‘Do you think I’d look nice dressed like her?’
He responded without even looking at the girl.
‘You’d look cute in anything, babe.’
His accent and vocabulary were tailored to match his image. The only trouble with clones was that they were anxious to please to the point of paranoia. A.A. Catto sighed, and smiled sweetly.
‘Hold out your hand.’
The clone did as he was told. A.A. Catto took the thin black cheroot out of her mouth and ground it out in his palm. The clone gasped, clutched his injured hand and then drew back his fist to hit her. A.A. Catto shook her head.
‘Don’t bother. I don’t want to be beaten up. I’m bored with you. You’re dismissed.’
The clone got to his feet, still nursing his hand. A.A. Catto grinned as he walked away in the direction of the availability point. They were so funny, programmed like robots but still human enough to suffer. Although they could get tedious, A.A. Catto thoroughly approved of clones. They were good to have around.
She stood up herself, left the bubble and moved quietly to where Reave was still losing at four square. Reave didn’t notice her as she came up behind him. A.A. Catto twisted the ring hard into the pain register. Reave screamed, his back arched, and he toppled from his stool. The topless clone halted in mid-deal and waited, holding the pack of long rectangular cards in front of her full breasts, to see what would happen. Clones weren’t programmed to show emotion unless it was expected of them.
Reave lay on the carpeted floor, hunched in a foetal position. The other customers of the Venus Flytrap coolly acted as if nothing had happened. After about five seconds, A.A. Catto started to become impatient.
‘Get up, damn you.’
Reave whimpered and slowly uncurled. A.A. Catto nudged him with her toe.
‘I said get up.’
Painfully he climbed to his feet. He massaged the back of his neck and looked reproachfully at her.
‘Why did you do that?’
A.A. Catto’s lip curled.
‘Because you’re pathetic.’
‘Pathetic?’
‘You’ve lost a fortune tonight.’
Reave ran his fingers through his long straight hair.
‘But it doesn’t matter. We’ve got permanent, unlimited credit.’
A.A. Catto clenched her tiny fists.
‘I know we’ve got unlimited credit. It’s my credit.’
‘So what’s wrong?’
‘You had to go and lose.’
Reave nodded towards the still motionless clone.
‘It’s very hard to win against clones. They’re programmed to be almost unbeatable.’
‘So why play?’
‘It was something to do. You wouldn’t talk to me.’
‘Do you wonder that I don’t talk to you?’
Reave looked round helplessly.
‘I …’
‘Oh, for god’s sake, shut up. We’re leaving.’
Reave turned and signalled to the dealer that he was giving up his place at the table. She smiled an automatic sexy smile.
‘Thanks for the play, sir.’
Reave grinned back.
‘That’s okay.’
A.A. Catto scowled disgustedly.
‘Do you have to be so grovelling polite to clones?’
Reave shrugged.
‘It doesn’t cost anything. I mean, they are still human.’
‘You disgust me. You and your stupid ideas.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Do you always have to apologize?’
‘I …’
A.A. Catto’s hand moved to her ring. The colour drained our of Reave’s face and he held up his hands.
‘Please … not now. If you knock me out again it’ll only slow us up getting away from here,’
A.A. Catto smiled.
‘That’s true. You know, Reave, now and again you show flashes of crude intelligence.’
Reave bit his lip and said nothing. It wasn’t worth talking back to her when she was in this kind of mood. He followed her as she turned on her heel and swept out of the club. There had been a time when Reave might have made some kind of gesture behind her back, but now he didn’t even bother. He simply clasped his hands behind him and walked a few paces to her rear.
As they approached the club’s exit, the liveried doorman, resplendent in maroon and gold, snapped to attention and saluted.
‘You require transportation, Miss Catto?’
A.A. Catto shook her head.
‘I think I’ll walk, but you better get me some guardians.’
She handed him her credit card, and he dropped it into the call box on his wrist.
‘How many would you like, Miss Catto?’
‘Three should be enough.’
The doorman punched out the guardians’ code, and within seconds three clear-eyed, square-jawed clones swung into the foyer of the club in perfect step. They wore the one piece silver uniforms and red and blue helmets of the Litz Security Corporation. They halted in front of the doorman. Each one was at least two metres tall. They towered over everyone else in the foyer. The centre one of the three saluted the doorman.
‘Guardian unit reporting as requested. Which is the client?’
The doorman indicated A.A. Catto. The centre guardian turned and saluted again,
‘How may we serve you, miss?’
‘My companion and I have decided to walk home. We’d like you to escort us. I trust you’re adequately equipped?’
The guardian touched the long nightstick and heavy-duty stun-gun at his belt. His companions were similarly armed.
‘We are equipped for anything that might occur in the street.’
‘We might as well proceed then.’
The centre guardian bowed and held the door open. The one on his left preceded Reave and A.A. Catto into the street. The one on his right brought up the rear. After the darkness of the club, the street was a blaze of glory. Although no daylight was built into the environment of Litz, and it was a city of perpetual night, its illuminations were magnificent to look upon. At street level each ground car was festooned with lights. The stores, theatres, fun palaces and brothels vied with each other in the size and splendour of constantly shifting, glowing, illuminated signs. Overhead, searchlights slashed across the sky, probing the darkness with their slim fingers.
Every window in the high buildings showed its own light, and the lighter than air craft that floated between the tall towers all carried their own spots and riding lights. Some were even floodlit from below.
A few people hung round the carpeted sidewalks outside the cabarets and casinos. Small groups of whores made the come-on outside the bordellos and nudie bars, but apart from them the streets were almost empty of pedestrians. A.A. Catto and Reave only passed a few isolated people, all escorted by tall clones from the various security services. Every so often a black-uniformed, two-man foot patrol from the Litz Department of Correction would stroll past. The LDCs weren’t clones. They were normal men who enjoyed the dangerous and brutal work.
The streets of Litz may not have been safe for unprotected individuals on foot, but for ground cars it was a different matter. The huge shining vehicles streamed past in a continuous procession down the wide, ten lane thoroughfares. Their lights added to the general display of the endless Litz night.