A Long, Long Sleep (19 page)

“Yeah. You’re a lot nicer than I would ever have expected someone in your position to be. I mean, look at how you treat Otto. I’ve never seen anyone warm up to him so quick. You’re sympathetic and kind and understanding and beautiful and you’re . . . pleasant to be around.”

An annoying thrill passed through me when he said that I was beautiful. Where was this coming from?

“You aren’t very fun, really, but that’s hardly a requirement. Instead, you’re easy. You’re . . . a very relaxing person, just easy to spend time with.” He shrugged. “It surprised me.”

I should have left it alone. I should have held my tongue, but I couldn’t help it.

The perverse imp of my infatuation just had to twist the knife. “Then, why . . .

?” I took a deep breath and swallowed. “I’m not trying to change your mind or anything, but if that’s all true, then . . . why not?” I finished lamely. I knew I was bright red by the end of that little speech, but I needed to know.

“Why not go out with you?” Bren asked.

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Well, first you just surprised me. Since then, I’ve been thinking about it.” He sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Just . . . no spark, or . . . ?”

“That’s not it.” He shook his head. “You don’t wanna hear this.”

“I think I do,” I whispered.

He hesitated, then said, “Okay. Okay. The thing is . . . The thing is, I know that I have it in me to give everything of myself to someone I might come to love.

And you are very easy to spend time with. But that’s part of the problem.” He looked at me then, and I swallowed as he searched my face. “I look at you . . .

and I get a sense of what Otto sees when he touches you. Gaps. Or worse. This unfathomable abyss inside your soul.”

The words were painful, but I’d never realized before that Bren had the heart of a poet.

“At least that’s the way he put it.”

Oh. It was Otto who had the heart of a poet. Well, okay, I could see that.

“And I know that I could. I could like you, let myself really care for you. But if I did, I just know that I’d throw more and more of myself down into that abyss, and it wouldn’t begin to fill it. Rose, you just need more than I have to offer.

There’s so much pain there that I could never heal. And I’d want to. I’d shrivel up and wither long before anything started to get better for you. It would just be worse for both of us, in the end.”

I sighed. He was right. What I felt for him wasn’t really love, but it was more than mere desire. It was a need. And it wasn’t even a need for him, it was just a need for something. Anything. Everything.

Everything I lost.

“I’m sorry I put you in that position,” I said.

“Stop apologizing for living,” Bren said. “It’s like you think you shouldn’t have been born.” He shook his head. “You’re allowed to get a crush on anyone you want. You haven’t done one thing wrong since I’ve known you. None of this is your fault, Rose.”

But it was. It was my fault for existing in the first place.

We arrived at the Uni Building a little after that.

The Uni Building was a massive sky- piercing monolith based on the premillennium Art- Deco skyscraper the Chrysler Building. Almost everyone who lived in ComUnity had a family member who worked in that building, if only in custodial services. It stood all by itself in the center of a grassy park, standing so tall over the rest of the area that I’d always thought it looked a little silly. However, space had been at a premium before the Dark Times, and it was easier to get permits for a skyscraper than for a sprawling decentralized megacomplex, which had been the alternative for UniCorp’s expanding business. It was also a prestige thing.

Bren knocked at the rocket- proof NeoGlass gate. Across the vast marble foyer, a bored- looking security guard looked up from a dimly lit alcove filled with security screens. He smiled when he saw Bren. “Here to see your granddad?”

he asked as he opened the door.

“Yeah, he’s expecting us.”

“Check in at the ret scan on your way up,” he said. As if we could avoid it. The ret scanner automatically recorded everyone who entered or exited the building.

TARGET IDENTIFIED: RETINAL MATCH CONFIRMED, ROSA LINDA SAMANTHA FITZROY

He perked up. He’d suspected he’d lost his target forever.

LOCATION KNOWN: UNICORP BUILDING.

