“How’d this happen?” Fernandez asked. He looked ashen—worse than the dead guy; maybe he was worried about a liability suit if one of his uploads had failed.
“We used a broadband disruptor on him,” Mac said.
Fernandez nodded. “Right, right. I’d heard that you guys had a prototype unit.”
“Anyway, do you recognize him?”
“Sure,” said Fernandez. “That’s Dazzling Don Hutchison.”
I’d heard the name before, so I had another look. “It is?”
“Well, it’s not really him,” Fernandez said. “But that’s his face. Licensed and everything. The estate gets a royalty each time we use it. Don’t get much call for it, though—nobody remembers him anymore.”
“Who the hell is Dazzling Don Hutchison?” asked Mac.
I opened my mouth to reply, but so did Hux—and he had so little in life, I decided to let him beat me to it. “He was a football player,” he said. “With the Memphis Blues.”
“And he’s dead?”
“Twenty years, at least,” said Hux.
“But this isn’t him uploaded?” said Mac to Fernandez. “This is someone else who bought his face?”
“I’d assume so.”
“Can you identify who this is—was?”
“People who choose to use something other than their own face usually want to guard their anonymity.”
“Sure,” said Mac. “But you must have some way to tell who’s who, so you can see if they’re still under warranty or whatever. A serial number or something.”
Fernandez went into his back room and returned a moment later holding a small scanning device. He aimed it at the body. “No transponder, meaning he opted for an anonymizer package. I’ll have to open him up to have a look.”
“Do that, please,” said Mac.
“I’ve already got Mr. Pickover opened up. Let me finish his repairs then I’ll take care of this.”
“How long for an ID?” asked Mac.
“I’ll need another hour on Pickover.”
“All right,” said Mac. He turned to me. “A drink, Alex?”
“Another time.”
Mac looked at Miss Takahashi then back at me and gave me a knowing wink. “Right, then. Come along, Sergeant Huxley.” The two of them left the shop, and Fernandez went into the back room, closing the door behind him. Nobody had bothered to cover up Trace again, so I did—leaving just me and Reiko alone in the showroom, the two of us biologicals surrounded by unoccupied transfer floor models of various body types and colorations.
“Disconcerting,” she said, “seeing a dead transfer like that.”
“Yes.” I took a breath, then: “Reiko, I have something to tell you that—”
The alloquartz outer door slid open, and a filthy, ancient prospector came in. “You got a washroom?”
Most retail staff had a pat answer along the lines of, “Sorry, it’s for customer use only.” Apparently, NewYou had a canned response, too. “Sir,” Reiko said, flashing her brilliant smile, “we can set you up so that you never have to use a washroom again! Come on in and let me show you the very best that modern science has to offer!”
The old fossil hunter looked like he was going to call Reiko an unkind name but then he caught sight of me and thought better of it. He turned around and beetled outside.
“You were about to say, Alex?”
“You might want to have a seat.”
Her expression suggested she thought this was unnecessary—and, indeed, it probably was; even if you fainted on Mars, you likely wouldn’t break anything. But she went to the stool behind the cash desk, sat, and looked at me expectantly. “Well?”
“First, your grandfather is dead. Unequivocally so. I don’t want to say anything that gets false hopes up, so let’s be clear about that up front.”
She nodded.
“But,” I continued, “he did not die re-entering Earth’s atmosphere all those years ago. He died here, on Mars. I know, because Dr. Pickover and I have recovered his body.”
“My… God.” Her eyes were wide. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t doubt you’ve found someone’s body, but—”
“I’m sure. Or, more to the point, Dr. Pickover is sure; he’s the one who identified the corpse.”
“My God. Where… where is the body now?”
“In the descent stage.”
“Pardon?”
“We found the descent stage that was left here on Mars at the end of their third mission.”
“Take me to it. I’ll rent a surface suit.”
“No need—or, at least, there won’t be any need shortly. We’ve moved the descent stage here, to New Klondike. It’s outside the dome now, but I’m going to get it hauled into the shipyard. You can come down once that’s done and have a look.”
She seemed dumbfounded and more than a little shaken; perhaps she was now glad she’d taken my advice to sit down. “I don’t get it,” she said, delicate hands folded in her small lap. “Why was he still on Mars?”
“It looks like he was marooned here.”
“By who? By—by Simon Weingarten?”
“Pretty much the only suspect.”
“Wow,” said Reiko. “Wow.”
I wanted to go take care of getting the lander brought inside. “I’ve got an errand to run. I should be back in time to hear whatever identification details Mr. Fernandez can give us.”
Reiko nodded, and I went out through the alloquartz sliding door. Just past it, there was a big wet spot on the wall; perhaps Reiko should have let the old prospector use the john after all.
I headed to the shipyard in the Seventh Circle between Eighth and Ninth Avenues, and made my way to Bertha’s shack. She was hunched over like an albino gorilla, looking at work orders. “Hey, dollface,” I said.
“Oh, Alex, I was just about to text you. The Kathryn Denning has touched down outside the dome. They’re offloading its cargo now.”
“Thanks,” I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a fifty-solar coin. “You’ll let me know when I can get aboard to poke around?”
She took the money and nodded her jowly head.
“Great,” I said. “Until then, I’ve got a ship I want hauled inside.”
She looked at me blankly. “You have a ship?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where’d you get a ship?”
“Found it abandoned. Salvaged it.”
“It’ll cost to have a tractor bring it in, and you’ll have to pay rent on a berth for as long as it’s here.”
“I have an alternative proposal,” I said.
She narrowed her pig-like eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You haul it in for free, and you let me keep it here for free.”
“Funny,” she said. “I don’t smell booze on your breath.”
“Hear me out. You do that, and we’ll charge people to tour the ship—say, twenty solars a head, which we’ll split fifty-fifty.”
“Ain’t no one gonna pay to see some dead hulk,” Bertha said. She gestured out the shack’s tiny window. “We’re knee-deep in them here.”
“They’ll pay to see this one. It’s Weingarten and O’Reilly’s lander from their final expedition.”
“Holy crap,” she said. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fifty-fifty, huh?”
“Right down the middle—with one condition. I get two days of exclusive access before we open it to the public.”
“What for?”
“I’m looking for clues.”
“I’ve always said you were clueless, Alex.”
I thought about asking her if she knew Sergeant Huxley; it seemed like a match made in heaven. But I simply smiled and said, “Do we have a deal?”
“Deal.”
“How soon can you have it hauled inside?”
“Portia—the gal who operates the tractor—is out getting a bite to eat. But I’ll get her to do it when she comes back.”