Kaleidocide (15 page)

“That's another reason I canceled my account,” he said. “I couldn't afford all the security systems you have to buy. That's where they get you.”

“We'll have to wipe it all if you're hired,” she said.

“Fine with me,” he said, and meant it. As fun as the virtual sex had been at first, he only had bad memories of it now. “Do it now,” he said, somehow knowing that she could.

“Done.”

Then the three female figures moved to form a row facing him, and started looking at each other and themselves as though they were now uncomfortable in their skins.

“Jon, meet our employers.” The woman's voice came from everywhere now, not out of the mouth of any of the skins. “They don't look anything like this, of course, but they're using our skins because you can't see their faces until you're hired. On the left is our boss; you can call him T.T. In the middle is the man you would double for…”

“You can call me M.A.,” the middle one said in a male voice.

“And on the right is his assistant.”

“You can call him ‘Ass' for short,” the middle one said again, then looked to his left. “Sorry, big guy, I couldn't resist.”

“You have a pretty good sense of humor,” Jon said, “for someone whose life is in danger.”

“It's not the first time,” he said. “And I'm excited about meeting you, because I hear you're willing to help me save it.”

“I guess I am.”

“Good,” said the Asian woman on the left, also in a man's voice. “What do you think about China?”

“I already asked him,” the disembodied woman's voice said.

“This must be confusing for him,” the middle one said to the ceiling. “Why don't you vary the skins somehow?”

“How's this?” the voice said, and the skins changed. The one on the left now had sandy and wavy hair, the middle one short black hair, and the one on the right had become much larger than the other two and had no hair.

“I hope you can agree to hire me soon,” Jon said, “so I don't have to look at this mess for too long.” The Asian women with the men's hair laughed.

“It doesn't have to be much of an interview, if you're willing,” the middle one said, turning more serious. “I'm told we don't have much choice, and we don't have much time. But I just wanted to make sure you'll do what we say, and that you're at least somewhat normal, because over the next few weeks you'll be spending a lot of time in my house, and I'll be spending a lot of time in your head.”

 

16

SAVIOR

Angelee was dreaming about her late husband again when her mind recognized a new sound, and her eyes slowly opened. The ceiling was a blur at first, but then her vision cleared enough to see a huge mosquito hawk flitter across it to join a gang of them near one of the corners. She lay on her back on the bed of the brown room at the Cadillac Flats Apartments in Napa City, feeling the rumble of the subway outside under Soscol Avenue. And as awareness fully dawned, she realized the sound that woke her was Simon unlocking the door and entering the room.

She sat up abruptly and pulled her knees up to her chest, hoping that the space around her on the bed might keep him from groping her again. Unfortunately it didn't work, because he just jumped onto it and helped himself to whatever he could reach. At least it was only one hand, because in the other he held up his InPhone.

“Juss in time,” he said proudly. “Got me the app for your switch, hoover. Hadda go to the libree to find oudabaddit and download it. Hadna been
there
for a while.”

The birth control switch had been installed during her first gig as a prostitute, before she had met her husband, and she wasn't looking forward to it being turned on again. But without ceremony or warning, Simon started tapping the screen to activate it.

“Say the password.” He held it up near her head, even though he didn't have to.

“Lady Lee,” she said weakly, and after a few more taps on his phone, a blinding pain seared through the base of her brain.

The implant sent neural signals into the pituitary gland, preventing the release of FSH (follicle-stimulating hormone) and stopping ovulation at its source. The initial disruption of the additional electricity had an effect on the nerves not unlike a bad tumor. Angelee didn't understand any of that, of course—she just knew it hurt really bad, and was soon gripping the back of her head and knocking the front of it against her knees.

“Hey, ho,” Simon started, when he saw how bad she was hurting, and rubbed her back in an awkward attempt to help her. “Don' wanno babies, but don' wanno dying, either. You gonna make me too much money.”

“You … have … to…,” she barely managed to say. “Turn … it … off!”

