Levels: The Host (25 page)

She sat on the wicker couch. “
I see.”

She’s putting me on stage,
Watly thought.
She knows that if I had come here to kill her I would’ve done it already. No wonder she’s not afraid. She knows I’ve come here to talk—or else she’d be dead—and she’s saying, “So? Go ahead. Talk.”

Watly shifted his weight nervously from one leg to another. “I’m innocent. This whole thing is a frame-up.”

Sentiva reached slowly to the table before her and opened the small wooden box on it. Watly raised the rifle in warning. She pulled out a cigel and snap-ignited its end with one
fluid movement.

“Cigel?”
she asked.

Watly shook his head. He was about to comment on their illegality, but then—considering the situation—he thought better
of it.

Sentiva took a long, sensuous drag off the cigel and glanced up at Watly, her delicate eyelashes obscuring the tops of those intense emerald irises. “What do you want from me?” she asked calmly. “Haven’t you
done enough?”

“I want.
..
” Watly leaned on the arm of the chair opposite her, gun still raised, “I want some answers. I didn’t do this and I need help figuring out
who did.”

Sentiva smiled slightly. Two little dimples appeared beside her full lips, and her already beautiful face became more beautiful still. But the smile was full of irony. “You want
me
to help
you
? Why? Why should I
believe you?”

Watly stood again. “You tell me why I would be here if I
did
do it.”

“Because you’re scared,”
Sentiva answered.

“Then you tell me
how
I did it. You explain it to me. Tell me where I learned the combination to your anxiety field. Tell me how—how I drugged you before I even
got
here. Tell me how I forged passes so good I got to Second Level with no problem. And last of all—last of all, you tell me, if I was smart enough to do all that—if I was this incredible criminal mastermind—how come I was stupid enough to get caught? How come I murdered someone in full view of the office
recorder lenses?”

“Some criminals
want
to get caught,” Sentiva
said coldly.

“That’
s catshit.”

“Then you tell me,” she countered, punctuating each word with a jerk of the cigel, “how come it’s
you
we see on the recorders? You tell me how come I’ve watched a certain recording over and over and it’s
your
face that I’ve memorized. It’s your hands on the scalpel. Why is that, Mister Caiper?” Her voice was raised for the first time. A brighter spark of anger glowed within
each eye.

Watly paused before speaking. “I was hosting,” he said finally. “Hosting against my will.” Even to him it sounded like
a lie.

“Then where
was the—”

“I know,” Watly interrupted. “Where was the cuff? The cuff was removed—and no, I don’t know how. But
it was.”

Sentiva puffed out a perfect pink smoke ring. She was calm again. “Why should I
believe you?”

Watly shrugged. “You don’t have to. It would be nice, but you don’t have to. I still want some
answers anyway.”

“Answers
to what?”

Watly sat down fully on the chair’s cushion. “Why do they say it was Corber Alvedine who
was killed?”

“Because
it was.”

“It was
a woman.”

There was silence for a moment. “Yes, that’s right. It was,” Sentiva
said dispassionately.

Watly was confused. “You can’t have it both ways, Sentiva. Why do they say it was Corber who was killed instead of
the woman?”

Sentiva pushed out the cigel and exhaled the last of its pink smoke. “Corber
was
a woman.”

CHAPTER 28

“
Y
ou are an incredibly naive man, Watly Caiper. Incredibly. In fact, I’m tempted to accept your insane story as truth on that ground alone. Do you believe every image you see on the CV? Do you think that every person on it exists? Or that they always exist in the form that you see them? You don’t understand that a person can be
keyboard-manufactured
for vidsatt?” Sentiva was staring at Watly as if he’d just told her that he’d always thought the world was flat. She had ignited another cigel and was dragging heavily on it
between sentences.

Watly was pacing now, back and forth across the carpet in front of her. “Are you telling me the murdered woman was Corber Alvedine? But I’ve
seen
Corber Alvedine,” he said loudly. “I’ve seen him all the
time on—”

“—on the CV?” she interrupted. “Is that where you’ve seen him? Ever seen him in person? Do you know of anyone who’s ever seen him in person? No? The woman you killed
was
Corber. Corb
ell
, actually. She had always been Corber Alvedine. From the beginning. The founder and president of
Alvedine Industries.”

Watly stopped pacing and faced Sentiva squarely. “But why? Why the pretense?”
he asked.

Sentiva exhaled impatiently. “Because we decided on it. One of us had to be a man, Mr. Caiper. Corbell and I are mated. Poovuses. We have been for ten years. Up here things are different. Things are not like on First Level. Up here people want a certain image and it must be maintained. People want high-profile couples to be male-female. One must keep up appearances. We drew lots and Corbell became.
..
Corber. Open same-sex relationships are not acceptable. So—for the past five years, every time you saw Corber on the CV, the image you saw was keyboard-created. It’s
quite simple.”

“But how.
..
” Watly still didn’t feel he had the story straight, “how can you
keep
a secret
like that?”

Sentiva smiled again. “Oh, you needn’t, really,” she said. “It’s quite a common practice up here. Many
do it.”

