Watched the shuttle disappear from view, well on its way to the first stop to Out Where All The Good Folks Go.
Pulled out the bogus card Barkham had given Jean and dropped it over the edge of the platform. It fluttered and see-sawed into the dimness below. Soon it too was out of sight.
PART TWO. Wires
"It's Be Kind To Buttonheads Week. Let your neighborhood wired wonder plug himself into your wall." (datastream graffito)
— 1-
The next two years were pretty uneventful until I lost my head.
Literally.
Being decapitated will always rank as my most memorable experience. Not my favorite, but very memorable. Happened right in my own home, too.
Someone had strung a strand of molly wire across my compartment doorway. Neck high. Couldn't see it, of course, so I stepped right through it. Correction: It stepped through me. A submicroscopic strand of single molecules strung end to end. If it hadn't made that faint little skitch as it cut through one of my neck bones, don't know what would have happened.
Yes, I do. Would have died right inside my doorway.
Wouldn't have been pretty, either. A turn to the left or right, or a slight lean forward, and my head would have fallen off in a gaudy spray of red and bounced along the floor.
Didn't feel a thing. But that's supposed to be typical of molecular wire. Could guess what brand it was, too: Gussman Alloy. Hundred-kilo test. Cuts through a human body like a steel-trimming razor through cheesoid.
As the door slid shut behind me, my skin began to burn from a line just below my Adam's apple all the way down to my toes — a million white hot needle pricks. My knees were getting soft. That was on the outside. Panic was roaring to life on the inside. Had to do something — but what?
Gently clamped my weakening fingers around my neck and shuffled across the single room in the direction of the only chair like someone balancing live dissociator grenades atop his head. My legs were starting to give way as I neared it. If I fell or even stumbled, my head would slip and loosen all the connections with the rest of my body and it would all be over. Forced myself to turn slowly, got the backs of my knees against the seat, and lowered myself down as gently as I could. My arms were getting tired from holding my head on, but at least I was seated.
Relief, but not much. Had to stay stiffly erect. Couldn't last like this very long, though. Risked taking a hand away from my neck to press the reform button. Felt the chair move up against my spine and the back of my neck and head, fitting itself to me. Kept the button pressed for maximum fit until the padding had formed forward to my ears and had wormed its way between my arms and body. Thanked myself sincerely for investing in a top-of-the-line polyform recliner like this.
Safe for the moment. Swallowed and felt something tear free in my throat. Got my hand back up there real fast. But how long could I hold it there? Everything was going numb.
At least now I could think. Still alive — but how? Even more pressing — Why and who? Who would want to behead me? Could only be one -
Saw movement outside my door and had the answer to my question. But not quite the answer I had expected. The custom chair and the one-way transparent door were a couple of instances of inconspicuous consumption I'd splurged on since the windfall of the Yokomoto affair. The door had appealed to the voyeur in me, I guess. Mine is an end-corridor compartment and my door faces down the hall. The door lets me get to know all my neighbors without them knowing me. Nice that way.
But the guy coming down the hall now was no neighbor. He was pale and pudgy, had a high forehead, with beady little eyes and a small mouth crowded around a fat nose. Never saw him before. He came up to the door, glanced around, then pulled a tiny aerosol cannister from his pocket. Thought I saw a brief blur of motion back in the hall but my attention was centered on him as he sprayed the air in front of the door at the neck-high level. He waited a couple of seconds, then waved the cannister through the fading spray. The molly wire was gone, its molecular bonds dissolved. The murder weapon was now just a bunch of Gussman alloy molecules floating randomly through the air of the hallway.
The guy didn't leave right away. He stood and stared longingly at the door. Could tell from his expression he wished he could see through it so he could dwell on the end result of his handiwork. Almost wished the door could go transparent both ways so he could see me sitting here looking back at him, giving him the finger. With a sigh and a wistful little smile he turned and walked away.
Who the hell was he? And why had he tried to kill me?
Tried? He hadn't failed yet. Didn't know how I had hung on this long and didn't know how much longer everything in my head would stay lined up with my neck. Needed help, and fast!
Wheeled the chair over to the comm unit and told it to call Elmero's private number. Knew he was there. Just left him.
"El!" I said when his sallow, skeletal face appeared on the screen. My voice was soft and hoarse.
"Sig! Why're you whispering? And why're you holding your throat? Sore?"
"Need help, El. Real bad."
He smiled that awful smile. "What you into now?"
"Trouble. Doc still there?"
"Out in the barroom."
"Send him over. Gonna die if you don't get him here real quick. Molly wire."
The smile disappeared. He could tell I wasn't joking. "Where are you?"
"Home"
"He's on his way."
The screen blanked. Swiveled the chair around and stared down the empty hall, trying to figure out why that guy wanted me dead. Had only been back in business for two weeks…
— 2-
The life of the idle rich had become a real bore, mainly because I couldn't act rich. All I could do was be idle. That was the problem with getting a windfall in something illegal like gold. Had to fence it through Elmero and keep my spending at a level that would not attract attention in Central Data.
But even if it had all been legal, it was hard for me to spend anything near what I had. Didn't like to travel, didn't drink or sniff much, didn't do luce or stim, didn't have friends to squander it on. Did buy some top quality buttons as a treat. Spent a lot of time in pleasureland with a succession of them snapped onto my scalp, trying to saturate my limbic system before beginning the slow, painful process of cutting myself off.
Then the wean began, stretching out the intervals between buttoning up, lengthening them to the point where I'd feel safe getting dewired. The wean was now almost a year along. Hardest thing I've ever done, and idleness only made it harder.
So I opened my office in the Verrazano Complex again. Thought that would be pretty idle for a while, too, but who shows up the first day? Ned Spinner. Didn't call, didn't knock, just strutted into my office and started yelling in that nasal voice.
"Dreyer, you lousy rotten dregger! I knew you'd be back sooner or later! Where is she?"
"Where is who?"
Knew he meant Jean. Spinner had hounded me for months after her "disappearance," even at home. Finally I'd moved to an outer wall compartment and lost him for a while. Now he was back. Must have had my office cubicle watched all this time.
Hated the jog. He was in the same dark greeen pseudovelvet jumpsuit he always wore. He thought he had friends, thought he had influence, thought he was a talented entrepeneur. And he was…but only in his own mind. In real life he was a lousy pimp clonemaster.