Neptune Road Volume IV (4 page)

Cass smooths the skirts of her dressing gown. She's
sitting in a wing-back chair, sipping hot tea through a straw. This
detail is never lost on her. Little things like straws remind fher
of her shortcomings. The fact that she has to turn her head to the
side to see properly. The shrill sound of her voice. She has
learned to ignore these things, mostly.

The surface of Cass' tea dances with light from an
enormous fire in an equally enormous stone fireplace. The fire
throws illumnation across the ornately-framed portraits covering
the walls. Some are paintings, some photographs. All have the faces
of birds except one, a photograph of a slight woman in a
floor-length black dress off to one side. It is small, encased in
an oval frame with curved glass. The woman has long, slender arms
and a tiny gold bracelet encircles her wrist. She looks straight
into the camera.

"Harold, any word?" Cass says.

A figure with the face of an eagle and wearing a
waistcoat steps into the warm light in front of the fireplace.
"Yes, ma'am," he says. "We've received a number of signals.
Difficult to interpret, but it would appear that the implant did
remain in place even after our subject left the premises."

"Well, isn't that interesting," Cass says. "An
incomplete experiment, and yet it may have come out better than we
could have hoped in the lab. Certainly better than that rubbish we
attempted with the bone fragments. What do the signals reveal so
far?"

"Very little," Harold says, "but what we do have is
intriguing. Vital signs, some visual and aural impulses. We can't
decipher them yet, they are only rudimentary. But if we have some
time, perhaps we can begin to detect patterns."

"Indeed," Cass says. "It's a good start. I do wish
we'd had a little more bench time with our subject. The cyborg got
in earlier than we scripted. But we retained the illusion of free
will. So the experiment remains intact."

"It does," Harold says.

"Thank you," Cass Says. Harold takes this as his cue
to retreat.

Cass sets down her tea and picks up her worn,
cloth-bound copy of War and Peace. She pulls her spectacles down on
top of her beak, and positions the secondary lenses in front of her
bird eyes. Binocular vision is a requirement of great
literature.

087 - Agent Millman's Apartment

David O Millman, Agent, stares
out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment. Buildings spiral
and swoop in all directions, some wedged into the walls of the
Scar, others free-standing or attached to neighboring structures.
Improvised catwalks stretch across space high above the streets.
Every so often someone runs across from one building to another.
Once in a while, one end of a catwalk will come loose and fall
crashing down, leaving it swinging. Someone at one end or the other
has cancelled the arrangement.

A telephone rings. It's a black,
rotary model, sitting on top of a small round table. One of the
only furniture items in the apartment. The floor is still covered
in papers, with small pathways left for walking. One section has
been stacked up in a pile, perhaps a dead-end that Millman has
abandoned.

There is only one caller on this
phone. Agent Millman waits until the eighth ring to answer. "Hello,
Earth."

"Hello Agent," a voice says.

"You haven't retrieved me yet,"
Millman says. "I thought someone would have come by now to throw me
on the transport back to your fine planet. I told you, Brubeck
didn't kill his mom. Case closed."

"Forget Brubeck," the voice says.
"New assignment for you."

"Oh so I'm staying?" Millman
asks.

"Yes, you're staying. Materials
are en route to you now. Please review and we will be in
touch."

The line goes dead. Millman
places the receiver back in the cradle.

"Fine," the agent says to the
skyline outside the window. "I told you he didn't kill his mom. I
didn't say that Sam Brubeck didn't kill anyone."

088 - The Kitchen on the Tumbleweed

"As acting captain of this vessel, I declare that we
should eat lunch," Feller says, rolling back his chair and standing
up to stretch.

"I second that," May says. "This is taking
forever."

May and Feller have spent the last several hours
combing through the Tumbleweed's information systems in search of
alterations by the Bird People. It's time for a break. The two head
for the kitchen to forage.

Dr. Mangrove is sitting with his elbows on the
kitchen's picnic table, hands on either side of his head, when May
and Feller get there.

"Howdy, Doctor," Feller says, and turns to the
refrigerator. "How are things? Headache getting better?"

"No," Dr. Mangrove says.

May sits down opposite Dr. Mangrove. She looks at him
intently but says nothing.

"What?" Dr. Mangrove asks.

May remains silent, staring at him. Her brown eyes
are huge. She's very still.

