Freddie Warbaby said, are you all that anxious to be looking for work?
Nossir, Mr. Warbaby.
I can be hard, Freddie. You know that.
Yessir. Freddie sounded worried now.
A man died in this room. Someone bent over him on this bed he gestured at the bed that wasnt there, cut him a new smile, and pulled his tongue out through it. That isnt a casual homicide. You dont learn those kinds of tricks with anatomy from watching television, Freddie. He held out his hand to Rydell. Rydell gave him the glasses. Their lenses were black again.
Freddie swallowed. Yessir, Mr. Warbaby. Sorry.
Howd you do that? Rydell asked.
Warbaby wiped the glasses again and put them back on. They were clear now. There are drivers in the frames and lenses. They affect the nerves directly.
Its a virtual light display Freddie said, eager to change the subject. Anything can be digitized, you can see it there.
Telepresence Rydell said.
Naw Freddie said, thats light. Thats photons coming out and hitting on your eye. This doesnt work like that. Mr. Warbaby walks around and looks at stuff, he can see the data-feed at the same time. You put those glasses on a man doesnt have eyes, optic nerves okay, he can see the input. Thats why they built the first ones. For blind people.
Rydell went to the drapes, pulled them apart, looked down into some night street in this other city. People walking there, a few.
Freddie Warbaby said, flip me that Washington girl off the decrypted IntenSecure feed. The one works for Allied Messenger Service.
Freddie nodded, did something with his computer.
Yes Warbaby said, gazing at something only he could see, its possible. Entirely possible. Rydell and he removed the glasses, you have a look. Rydell let the drapes fall back, went to Warbaby, took the glasses, put them on. Somehow he felt it would be a mistake to hesitate, even if it meant having to look at the dead guy again.
Black into color into full face and profile of this girl. Fingerprints. Image of her right retina blown up to the size of her head. Stats. WASHINGTON, CHEVETTE-MARIE Big gray eyes, long straight nose, a little grin for the camera. Dark hair cut short and spikey, except for this crazy ponytail stuck up from the crown of her head.
Well Warbaby asked, what do you think?
Rydell couldnt figure what he was being asked. Finally he just said Cute.
He heard Freddie snort, like that was a dumb thing to say.
But Warbaby said Good. That way you remember.
Sammy Sal lost her, where Bryant stuttered out in that jackstraw tumble of concrete tank-traps. Big as he was, he had no equal when it came to riding tight; he could take turns that just werent possible; he could bongo and pull a three-sixty if he had to, and Chevette had seen him do it on a bet. But she had a good idea where shed find him.
She looked up, just as she whipped between the first of the slabs, and the bridge seemed to look down at her, its eyes all torches and neon. Shed seen pictures of what it had looked like, before, when they drove cars back and forth on it all day, but shed never quite believed them. The bridge was what it was, and somehow always had been. Refuge, weirdness, where she slept, home to however many and all their dreams.
She skidded past a fish-wagon, losing traction in shaved ice, in gray guts the gulls would fight over in the morning. The fish man yelled something after her, but she didnt catch it.
She rode on, between stalls and stands and the evenings commerce, looking for Sammy Sal.
Found him where she thought she would, leaning on his bars beside an espresso wagon, not even breathing hard. A Mongolian girl with cheekbones like honey-coated chisels was running him a cup. Chevette bopped the particle-brakes and slid in beside him.
Thought Id have time for a short one he said, reaching for the tiny cup.
Her legs ached with trying to keep up with him. You better she said, with a glance toward the bridge, then she gestured to the girl to run her one. She watched the steaming puck of brown grounds thumped out, the fresh scoop, the quick short tamp. The girl swung the handle up and twisted the basket back into the machine.
16. Sunflower
You know Sammy Sal said, pausing before a first shallow sip, you shouldnt have this kind of problem. You dont need to. Theres only but two kinds of people. People can afford hotels like that, theyre one kind. Were the other. Used to be, like, a middle class, people in between. But not anymore. How you and I relate to those other people, we proj their messages on. We get paid for it. We try not to drip rain on the carpet. And we get by, okay? But what happens on the interface? What happens when we touch?
Chevette burned her mouth on espresso.
Crime Sammy Sal said, sex. Maybe drugs. He put his cup down on the wagons plywood counter. About covers it.
You fuck them Chevette said You said.
Sammy Sal shrugged. I like to. Trouble comes down from that, Im up for it. But you just went and did something, no reason. Reached through the membrane. Let your fingers do the walking. Bad idea.
Chevette blew on her coffee. I know.
So how you going to deal with whatevers coming down?
Im going up to Skinners room, get those glasses, take em up on the roof, and throw em over.
Then what?
Then I go on the way I do, til somebody turns up.
Then what?
Didnt do it. Dont know shit. Never happened.
He nodded, slow, but he was studying her. Uh-huh. Maybe. Maybe not. Somebody wants those glasses back, they can lean on you real hard. Anther way to go: we get em, ride back over to Allied, tell em how it happened.
We?
Uh-huh. Ill go with you.
Ill lose my job.
You can get you another job.
She drank the little cup off in a gulp. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Jobs all I got, Sammy. You know that. You got it for me.
You got a place to sleep, up there. You got that crazy old motherfucker took you in
I feed him, Sammy Sal
You got your ass intact, honey. Some rich man decide to screw you over, cause you took his data-glasses, maybe that ceases to be the case.
Chevette put her empty cup down on the counter, dug in the pockets of her jacket. Gave the girl fifteen for the two coffees and a two-dollar tip. Squared her shoulders under Skinners jacket, the ball-chains rattling. No. Once that shits in the Bay, nobody can prove I did anything.
Sammy Sal sighed. Youre an innocent.
It sounded funny, like she didnt know you could use the word that way. You coming, Sammy Sal?
What for?
Talk to Skinner. Get between him and his magazines. Thats where I left them. Behind his magazines. Then he wont see me get them out. Ill go up on the roof and off them.
Okay he said, but I say youll just be fucking up worse.
Ill take the chance, okay? She dismounted and started wheeling her bike toward the bridge.
I guess you will Sammy Sal said, but then he was off his bike, too, and pushing it, behind her.
Thered only ever been three really good, that was to say seriously magic, times in Chevettes life. Oue was the night Sammy Sal had told her hed try to get her on at Allied, and he had. One was the day shed paid cash money for her bike at City Wheels, and rode right on out of there. And thered been the night she first met Lowell at Cognitive Dissidentsif you could count that now as lucky.
Which was not to say that these were the times shed been luckiest, because those were all times that had been uniformly and life-threateningly shitty, except for the part where the luck cut in.
Shed been lucky the night shed gone over the razor-wire and out of the Juvenile Center outside Beaverton, but that had been one deeply shitty night. She had scars on both palms to prove it.