“Oh, oh, right.” He fumbled at the phone, realizing that he hadn't completed the activation process, and accidentally dropped it on the brown blanket because he was only using one hand. He fished for it while Angelee continued to suffer, then finally located it and hit the “Finish” icon. The little Asian girl stopped twitching, but curled up in a tighter ball for a few moments.

“You okay?” Simon asked, patting her back again. “Memmer I told you how much we gonna make tonight, cuz you're brand-new stew. Got summun who's payin' biiiiig money cuz you're so young and fresh. Drives 'em loco, they line up … highest bidder, baby.”

The pain had receded some, so Angelee lifted her head and opened her eyes. The left one was drooping and cloudy, but she knew that it would return to normal before too long.

“Okey, hoover,” Simon said, relieved that she was recovering. “Lessee if it worked.” He triggered the app again on the phone, and waved it up and down, from her head to her bottom, though he didn't have to do that either.

“Says you're safe,” he declared happily after a few moments, then leaned in close to her, swamping her with his chemical breath. “Like to test it, me, but the johnny boy gonna be calling soon…”

Suddenly Angelee came fully back to life when she heard a soft voice say “Mommy” from the doorway to the other room. Her little son Chris was staggering through it, trailing a blanket and rubbing his eyes. She shot out of bed and crouched next to the boy to comfort him, while Simon also clambered off the bed and stood up, with concerns of his own.

“Thought you said he was gonna sleep at night,” the pimp shouted.

“He will,” Angelee answered, the pain of the switch a forgotten memory now.

“It's night, and he ain' sleeping.” Simon stepped over and crouched next to the boy, with the opposite effect that his mother had. “Lissen ta me, lamb meat. You better stay in that room over there, or I'll hafta throw you in with the package.” The boy had no idea what the man was saying, but he cowered nonetheless at Simon's bad breath and bad teeth. “Or you gonna be sleeping forever.” The pimp stood up and pulled aside his jacket to show his gun to both of them, and as he did his phone vibrated with the call from the customer who would turn Angelee back into Lady Lee.

“Now you stew,” Simon said quickly to her before he answered the phone. “Getcha bitchass in that room and get that boy to sleep, while I talkit.”

She did as he said, hustling Chris through the door and swinging it almost shut behind her. In his bed was the tiny amp (all-media pocket) that she used so often to settle him down or lull him to sleep. Cheap apartments like these didn't have net rooms, so the holo was simply projected in the air above the amp, with a rather low quality. The audio was also muted, because she didn't want Chris to turn it up too loud and draw attention to himself. So while they were here he either had to watch it silently, or Angelee had to reproduce or improvise the sounds for him.

In this case she could do the latter, because it was a holo that they had watched repeatedly with Peter before he died, and many times since then. It was both Peter's and Chris's favorite movie—the father had even named his son after the main character. Angelee started to describe the current scene to Chris, one which contained two men walking along a path in the woods, but then she noticed that she could hear Simon talking on his phone in the other room. So she tucked Chris in and crept over to listen through the crack in the door.

“Yeh, no, I unnerstand,” Simon was saying. “You like ta hurt 'em. But can't afford to lose this one, or have her damaged bad.” A pause as he listened to the other party. “Yeh, no. I know there's always a way, but not this time.” Another pause.

“Collaterwhat? Naw, I'm juss playin' witcha. I know what it is. I'll bet my butt ring you don't have anything good enough … No, too hard ta fence … Already got one.”

Simon paused longer this time. “Now you're playin' wit
me.
You serious? What's wrong with them?… Okey, deal. But if she dies, I'm keepin' both.”

He hung up and called to the other room in a much louder voice, “Get youseff ready, hoover. He be here in ten.”

Angelee tiptoed back to the bed and cuddled with Chris.

“What's wrong, Mommy?” the little boy asked softly.

“Shhhhh. Can we watch the part at the end, please?”