"Here you go," Feller says, setting a bagel down on
the table in front of May and having a seat himself. He takes a few
bites of his own lunch and chews them before he notices that
neither May nor Dr. Mangrove have moved.

Feller looks the pair over. "Am I missing
something?"

"I have a theory," May says.

"Don't have any theories," Dr. Mangrove says.

"Okay, I don't have a theory," May says. "I'm just
sitting here, enjoying my bagel." She picks it up, takes a bite and
chews, never taking her eyes off of Dr. Mangrove.

Dr. Mangrove sets his hands on the table. "Sorry I
haven't been too social lately," he says.

"Yeah, me too," May says. "Wanna play Battleship
later?"

"I'm not sure I can," Dr. Mangrove says. "Lots to do
in the workshop, you know." His hands fidget. Sweat has broken out
on his forehead.

"I see," May says. "Well, if you change your mind,
let me know," May says.

"I will, if I change my mind," Dr. Mangrove says.

May reaches out and touches Dr. Mangrove's hand.

"Let's go back to the bridge," May says to
Feller.

"Um, okay," Feller says, chewing. "You finish that
bagel, though. That thing wasn't cheap."

On the way back to the bridge, May elbows Feller in
the ribs. "Did you see that?"

"What? Dr. Mangrove acting like he's been sedated or
something? Yeah, I sure did."

"I think I know why," May says. "Remember how we
pulled out that component and he got all worked up about it? Made
us put it back?"

"Yeah," Feller says. "That was super fishy."

"He's being monitored," May says. "Something happened
in that - Bird-lab. He's not able to talk to us about anything.
This is the man who can spend way too long explaining anything in
the universe. And he's gone catatonic. I think it's because he
can't speak freely."

"I think you're right," Feller says. "Now, let's test
that theory. We need to induce some kind of response."

"Yeah," May agrees, "but without getting the old
man's head smooshed."

"Okay. One test, no smooshing. Let's get Philo,"
Feller says, and the pair bump fists.

089 - A Rooftop in Scar City

The floors in the elevator go to 95, and then above
the 95 button, there's one more with a sticker covered by a picture
of a football. Edward punches the footy button and the elevator
launches upward.

The glass doors open and Edward steps out onto the
roof. The light is different up here, less filtered and not blocked
so much by the walls of the Scar. The entire surface is artificial
turf.

Edward switches on the appearance-dampener on a
string around his neck. It's nothing fancy, just bounces some light
around and distorts things so nobody can quite retain an image of
his face. He sits down on a bench and starts lacing up his boots.
They're loud orange.

"Wow, those shoes are some caution cone orange. How
you doing there, Caution-Cone?" It's a man about twice Edward's
size, dark-skinned, wearing a striped jersey that's too small. He's
shaved an elaborate pattern onto his head.

"Good," Edward says. "I mostly play defense, if it
matters. But whatever."

"Sounds good, we need defenders," the man says. "Hey,
Coach! Caution-Cone here plays defense." A burly and bald
individual in an Ireland jersey and basketball shorts, apparently
the coach of one of the sides, nods.

"I'm Coach," bald man says. "Pleased to meet you.
Kickoff in five."

Edward joins a group taking shots on goal and
performing various stretches. He can pick them out: The Wannabe
Professional, the Juggler, the Guy Who Fouls, the slight woman who
will have twice the speed of anyone else and score All The Goals.
He smiles and passes the ball around. He makes a mental note of
each person, silently evaluating who might have connections or
clues worth exploring. Probably all of them.

After thirty minutes or so of play, the score is tied
1-1. Slight woman takes the ball down the side and centers it,
someone tries a header but it sails over the goal and bounces off
the safety net that encircles the entire roof.

The elevator doors open and a boy rolls out in a
wheelchair. A man on the other team stops playing and walks over,
gives the kid a high-five. They come to the sideline.

"You gonna play?" Coach barks at the boy.

"I WILL BURN YOU DOWWWWWNNNNN," the boy yells at the
top of his lungs.

"Yeah, but are you gonna play football?" Coach
asks.

"Nah, I'll just watch," the boy replies.

The game goes on a while longer. Edward/Caution Cone
strikes up conversations along the way. One woman is a performance
artist, another guy is here scouting apartments. Then he finds
somebody promising. It's the dad of the kid in the wheelchair. He's
a security guard, works for a private outfit.

Good person to know, Edward thinks. He invites the
security guard for coffee the next day.

090 - An Arrest at Darby's