“Why?”

“For appearances, Caiper.
For appearances.”

The pink smoke from her continuous cigel smoking was getting thick. Watly waived some of
it away.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “so this woman, Corber—Corbell, or whatever—this poovus of yours—who would want to
kill her?”

“
You
, apparently,” Sentiva said abruptly, her
smile gone.

“I already
told you—”

“All right,” she jumped in. “You plead your innocence. If we accept that—and I must say you’ve almost convinced me with your stupidity alone—if we accept for the sake of argument that you didn’t do it, then
everyone’s
a suspect.”

“Everyone?” Watly stepped closer. By now the swinging rifle was just a nuisance. It banged into
his arm.

“One makes a lot of enemies building an empire as big as she did within only a few years. And she was headed for politics.
Big-time
politics. Corbell was not always well liked,” Sentiva
said carefully.

“Did she have a specific political opponent?”
Watly asked.

Sentiva looked mildly embarrassed. “
No one
liked her politics, Mr. Caiper.”

“No
one specific?”

Sentiva shrugged.

“What about jealousy?” Watly asked. “
Romantic jealousy?”

Sentiva smiled and crossed her legs. “Again,” she said, “it could have been.
..
anyone.”

“Yes?”

“I
am
.
..
well liked,” she said, raising her eyebrows to punctuate the double entendre. Her Second Level accent seemed to be getting thicker by
the moment.

Watly took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. There had to be an answer here. “Who knows the combination to the anxiety field?”
he asked.

“Corbell, me, and, apparently, you,” Sentiva
replied smugly.

“
Nobody else?”

“If you’re telling the truth, then yes, somebody else does know it—
the murderer.”

Watly frowned. So far, all this wasn’t very productive. “Tell me what you remember from that day—the day of
the murder.”

Sentiva rolled her eyes and pushed out her latest cigel. She started speaking with boredom in her voice—as if she had recited the same litany of events over and over for the cops. “I had my usual exciting and glamorous Second Level day. I spent most of the afternoon working upstairs in Corbell’s office, helping her with some correspondence. We had dinner out. When we came back, Corbell went back up to her office and I went to my bedroom. All I remember was going to the window to look out. I felt a stabbing pain in my neck and that was all.” Sentiva shifted on the couch. “Next thing I know, I’m waking up stark naked on the bed and the police are pounding on the door.” Her cheeks seemed to be getting flushed with anger—no, with genuine rage. “Apparently, I had
been raped.”

Sentiva paused, sat up stiffly, and Watly watched the redness drain from her face. “And then the body upstairs.
..
” she said, “the body of Corbell.
..
it was.
..
” She lifted her strong jaw up defiantly, as if to stave off tears. Her cheeks reddened again, but not from anger. She was making a strong attempt not to cry, it seemed. Not to grieve in front of the possible murderer of
her poovus.

Watly stepped toward Sentiva, searching her eyes. “Do you remember anything—a sound, a smell—from right before you
were drugged?”

She paused and seemed to be seriously pondering the question. She took a long moment. “Nothing,” she said finally, shaking
her head.

Watly pushed the cap back and rubbed his forehead roughly. “Did Corbell have a
real
rival? Is there anyone who had really expressed a strong interest in you lately? Someone who might want to get Corbell out of
the way?”

Sentiva looked irritated. “As I said before, Mr. Caiper. I have many friends. And admirers. Sex partners, even. But I have no lovers. Quite honestly, I know of no one who would kill
for me.”

“What about the politics? What was she going to
run for?”

“Maybe nothing,” Sentiva said. “
Maybe Chancellor.”

Watly swallowed. “Chancellor? Of Manhattan? Wow. Now, who wouldn’t want
her to—”

“You want a list of everyone in Manhattan politics, Mr. Caiper?” Sentiva
interrupted harshly.

“Well.
..
what about Alvedine Industries? Who’s next in line for the job? Who’s running the business now that ‘Corber’ Alvedine is dead? Could it be that
an ambitious—”

“I don’t think that’s the motive, Mr. Caiper.”

“
Why not?”

“Because—at least for the time being—
I’m
running
Alvedine Industries.”

“Oh,” Watly said, feeling somewhat foolish. “Well, what about Corbell—did
she
have a lover? Could there have been some kind of lover’
s quarrel?”

Sentiva looked at Watly coolly. “We were both faithful to each other, Mr. Caiper. In our way. That was our arrangement. That was
our life.”

“Isn’t
it possible—”

“No,” she snapped harshly. “It’s not possible
at all.”

Watly felt frustration rising. He wanted to pace again but he stopped himself. “Can’t you think of
anyone
who might have done it? What you’re telling me is: ‘Nobody and everybody did it’! This doesn’t
help
me!”

“Is it my job to help you?” Sentiva yelled suddenly. “As far as the world is concerned,
you did it.
Is it my job to give the scapegoat
a scapegoat?”

Watly realized this entire trip to Second Level might have been worthless. He pushed the police cap back down on his scalp. It felt itchy. “All I want is a clue,” he said softly. “Just
a clue.”