He went through his little programming dance of searching the net for the principal, and eventually reinstating the secondary directive when the principal couldn’t be found. The skimmer he had commandeered to get to the island had probably been taken by the police, but his plasticized mind had grown more flexible with use. He knew that he now had access to a new hover yacht. Before he stood up for pursuit, he set his nanobots to cleaning up his body again.

Blood stains tended to frighten the surrounding humans and delay his search for the primary target.

It was strange being back in the halls of the Uni Building. While everything around me had changed, UniCorp was a constant. The building had not altered in any significant measure. Bren and I stepped into the lift, and Bren pushed the button for the top floor. I ran my fingers gently over the polished granite sides of the lift. There were a few flaws in the stone, nicks and dings from decades of movers redecorating of fices, but otherwise there was no difference between then and now. I could almost imagine the lift doors opening to reveal my father, waiting to welcome me with a brusque smile and a secretary to keep an eye on me.

Instead it would be Bren’s scowling grandfather. “I don’t like this,” I said.

“Disturbing an old man in the middle of the night.”

“We aren’t disturbing him. I told you — he’s in his office. Practically lives there.

Actually, he’s got a suite just across from it. He used to live in our building, but he spent almost no time there. When Guillory asked him for the apartment, he just let him have it.”

My ears pricked. “When Guillory asked?”

“Yeah, so you could have your old condo back.”

I swallowed. “You mean I stole this guy’s house?”

“Not really. You took an expensive empty white elephant off his hands, which he almost never set foot in. It didn’t help when Gramma died. He didn’t have much reason to come home after that. Man’s a complete workaholic, except when he’s on vacation.”

“Is he different when he’s not working?”

“Yeah, he’s much nicer with family than he ever is working.”

“Good,” I said. “ ’Cause he kind of scares me.”

“Used to scare me, too,” Bren confessed. “Until he saved me from a bad fall while we were skiing when I was ten. Man broke his leg keeping me from falling off a cliff. I didn’t know it was there. The signs warning about it had been snowed over. Never seen anyone move so fast. He’s” —Bren shrugged, trying to think of the right words — “abrasive and dour and taciturn, but he’s always there when you need him.”

“I hope so,” I said, “ ’cause I de finitely need someone.”

The lift came to a rest, and the door opened onto the familiar atrium on the top floor of the Uni Building. My mother had designed the atrium based on a traditional Roman garden, complete with columns and mosaic. A bright fountain splashed in the center, a mock waterfall surrounded by imported tropical plants. The plants had changed, and I saw that several of them were now fake, a degeneration that my mother would never have stood for had she been alive.

Daddy’s office had been on the upper floor of the atrium, so I expected Bren to lead me up one of the spiral staircases, but instead he led me behind the fountain to what had once been the enclave of assistants and personal secretaries.

This had changed dramatically. These offices had been opened up and made into a second atrium, with a different collection of plants. At the far end, a glass- fronted waiting room looked over the foliage, with a welcoming receptionist’s desk, now empty. Behind this, through a copper- plated door, was what must be Bren’s grandfather’s office. Without much preamble, Bren opened this imposing door and ushered me inside.

The CEO’s office was earth- toned, with landscapes on the walls, and I recognized the same hand that had decorated my condo. The desk was wood, large, but with only one screen. I found it in stark contrast with my father’s old desk, more of a command console, really, with its half a dozen screens linked through to the net, keeping him updated on a thousand different projects and accounts. This desk spoke of a tidy mind, a man who didn’t need to keep everything at his fingertips, because he always knew where to find it.

A leather chair turned away from the screen and revealed Bren’s grandfather, waiting for us. I realized now that I had never really looked at the man when I wasn’t half- blind from stass fatigue or drugged and in shock from the stumble stick. He’d frightened me both times with his irate rantings and unpleasant scowl. Now that I looked at him, the scowl seemed less angry than sad. This looked like a man who had seen all the horrors the world had to offer, and they weighed too heavily on his heart for him to lighten his bearing. My fear melted a bit.

