and poured the eggs on top. What happened to your eyes, Turner? You and her... She stirred the mixture with the chrome spatula, slopping in salsa from a plastic tub.
G-force. Had to take off quick.
That how she hurt her ankle?
Maybe. Dont know.
People after you now? After her? Busy taking plates from the cabinet above the sink, the cheap brown laminate of the cabinet doors triggering a sudden rush of nostalgia in Turner, seeing her tanned wrists as his mothers...
Probably, he said. I dont know whats involved, not yet.
Eat some of this. Transferring the mixture to a white plate, rummaging for a fork. Rudys scared of the kind of people you might get after you.
Taking the plate, the fork. Steam rising from the eggs. So am I.
Got some clothes, Sally said, over the sound of the shower, friend of Rudys left em here, ought to fit you. The shower was gravity-operated, rainwater from a roof tank, a fat white filtration unit strapped into the pipe above the spray head. Turner stuck his head out between cloudy sheets of plastic and blinked at her. Thanks.
Girls unconscious, she said. Rudy thinks its shock, exhaustion. He says her crits are high, so he might as well run his scan now. She left the room then, taking Turners fatigues and Oakeys shirt with her.
* * *
What is she? Rudy extending a crumpled scroll of silvery printout.
I dont know how to read that, Turner said, looking around the white room, looking for Angie. Where is she?
Sleeping. Sallys watching her. Rudy turned and walked back, the length of the room, and Turner remembered it had been the living room once. Rudy began to shut his consoles down, the tiny pilot lights blinking out one by one. I dont know, man. I just dont know. What is it, some kind of cancer?
Turner followed him down the room, past a worktable where a micromanipulator waited beneath its dustcover Past the dusty rectangular eyes of a bank of aged monitors, one of them with a shattered screen.
Its all through her head, Rudy said Like long chains of it. It doesnt look like anything Ive ever seen, ever.
Nothing
How much do you know about biochips, Rudy?
Rudy grunted. He seemed very sober now, but tense, agitated. He kept running his hands back through his hair Thats what I thought. Its some kind of... Not an implant. Graft.
Whats it for?
For? Christ Who the fuck knows? Who did it to her? Somebody you work for?
Her father, I think.
Jesus. Rudy wiped his hand across his mouth. It shadows like tumor, on the scans, but her crits are high enough, normal Whats she like, ordinarily?