Sentiva said nothing for a while. After some time, she snap-ignited another cigel and pink smoke filled the room once more. “I would help you, Mr. Caiper, if I could,” she said. Her eyes were focused at some middle distance between them. “I would. Honestly. But if you didn’t kill my poovus, I don’t know who did. No one specifically
gains
by her death. Many people gain, I suppose. I don’t
know
who killed her.” She looked at him quizzically. Her gaze traveled down to his feet and back. “I think perhaps you didn’t.”

Watly smiled weakly. “Thank you for that,” he
said softly.

“Don’t thank me, Mr. Caiper. It’s not that much of a compliment,” Sentiva said, pushing a strand of her long hair away from her face. “I’ve only been convinced because your simple- mindedness rules you out. You are a prime example of the sheltered, First Level, CV-born-and-bred mentality. You’re a tried and
true
plurite
.”

“What’s that?” Watly asked, not sure he wanted the answer. She had said it like the
strongest curse.

“A plurite?” Sentiva laughed. “You mean to tell me you don’t know what a
plurite
is? This just gets better and better. Your stupidity
is astounding!”

Watly felt himself flush. He tried not to get angry. “What is it?” he asked again, his
voice controlled.

Sentiva stared at him, smiling. “What race are you,
Watly Caiper?”

“Huh?”

“What race? What kind of person? What breed? What’s your genetic ancestry?” Sentiva seemed to be getting a kick out of Watly’
s bewilderment.

“Race? I’m.
..
” Watly faltered. “I’m just a
human being
....
”

Sentiva glared. “I’m not asking for your species, I’m asking for your race. I’m asking about
your ancestors.”

Watly was totally confused. “I.
..
I’m whatever everyone
else is.”

Sentiva laughed again, sounding even more aloof this time. “Ah—there’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Caiper. You’re a plurite. You’re a First Leveler. You’re a mix, Caiper—you’re a mongrel like everyone else down there. A blend. A combo. A.
..
stew. The only purity left in the world is on Second Level.” She stood and turned around slowly. “Look at me, Caiper. What’s the difference between us? Do you see the difference? Did you see a difference in the people in the street up here? Have you
even noticed?”

“We’re
all
mixes..
..
” Watly
said quietly.

“Wrong again, Mr. Caiper. You’re just proving your ignorance. We on Second are not mixes. Not like you.” She looked at him with disgust. “You’re all a little bit of one thing and a little bit of another. A little bit of
everything
. You’re all mutts. Look at yourself. Your skin is darker than mine, your nose is broader, your eyes more slanted. You’ve got every damn thing in you. Touch of this, touch of that. All squished together. It’s subtle with some, but you’re all the same. You bred together, Mr. Caiper. For generations races mingled and mingled and now you’re all plurites. Oh, there are variations—some are darker, redder, some are curly-haired, tall, short, eyes more or less almond-shaped—all varieties. But you’re all mutts. We up here
are pure.”

Watly stepped back a few feet. He was speechless for a moment. “What about the First Levelers who’ve made it to Second?” he said angrily. “Doesn’t that disprove all this? All those First Levelers who’ve made it up here must corrupt your ‘purity.’”

Sentiva sighed and crossed toward Watly. “What makes you think,” she asked softly, her eyes dark, “that any First Leveler ever
made
it
to Second?”

Watly shook his head. He felt slightly dizzy again. This was too much. “It happens. You hear about it all the time. People sometimes get enough money. And—hey—people win the Level Lottery, you know. I see it all the time
on the—”

“On the
CV?”
she interrupted. “You see them win on the CV?” There was something almost like pity in her eyes. She nearly whispered it now: “The ‘Cee-Vee?’”

Watly stepped back another few feet. He felt disoriented. This was all like some Narcolo Caiper conspiracy theory. This was crazy. Everything he’d ever heard.
..
“I don’t believe this.” He swallowed dryly. “You don’t look that different from me. Nobody I saw up here looks that different
from me.”

“But we are. You are a plurite, and we are all just people. Pure caucasoid ancestry. Pure mongoloid. Pure Negroid. Pure everything. We are all of a kind. Not a single blend among us. Within your ranks there are variations, yes. But still you are all mixtures. Look at your history, Caiper. Your past is a legacy of genetic corruption. You are all the products
of miscegenation.”

He coughed. “What’
s that?”

Sentiva laughed coldly again. “Never mind, Caiper. It’s an old term you wouldn’t understand. In fact, you understand so little it’s remarkable you’ve survived at all. Your whole concept of reality, Mr. Caiper, is based on the CV. Your entire existence is based on a fabrication. Your truths are based on a lie. You’ve bought the line just like everyone else. It’s incredible. I almost feel sorry
for you.”

Watly felt his anger rising. He couldn’t control it now. “I don’t need your damn pity!” he yelled. “And I don’t need your condescending attitude either. I may be naive about Second Level—or a lot of things, for that matter—but you’re no better. You may have more information available to you, but you’re no smarter. I doubt you’d last five minutes back where I’m from— back with us ‘composite’ people.” Watly was shaking. He tried to regain control of
his emotions.