Began thinking of that group button I had bought with during my first flush with the gold — all those bodies going strong, all funneled into that one little button. Threatened me with overload every time. Very hard to resist. Nothing I would have liked better right now than to snap it on and just lose myself in all that sensation. But was never going to kick this if I didn't show a little more spine.
Maybe I should have gone the cold turkey route and just had the wire yanked and let it go at that. But I'd heard horror stories about guys who'd got themselves dewired that way and went black hole shortly after. Not for me, thanks. This wasn't the greatest life, but it was the only one I had. Chose the wean. And by the Core, it was killing me.
Tried to keep busy tilling the window garden but it wasn't working. Finally closed up and ran out into the night, vowing to find some real flesh, even though I knew it wouldn't help much, even if I had to go to Dydeetown and pay for it.
— 5-
In the morning I was about to put a call into Khambot to tell him what a lost cause this case was when a kid came through my office door. A skinny little twelve-year old. He had thin lips, dark hair, and dark eyes that darted all over the place. He was wearing the upper half of a blue jumpsuit and the lower end of a brown, and they weren't joined in the middle. He looked dirty and scared.
An urch. No doubt about it. Certainly not the Wendy they'd told me about. Maybe a young lieutenant.
"You Dreyer-san?" he said in a voice that had a good ways to go before it would even consider changing.
"That's me. What can I do for you?"
He took a seat. "Still lookee three-year babe?"
"Maybe, Why didn't Wendy show up yesterday?" I said, leaning back in my chair.
"Din know you, san. So we wait, watch, follow home, then out, then home, then here." He was speaking very carefully. Probably thought he was putting on a good show of Realpeople talk. That was a laugh.
"She satisfied?"
He shrugged. "M'be."
"She send you?"
A nod.
"And you think you can help find this kid?"
Another shrug, another, "M'be. But cost."
"Never any doubt in my mind about that."
"N'hard barter — soft f'soft."
Soft barter? "Like what?"
"Info for us."
"Who's 'us'?"
"Urchingangs."
"You're an 'us' now? Thought you were always scrapping with each other over begging turf and spheres of influence. Thought you got together for babe trades and that was about it."
"Used t'be. Be again, san. B'now lookee — look for — answer to same question."
"Which is?"
"Dead urches."
"Ah! That means, I take it, that the gangs don't know what happened to them either."
"B'blieve no, san — " He coughed and raised the level of his dialog. "No, but we find out sooner-late."
"If you're so sure of that, why do you need my help?"
"Need Realworld connect."
"You mean to tell me that with all the graduates from the urchingangs floating through the Megalops, not one of them will help out?"
He lowered his eyes and shook his head.
"No lookee backee."
"Oh. Right."
Remembered: Once you're out of the gang and topside in the shadow economy where everything's barter and nothing's connected to Central Data, you're who you are — no past. No one admits they're from urchinland — ever. Urchins don't exist.
The more I thought about it, the better this looked to me. The urchins would search out little Khambot among the gangs for me while I worked in the Realworld for them. Didn't see why they were so determined to find out what happened to the two little kids. No one had mentioned foul play. But why argue? The way I saw it, we'd both come out ahead.
"Okay. Got a good contact who can help us out."
"Come?"
Shook my head. "No place for a kid. Especially an urch."
True. Elmero's was not for kids, but even truer was that I didn't want to go sliding into Elmero's with an urch in tow.
"Nev know," he said.
"They'll know as soon as you open your mouth. The only kids who talk pidge are urchins."
"Helpee Realfolk?"
Shook my head again. "No time."
He lowered his voice and spoke haltingly. "I…know…some. I…can…do."
Had to laugh. "You've been practicing that? Getting ready for the Realworld?"
He looked at me with his big bown eyes. "Please, san?"
Something in a dusty, almost forgotten corner inside went soft and mushy.
"Okay," I said, wondering why even as the words came out. "Just keep your mouth shut. And if you have to say something, don't use 'san.' That's a dead give away. It's 'Mr. Dreyer.' Got it?"
Now he smiled. "Kay."
"Okay."
Called Elmero's. The man got on the screen. After exchanging pleasantries, I asked him if he could do a jack for me later today."
"How deep?"
"Top sector."
"That will cost."
"Don't I know. Can pay the freight if you can do the jack."
"Do I ever let you down?" Elmero said with his awful smile.
"Not never," I said, "but hardly ever. Doc around?"
"Should be soon. Bout time for his midday wiff."
"If you see him, ask him to wait around for me. Be by in a tenth or so."
"Sure." The screen blanked.
"Fees fren, come he — ?"
"Say it in Realtalk," I told him.
"If…he's…you…friend, how…come…he…charge?"
"'How come he charges.'" Felt like a tutor machine. "He charges because that's his business — one of his businesses. We're friends, but that doesn't mean I dip into his trade whenever I want. Business is business."
Could tell he wasn't following me too well so shifted to a topic I was sure he could track. "Interested in lunch?"
"Course. Y'got?"
"Not here. A restaurant."
His eyes saucered. "Mean sitdown?"
You'd think he'd just been offered a trip to Skyland Park.
"Yeah. There's a nice place on level 12 that has — "
He was out of his chair and heading for the door. "S'go!"
— 6-
"Don't make yourself sick, now," I told him. The urch was ready to order two of everything on the menu.
"Nev had steak."
He was talking more carefully now. I guess sitting in a roomful of Realpeople was influencing him.
"Won't get one here, either."
"Said 'steak'?" he said, pointing to the glowing tabletop menu in front of him. The table had read off the menu selections in its feminine monotone, brightening each line as it went. Searched through the printed list. My reading skills left much to be desired, though I'd improved them a lot in the past year.
"Yeah. Here it is: steak with mushroom gravy. But it isn't real grass-fed steer steak." Not with the economic stratum this place serviced — no one could afford it. "You can either get chlorcow or soysteak."
"'Chlorcow'?"
Didn't want to go into an explanation of photosynthetic cattle so I told him, "The soysteak tastes pretty much like the real thing. And it's bigger."
"Soysteak me. Two."
"'I'll have two soysteaks, please,' and no, you won't. You'll have one. It's a big one — half a kilo." He made a face so I said, "If you finish it and you're still hungry, I'll get you another."
He smiled and for a fleeting moment he was a real little boy.
Ordered a shrimp culture sandwich and a beer for myself. Felt like his father or something as I helped him punch his order into the console, letting him add sides of chocolate soymilk and double speedspuds. Hadn't been called on to act like a father in an awful lot of years. Ten, to be exact. Gave me an odd little warm feeling, one I might want to get used to if I wasn't careful.