Continuance (25 page)

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He stared at the results.
Negative.
The word seemed to stretch out, echoing in his mind. He shouldn’t have felt
surprised, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he’d been punched in the
gut. Seeing the understanding on Dr. Fairchild’s face, frustration washed
through him like a poison – frustration with himself for being so stupid, frustration
for making a fool of himself in front of her.

“Looks like you were right.” He
tossed the opdisk back in the box. “You think maybe there’s some defect in
retread neurology? Something that makes us prone to delusions and wishful
thinking?”

She placed a hand on his arm. “I
think we all have that defect, Jason. I’m sorry.”

The show of sympathy brought a
sting to his eyes, and he didn’t trust himself to speak. When the silence
stretched out, Dr. Fairchild gave a brisk sigh. “But you did say your SLIDe
data showed her in the area recently. So you know she’s probably close. You can
always keep looking.”

He gave her a weak smile and
nodded. Telling her about the spiders locking Alex out of the SLIDes would
accomplish nothing.

“If it’s any consolation,” she
said, “I haven’t found who I’m looking for either.”

If anything, the comment made him
feel worse for being inconsiderate. Why was it so easy to forget the professor
had her own reasons for being involved in Chrysalis?
She has someone - her
own Michelle - to find, too.

“I never asked who it was you
lost,” he said.

“That’s okay.” She turned to gaze
through the glass wall across the room. Her eyes seemed to lose focus, and he
could tell she wasn’t admiring the view. “Neither did I. I assumed it was
personal. Besides, it’s probably better this way. Less exposure if things ever
go badly for one of us. That would be the official Chrysalis position.”

The door rattled. An indistinct
face pressed against the inset window, trying to peek inside. Dr. Fairchild’s
brisk manner returned. “Seems it’s almost time for class.” She held a
forestalling hand toward the door and gave Jason a meaningful nod at the
opdisks on the counter.

He slid Chaela’s disk back into
its slot, locking the cabinet as Dr. Fairchild opened the door to admit the
handful of students waiting outside. He took his seat at the usual table and
readied his things for class. Refusing to feel defeated, he reminded himself he
still had a chance to find Michelle, maybe through the parking lot SLIDe. He’d
check the data later, though the odds of another hit grew slimmer every day. And
if he couldn’t find her, there was still the reason he’d come here in the first
place.
Arkive.
The means to start from scratch from her biorecord – if
he could find it.

No. She was already continued,
already out there somewhere.
What if I do it, and the one I’m looking for
now finds
me
? They’d
both
hate me.
Such thoughts boggled the
mind, but the possibility of multiple Michelles was an inescapable consequence
of the very technology that made even one possible.

He was still taking his books out
of his pack when Chaela came in. Her faded synth-denim jeans and sleeveless
green tunic had a casual, relaxed look. For once, the way she carried herself
seemed to match. She surprised him by meeting his eyes and giving him a wide
smile as she made her way over.

“You look terrible,” she said. “I
told you I wasn’t going to cover for you if you came in dragging.” Her tone was
light, but had her eyes flashed with a trace of concern? She nodded at the two
empty chairs, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Stuart and Ivory will be here,”
he said. “I
think
they will, anyway.” Something he wasn’t looking
forward to. He hadn’t had a chance to talk with Stuart since the unfortunate
run-in last night, and wasn’t sure what to expect when he did.

“Thanks again for all you did
last night,” she said. “And don’t think I’m not going to hold you to your
invitation.”

With all that had happened since,
he’d almost forgotten his impulsive offer to let her see him race. “As long as
you promise not to run from the stands, screaming.” He leaned over to bump her
shoulder with his own.

She smiled in return, holding his
gaze a moment. His thoughts went back to his dwindling options for finding
Michelle.
Maybe there’s a third option.
If he found someone else, and
they made each other happy, did it really matter? After being focused so long
on finding her, the thought almost seemed like heresy. But there it was. Ivory
had shown him that perhaps not everyone would think of him as a freak, though
he still intended to find out why. Would Chaela react the same way if she knew?
Unconcerned? Accepting?

Jason felt his smile disappear as
he found Stuart standing by the door. Motionless, he studied Jason and Chaela,
his eyes carrying a note of disapproval. An uneasy prickle gnawed at Jason, but
he forced his smile back into place and made his voice loud enough to carry.

“See, Chaela? I told you he’d
make it.”

Stuart came over to take his
seat, saying nothing as he linked up his AP.

“Chaela thought you might not
show.” Jason kept his voice light
. Everything’s business as usual, guys.

“Well, I
was
pretty pissed
last night,” Stuart said.

An uncomfortable silence settled
over the table before Stuart added, “That’s how they say drunk in Ireland.” He
gave Jason a stinging clap on the back, shaking his head. “Flat mates for nine
months and you’d think we’d know each other by now, right?” He shot Jason a
sharp look. “Sorry you couldn’t make it over, Chaela. Don’t worry, you didn’t
miss much.”

Just the fact that
Jason’s a retread. Or that he made out with Stuart’s girlfriend.

Chaela narrowed her eyes at
Stuart as if something he’d said was painful, but he seemed not to notice. “You
had us worried for a while,” he said. “I almost wondered if we’d see
you
here today after that little scare.”

Chaela’s cheeks colored. “It was
stupid to freak out like that. Going that fast just took me by surprise. A
roller coaster would have done the same. Jason stuck it out with me, though.”

“Yeah,” Stuart said. “Good thing
you had someone trustworthy to watch your back.”

Jason made himself relax to keep
from grinding his teeth. Veiled accusations were understandable, but he’d have
to find time to air things out with Stuart soon. He wasn’t taking this well.
Why
should he?

Thankfully Dr. Fairchild chose
that moment to begin the class. “Good morning.” After the private talk they’d
just shared, it felt odd hearing her lecturing voice, clear and commanding.

