I had to smile. “That pen saved my life,” I said.
He took it for a bargaining position. “Okay,” he said. “A hundred.”
“It’s not for sale.”
He looked at me funny. “I’m trying to do you a favor, old-timer. Your money doesn’t look so good.”
He had a point. “Hundred fifty,” I said.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled without opening his mouth, then chuckled and took out his wallet. “I could have just taken it, you know.”
“No, you couldn’t,” I said, a little miffed. “If you could have, you would have.”
He opened his wallet, and there was music in the air, a little fanfare of horns that lasted until he gave me the money and put the wallet back in his pocket. It made my skin crawl. I hoped the music was in the wallet, not in the money.
He opened up another drawer in his desk and took out a little envelope, sealed with a plastic ripcord, and a fresh card with my name on it.
“Seventy-five points,” he said. “Best of luck.” He flashed me his idiot grin. My exit interview was over, apparently. When I pulled the little cord, the envelope turned out to be full of generic make. A touching gesture.
I put the stuff in my pockets. I had an urge to wipe that smile-colored stain off the lower part of his face, but I held it back. I flipped him his pen, and he made the adjustment in his calculation of its trajectory and grabbed it before it soared over his head. But only just. “So long,” I said, and got up and went out.
I passed through the empty lobby and into the sun. I didn’t have my next move figured out, but my feet knew enough to create some distance between myself and the Office, and they got right to it.
When I got to the corner, I felt someone come up behind me and tug on my arm. It was Surface. The ape looked small and hobbled over, but then six years had passed, and anyway I’d never seen him out of his bed before. He was wearing a dirty gray suit and a red tie with little embroidered polo ponies on it. He had a pretty nice pair of shoes, but they were buried under a couple of centuries’ worth of scuff marks.
He looked up at me. The leather of his face was wrinkled like foil. His expression was surprisingly gentle. “I saw in the paper you were listed as coming out,” he said. “I thought you might need somebody to buy you a drink.”
I was touched. I wasn’t sure I liked having someone who looked as bad as Surface feeling sorry for me, but I was still touched.
“Sure,” I said. “Lead the way.”
The old ape turned his rounded shoulders and walked up the block. I went after him. I didn’t know what time it was, but the sun was high, and it occurred to me that Surface must have gotten out of bed early to catch me. It made me feel like a stray picked up at the pound, and it made me wonder if he thought maybe I needed more than just a drink to get me on my feet.
We went around the back of the building into the big parking lot. There were just a couple of people on the pavement, apart from the inquisitors coming in and going out to their black cars. When I tried to meet their eyes, the people turned to look at their watches, or the sky, or the gutter. My paranoia was functioning as usual; at the drop of a hat, it told me that my time in the freeze had left some mark, some indefinable tattoo on my aura, which would trigger recognition until I found a way to conceal it. Then I laughed at myself. What I needed was a drink, and a line of make.
I tapped Surface on the shoulder. “Where do I go to get my license?”
He looked at me and winced. I didn’t think a face could get any more wrinkled than his already was, but it did. The wrinkles doubled in on themselves. His face practically collapsed.
“Hold off on the questions,” he said through his teeth.
CHAPTER 2
WE GOT IN HIS CAR AND HE DROVE ME TO HIS APARTMENT and poured me a drink in his kitchen. The place was even more squalid than the house I’d found him recuperating in six years ago. I also didn’t see any sign of his girlfriend, and maybe one was the cause of the other, though in which direction I didn’t want to guess. The world he had built up around him then seemed to be gone. Once upon a time he’d been an ape P.I., with trimmings. Now he was just an old ape.
We didn’t talk for a while. It seemed to suit us both. The bottle he produced was half empty to begin with, and we didn’t have to struggle to finish the job. It hit my empty stomach pretty hard, but that was fine with me. I didn’t really want to see what kind of food he’d provide.
I decided to find out what make was in the envelope. It was another buffer to put between me and this new world. I was afraid that when I started asking questions, I wouldn’t like the answers I got. I wanted the make to help me forget all my questions.
I dumped the whole packet out on the table. It wasn’t enough to divvy into portions. It was hardly enough for now, whatever the ingredients. I crashed it with my thumb and rolled up the envelope to snort with.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Surface.
“I’m way past that lecture,” I said.
He gritted his teeth and pushed away his empty glass. “Slow down, Metcalf. I’m trying to tell you you don’t want it.”
“Not want,” I said. “Need.”
“That’ll give you what you’re looking for and then some,” he said. He licked his lips and spoke carefully and slowly, the second person in an hour to treat me like a child. I didn’t like it. “You haven’t got any memories to wipe out yet,” he said.
“I’ve got plenty, from the first time around,” I said. “Trust me. I can spare a few.”
“The make is different,” he said. His voice was low and insistent. “Do me a favor and skip it.”
I sighed, unrolled the envelope, and used it to scoop the make into a little pile to one side of the table. My good feeling was gone. The alcohol was already going sour in my stomach.
“Okay, Surface. I’ll do you a favor.” I looked as deep as I could into the black of his eyes, but he didn’t blink. “And you do me a favor back. Tell me what turned you into a pussy. You had more backbone lying in bed watching Muzak.” I made myself laugh to cover my fear. “If I’m about to get like you, let me know so I can put a bullet through my head while I still have the guts.”
His gaze fell, finally, and he reached for his glass, but it was empty. “You’ll have to make some adjustments, Metcalf. That’s not my fault. You just don’t walk around spouting questions anymore.”
“I mean to get a license.”
“There’s no license anymore,” he said.
“There’s inquisitors,” I said.
“No private.”
“Well, there is now,” I said, feeling full of bluster. “Here I am. There’s no other name for what I do.”
“Your role is obsolete,” he said, too firmly, his voice heavy and dead. “You were walking that line before and you knew it. It’s finished now, Metcalf. Let it go.”
“Look who’s talking,” I said, and then stopped. It was supposed to be the beginning of something snappy, but my heart wasn’t in it.
His lips peeled back in a grim smile.
“I consist solely of my role,” I said, half to myself. “There’s nothing else. I’ve looked.”
“Look again,” he said. “The role is gone. You can’t even go around talking this much. Forget questions.”
“Forget questions,” I repeated. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
I ran my finger through the pile of white powder and drew a little path of it across the table. I wanted some up my nose. “What’s wrong with the make?”
“There are no individual blends anymore. Just standard issue.”
“What’s standard issue?”