“Okay,” he said. She selected the scene that they had viewed more than any other since her husband died, and narrated it for the boy.

“Christian and his friend,” she said softly, and was choking up already. “They've seen the Celestial City, but to get there they have to pass through a river. And there is no boat, and I guess they can't swim too well, because they ask the Shining Ones, ‘How do we get across these waters?'

“‘
You have to walk through them!'
” She said this with a low growl, which she imagined to be the way an angel would talk. “And when the pilgrims ask if they were deep or shallow, the Shining Ones say,
‘They are deep or shallow, depending on your faith!'
So they start through the river, and sure enough, one of them starts to sink—I can't tell which one—because he didn't believe very much. But the other one says, ‘Remember the promises that the king made!' That's the king of the city where they were headed, of course.”

Angelee stopped to look toward the door into the other room, because her voice had grown louder.

“Well,” she continued quietly, “when the man who was sinking remembered the king's promises, when he had faith instead of so much fear, he found that his feet touched the bottom of the river, and he could walk across! It got more shallow, because he believed now, you see?” She stopped again, this time to see if her son was really asleep, or just keeping his eyes closed. It looked like he was out cold, but she continued anyway, for her own sake. She had difficulty getting the words out, because she was straining to hold back tears.

“By the time they got to the other side of the river, their old clothes were gone and they had new ones. Really nice new clothes.” She looked down at hers, then closed her eyes and imagined herself dressed like an angel, in shining white. But when he opened them, she still wore the slinky dress that Simon had given her.

She kissed Chris, looked up at the cracked ceiling, and did something she hadn't done since her husband died. She had prayed many times with her little boy, but that was more out of a sense of obligation to his father. It seemed ironic that this would be her first time praying on her own, because she thought it would also likely be her last, especially when she heard the door open in the other room and Simon say, “Lady Lee … c'mon out here.”

She wiped the wetness from her eyes, stood up and went through the door, which she closed firmly behind her. Then she turned to face Simon and a much fatter man, who was wearing a coat and tie.

“You two kids have fun,” Simon said with a smile that was now more nervous than mischievous. “I'll be outside.” Then he left the room.

The fat man didn't waste any time or words. He moved closer to Angelee and pulled out a small but very sharp knife, which he used to saw through the front of his belt and waistbands so that his pants fell to the floor. Then he held the knife ready and lurched toward her. Whether in her traumatized mind or in reality, she wasn't sure which, she saw saliva dripping from his mouth.

As she closed her eyes and felt the cold steel of the knife on her skin, under the strap of her dress, she suddenly heard the lock open on the door to the outside. She opened her eyes, and then was
really
not sure about what she saw …

Simon stumbled into the room through the door, having been pushed from behind. Half of the pimp's gun was in his hand, but the other half was stuffed into his mouth, painfully straining his lips and cheeks. Another man stepped in right behind him, and this one had a very intact gun in his hand, a wicked-looking thing with two barrels.

The fat man wheeled around and put his hands up, dropping the knife on the floor.

Angelee instinctively moved away from her molester to one side of the room, and it was only then that the shock lifted and she recognized the new person. He was the beautiful rich man who had visited her at the shelter a month before. Her body shuddered—this was all too much for her to take—and she staggered back against the table behind her.

The man with the gun waved it toward the door just once, and the fat john immediately scrambled to gather himself and waddled out of the door faster than one would think he could move. Then the handsome angel pushed Simon's neck down with his free hand and held the gun to his head with the other. He pointed the pimp in the direction of Angelee and told him to apologize to her.

Simon couldn't speak with the gun in his mouth, of course, but he forced out something that sounded like he was trying to say “Sorry.” So the man lifted his head back up and spun him around.

“Does your mouth hurt?” he asked. Simon nodded furiously. The man said, “Good,” and pistol-whipped him right across that part of his face. The half-gun stayed inside his bloody mouth as he fell to the floor, groaning in agony. “Now it's worse.”