He regarded us as he sat back in his chair.

Bren did not look the least chagrined about interrupting his grandfather in the middle of the night. “Hey, Granddad. You’ve met Rose.”

“Yes, I have,” he said with a bit of a formal nod. “Nice to meet you again, young lady.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sabah.”

“He’s not a Sabah. He’s Mom’s dad,” Bren corrected me.

“That’s all right,” he said easily, cutting Bren off. “Just call me Ron. Please, sit down.” He gestured me to a moss- green sofa against the wall and turned to his grandson. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“The assassin tracked her down to Nirvana, and Rose thinks Guillory set it on her,” Bren said without preamble.

A flash of dreadful anger clouded Ron’s face. His eyes burned as he stared at me. “You what?”

I cowered. “I don’t know,” I said. “ I — I guess I don’t have any proof. . . .”

He stared at me for another moment. Then he spoke, so quietly I barely heard him. “I’ll kill him,” he said with a terrifying, grim smile. He turned back to Bren. “Tell me everything.”

Bren shook his head. “I can’t. She hasn’t told me anything, yet. Just that he was being his usual drunken sped self.”

Ron turned his scowl back to me. “What makes you think Reggie’s behind this thing?”

I couldn’t speak. Something about his glare was making me feel ill, and all I could do was stare at him. Ron seemed to realize this and turned away from me. He pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bren, you ask her,” he said, then put his glasses back on again.

Bren sat down beside me on the sofa. “It’s okay, really. Just tell him everything. What’s the first thing that made you think it was him?”

“When the Plastine came in, he didn’t cell security or anything. But then, he knocked me down, so I couldn’t run away. And he seemed to know just when the Plastine was going to come.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He said I was cute and that it was shame what had to happen to me.”

Ron cursed under his breath. “All right.” He turned to his screen. “I’ll start a search program right now to see if he’s been siphoning funds.” His fingers tapped deftly over his pad, and his brow furrowed. “There.” He turned back to me. “That’ll take a while; there’s a lot of files to cover. In the meantime, tell me everything you know. Is there anything else that makes you think he may have done this?”

I wanted to cry, remembering the words he’d been spilling at me. The conversation had been so appalling that the assassin had almost been a relief !

“He was so awful,” I whispered. “He was talking about Otto and how he thought they should just give up on him. He was kind of . . . hitting on me. And he was so callous. He was saying that the Dark Times were the best thing that had ever happened for everyone.”

Bren’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not making it up.”

“I didn’t think you were, but did you hear him correctly? I mean, Reggie’s an ass, but I didn’t think even he’d stoop to that kind of statement. It’s like saying that holocausts are a pretty neat idea.”

“Well,” I amended, “he didn’t say the Dark Times specifically. He said that the best day for everyone was the day my parents . . . died.” It was very hard for me to get that last word out. “And that’s . . . well, the only reason I was left so long.

If they hadn’t died —”

Ron cut me off with a groan. “Ahh.” He sat back in his chair, which quietly leaned a bit backward to accommodate his more casual posture.

Bren frowned. “But the Fitzroys died —”

“Bren,” his grandfather warned. There was a long silence as Ron seemed to regard his hands. He tapped his thumb pensively against his wrist. “I don’t suppose it would have occurred to Reggie to tell you. His thinking tends to be self- centered. And it isn’t really the role of the police.” He sighed. “Leaves me,”
he said, almost under his breath. He turned back to me. “How much do you remember of your life, young lady?”

“All of it,” I said, surprised. “What has that got to do with this?”

“Just listen to me. Bren has admitted a secret to me, that you told him you and your parents would frequently use stasis as a . . . coping mechanism?”

I wasn’t sure if I should feel afraid or indifferent. Before Bren had told me about the “maladjusted” label I’d be saddled with, it wouldn’t have bothered me in the least. The one thing I didn’t feel was shame. I shot a questioning look at Bren.