Jason noted the empty chair
beside Stuart, saw him doing the same. “Where’s Ivory?” Jason whispered. Stuart
shrugged, his face a mix of annoyance and worry.

“Last time,” Dr. Fairchild said, “we
left off with our discussion of hereditary genetic markers for physical traits,
such as...” She paused, brows furrowed, as the door opened again. Every face
turned at the interruption, and the security guard, Vance, stood in the
doorway.

“Sorry to disturb you, Professor.
Could I have a moment?” He gave a visible swallow as his eyes scanned the room.

“I’m in the middle of a class
here, Lieutenant. Can it wait until afterward?”

Vance seemed to consider that a
moment. “We’ve just had something come up in the lab that requires your
attention downstairs. Shouldn’t take long. Some kind of administrative mix up.”

Dr. Fairchild raised an eyebrow before
turning to one of her aids, a blond seated a couple of tables over. “Megan, can
you take over for a minute?” She didn’t wait for a reply before making her way
toward the door. Vance and Dr. Fairchild exchanged rapid words in the hallway,
voices too hushed for Jason to overhear. The feeling of Chaela’s hand on his
arm brought his attention back as she pulled him close.

“He’s lying,” she whispered
through clenched teeth. Concern showed on her face.

“What?” he whispered. “How do you
know? I can’t even hear what they’re saying.”

Megan, who’d started going over
the lesson notes, paused when Dr. Fairchild came back in, but went on as she
realized the professor didn’t intend to resume the lecture. Instead, Jason felt
an uneasy churn in his stomach as the professor came over to his table.

“Would the three of you join me
outside, please?” She kept her voice quiet, but Jason could see the other
students dividing their attention between Megan and the four of them.

“What’s going on?” Jason asked in
hushed tones.

“I’m not entirely sure, but it’s
better if we discuss it outside.”

The churning in Jason’s stomach
turned to roiling, but he had little choice but to follow her and see what played
out. Any pretense of moving on with the lesson evaporated, and the rest of the
class stared openly as the three of them followed Dr. Fairchild outside.

“The DIA’s downstairs with a
warrant,” Vance said. “They want to question all Chariot lab personnel.”

Heart beating fast, Jason looked
up and down the hallway, searching for the best way to escape. Would the
spiders already have the entrance covered?

“Did they say why?” he heard Dr.
Fairchild ask. The stairs would be the best way down, but how to get away from
Vance without giving him the chance to call for help?

“No, but there’s something else.
They asked for one of your interns by name.”

Jason felt panic setting in. No
chance left to stay inconspicuous. He spun away from Vance, ready to run for
the stairs, but any chance to flee disappeared as a pair of men in suits
materialized, coming the other way. Oddly, one wore a bandage around his neck,
but Jason would have known them anywhere. The purposeful stride, the slow, even
pivot of their heads as they watched the AR overlays through those angular smartglasses.
Spiders.

What was worse, he recognized
them both.

“So you have no knowledge of any
Arkive data being transferred outside the lab? Maybe to a university server or
someone’s personal cloud?” Lindsay interlaced his fingers atop the massive
conference table, resisting the urge to touch the bandage around his throat. When
he’d woken up that morning, the rasp in his voice had been worse than Neal’s.

You sound like
Clint Eastwood. Badass,
Neal had chuckled.
Retread punks better watch
out.
And from there, the jokes had continued. Thankfully, his voice had
recovered since then. The doctors said there was no permanent damage, but it
would take a while for the bruise – so purple it was almost black – to fade.

Lindsay had no idea who Clint
Eastwood was – no doubt somebody from some ancient 2D vid – but it seemed to
amuse Neal. Just like the whole episode in the white room. Neal had dismissed
the whole thing with more rookie jokes, but Lindsay knew he could have died
yesterday.

Maybe he should have laughed it
off, too. After all, cops of every ilk had to keep a certain gallows humor
about their day-to-day – a kind of filter to keep the job from getting too
personal. But Lindsay couldn’t shake the memory from his mind. Accardi – he’d
come to think of her that way – poised above him with an inhuman balance and
grace, ready to end his life in the next heartbeat. What bothered him even more
was the very
human
feeling he’d sensed beneath the deadly certainty of
her intentions.
She was terrified.

Lindsay glanced at the walls of the
Chariot lab’s A/V room. White, yes, but more of a muted eggshell than
antiseptic brightness. Arching oak beams rose from the floor to stretch across
the ceiling, matching the dark wooden grain of the conference table. Nothing
like that white room. It made him glad their warrant didn’t extend to detaining
anyone for questioning. He and Neal would have to settle for a few informal
interviews here on site. He had no desire to spend time in Interview
Facilitation again anytime soon.

“So?” prompted the young man
seated across the table. “Was that what you wanted to know?”

Lindsay broke away from his
thoughts of that white room, of the crimson streaks inside, long enough to
retrieve the reply he’d missed from memory. Something about opdisks not working
on the lab’s closed network.

Looking uncertain as he brushed
longish blond bangs to the side, Jason Day studied Lindsay like a stranger in a
dark alley. The kid seemed harmless enough, and the Oriole feeds he seemed to
appear in with increasing frequency had never really shown him doing anything
suspicious. Right now, though, he looked nervous, probably because Lindsay
hadn’t responded.

In no hurry to reply, he
considered Day’s answer. Not a denial, but crafted to seem like one? As he watched,
Lindsay saw Day glance at the bandage around his throat, seeming curious. Were
those eyes of his hiding something?

“You’re sure?” Lindsay asked.
“Forget about the restrictions on the network. Assume they could be worked
around. You’ve never seen anyone in here with an opdisk or linked in with their
own AP?” He leaned forward. “Even once?”