“Granddad wouldn’t tell anyone,” Bren said. “I just . . . I couldn’t understand it.”

My questioning gaze turned exasperated. I suppose the peaceful, calming fearlessness of stass would be hard to explain to anyone who never used it regularly. I turned back to Ron. “Yes,” I said. “Bren told you the truth.”

Ron nodded. “Has Bren also informed you that such treatment, particularly of a minor, has been constituted a felony?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t get it. It’s not an assault. And if stass is illegal, why have stass chambers at the hospital? I saw them there.”

“Hospitals have special dispensation. Victims of certain diseases or those in need of transplants who can’t afford to wait can be scheduled stass time. Stass is still used for interplanetary travel, rotating the passengers who are awake with those who remain in stass, but that is only because of the many years it takes to travel to the outer colonies. Interplanetary travel would be impossible if we had to keep all the passengers awake. We couldn’t build vessels with enough space for living quarters, supplies, or even oxygen and still afford to send them across the solar system. But despite being safe and effective, all stass is strictly regulated and even prohibited in many cases.”

I really didn’t understand. Why couldn’t someone just take a break from the world? “Why?” I asked.

“It’s a little hard to explain,” Ron said. “Particularly given your background.

When I was young, there were no laws regarding stasis. I remember various cases that made the instigation of those laws an imperative.”

I rolled my eyes. The legalese was driving me a little nuts. “Such as?” I asked.

“Let me put it this way,” Ron said, putting his two fore- fingers together to form a steeple. “Imagine you had an illness, appendicitis, something easily cured with surgery. Now imagine that your doctor hasn’t had lunch yet. Rather than perform the surgery, he puts you into stass until after lunch.” He shrugged.

“Doesn’t seem so bad.

“Now imagine that your doctor, instead of missing lunch, has a date with his wife that evening and doesn’t want to be tired. So instead of performing your surgery, he keeps you in stass until the next day. That’s twenty- four hours.

Probably there would be no noticeable difference in your perception.

“But now imagine that the doctor has scheduled a vacation, so he arranges for you to be kept in stass for the next two, three weeks, while he heads off to Acapulco with his family. It is considerably more convenient for him to stass his patient than to perform the surgery. So, basically, for his own convenience, this doctor has stolen three weeks of your life, when all you really needed was an hour of his time. He could have delayed his vacation, he could have referred your case to another physician, but because he wanted to be the one to do the surgery — just not right then —he has assaulted you. He has taken from you something very precious and irretrievable. He stole your time.”

I felt ill. I didn’t like how he’d phrased that. “I . . . never thought about it that way before.”

Ron smiled rather ruefully. “I know,” he said, and it sounded much more sympathetic than I would have expected. “For a parent to place a minor in stasis today, there has to be an application to the government, an assured affidavit from a physician explaining why the stass is absolutely necessary, and oftentimes a filing fee, just to keep parents from doing such things lightly.

Children with debilitating chronic illnesses have sometimes been stassed in the hopes of keeping them alive till a cure can be found. Only for those cases, and for children who are transplant patients, has earthbound stasis ever been permitted for a minor.”

Something had begun to flutter within my chest, a frightened sparrow. My hands were shaking. “I still don’t understand,” I said.

The voice of Bren’s grandfather continued, unyielding. “Imagine,” he said, “that a parent feels overworked. The baby has been crying all day. All they want is a half- hour nap. Every parent has felt this way. They put the child into stasis until they feel more able to handle the situation. They do this instead of getting a babysitter, instead of organizing their schedule, instead of admitting they need help. For their own convenience. Once may seem better than abuse, I grant you. It just doesn’t seem so bad.

“But imagine now that the child is two, three. The parents want to host a holiday party, but the child would be a hassle if she were underfoot. Put the child into stasis until after the party. Won’t take too long. For their own convenience.

“Now they want to go on vacation.”

I wanted to leap up and stop him, but I was afraid my legs wouldn’t hold me.