The Road to Mars: A Post-Modem Novel (1999) (11 page)

Pages began to scroll. She frowned, concentrated, and continued searching. After a while she leaned back in triumph. “There she is,” she said.

A computer picture of Katy was downloading on the screen.

“This the girl?”

“Yes,” said Alex, trying to ignore the feelings thumping inside him.

“She’s definitely your type.”

“What’s that?”

“Female.”

“Stop already,” said Alex.

“Lovely and trouble. Take a look.”

There wasn’t much in the file.

“Twenty-five. Polish. Birthplace Rhea. Saturnian system. Part of the Keppler Organization,” read Sammy. “The rest is hidden. I’ll do a search. It’ll take a while. Why don’t you take the tin man for a walk and come back in a few hours? Maybe I’ll let you buy me dinner. You have a bit more apologizing to do. Oh, better leave that.” She plucked the Ganesha from Carlton. “I can scan that whilst I’m at it.”

“Be careful,” said Carlton.

“You’re warning me? An active postman. Somebody’s up to no good. I wonder what your babe’s doing?”

“She’s not my babe,” said Alex.

“Doesn’t know what she’s missing,” she said.

“Sure. A fucked-up comedian.”

“I won’t argue with the first part,” she said.

As they walked out of the lobby, a taxi slid alongside them.

“Looking for a ride?” said the driver, a man with startling straw blond hair.

“Why don’t we take that drink at the Parrot Club, Carlton,” said Alex.

They set off through the park towards the other side of the colony. Soon they were stuck in traffic.

“Worse than the Olympics,” said the driver impatiently. “You people from here?”

“Just visiting,” said Carlton.

According to the picture ID plastered on the front screen, his name was Dunphy. An unruly shock of straw blond hair and a wide face with a pleasant grin stared back at them.

“You still have real cabdrivers here?” said Alex.

“That’s why the traffic is so bad,” said Carlton. “Tin man?” asked Dunphy, glancing in the mirror. “Four-point-five Bowie,” said Alex.

“Hear they’re a bit odd.”

“You get used to it,” said Alex.

“You can get used to anything they say,” said Dunphy. The traffic was going nowhere. They had been stuck for almost half an hour. Alex gazed moodily out of the cab window. “I must be in love,” he said suddenly.

Carlton, who was attempting a Pythagorean proof of comedy, something to do with the square of the sum of the feed line, looked up in surprise. “Why did you say that?”

“I keep seeing her everywhere.”

“Who?”

“Katy Wallace. That’s love, right?”

“No,” said Carlton, “that’s Katy Wallace.” His long-distance green eye zoomed into a cab on the other side of the street. It was stuck in the traffic headed the other way.

“You sure?”

“She’s wearing a wig, but it looks like her.”

“Oh my God,” said Alex. “What’s she doing here?”

“She’s come off the ship.”

“Well obviously.”

“Maybe we would be advised to pursue her, see what she’s up to.”

Dunphy raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. “You want me to do what the tin man says?”

“Sure,” said Alex. “Follow that cab.”

The cabby swerved them out of the line of waiting vehicles and U-turned across the central divider. He punched a few buttons on his console.

“Hurry,” said Alex.

“No problem,” said the cabby, “I got a lock on it.”

They could see her cab as a moving blip on an unrolling street map. Perhaps two blocks away. The traffic in this direction was flowing and they eased after it, staying within the legal speed limit. After a while they went through an underpass and came out into a wasteland of overpasses, unfinished ramps, graffiti, and cement.

“Where’s she going?” asked Alex.

“Heading for Chinatown,” said the cabby.

They emerged into a sprawling low-rise district of open markets, with strange vegetables and brightly colored pictograms. Pedestrians wandered at will across the road, and there was a constant sound of Chinese music. Exotic smells filled the cab as they followed the blip on the screen.

“I’m starving,” said Alex.

They passed through Chinatown and the buildings began to rise again, higher and higher above them. Soon they were in the Canyons. Vast old buildings towered upwards, casting giant shadows.

“They stopped,” said Carlton. “What now?”

“We see where she went,” said Alex.

They pulled up in front of an enormous tower whose main section boasted the words THE RIALTO. Her cab was just pulling away.

“Didya see her?” asked Alex.

“Just the back of her head. I’m pretty certain it’s her. She’s wearing a black wig though.”

“What the hell for? Where are we anyway?”

“The Rialto,” said the cabby. “It’s a famous old apartment complex. Like a fortress in there. Watch your step, it has a bad rep.”

“Wait for us,” said Alex.

“I didn’t see you pay yet,” said Dunphy.

They left him outside and walked swiftly up the entrance steps. There was no sign of Katy Wallace in the lobby.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” A uniformed doorbot was looking suspiciously at them.

“We’ll just pay off the cab,” said Alex.

They got back inside the taxi.

“What do we do?”

“Give me a ten-spot,” said Dunphy. “You guys are new to this. I used to be a cop.” Alex handed him a twenty and he shrugged and stepped out of the cab. He was tall and powerfully built. His blond hair headed up the stairs and disappeared into the Rialto lobby. After a few moments he came back down and climbed back in.

“It’s odd,” he said, “they say the security system’s down. Couldn’t remember even for twenty. But then he’s a fucking robot. Oh, excuse me.” He grinned apologetically at Carlton, who shrugged. He was used to it. Tin man, tin feller, robot, all largely terms of abuse these days, he thought.

“Let me speak to him,” said Carlton. “I’m a fucking robot too.”

He got out of the cab and went into the building.

“Ballsy little droid you got yourself,” said Dunphy, looking back at Alex in the mirror.

“He’s certainly different,” said Alex.

“A Bowie, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t know they still made ’em.”

Alex wondered what the hell they were doing there, and what he would say if they found her. After a short time Carlton jumped back in the cab. He seemed excited.

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than we thought. She’s in there okay.”

Alex grabbed his head and pushed him down on the seat. They both sank beneath the window level.

“Is it her?” asked Carlton.

“No,” said Alex. “It ain’t. It’s McTurk.”

Dunphy began to pick his teeth and look bored. He had clearly done this sort of thing before.

“Okay, he’s passed you,” he said through the corner of his mouth. Alex sat up and watched the big Scotsman enter the building. “That’s odd,” said Carlton. “Friend of yours?” asked the cabby. “Sort of. What the hell is
he
doing here?”

“Could be a coincidence,” said Dunphy. “There are a thousand apartments.”

“Sure,” said Alex, “and two people we happen to know just happen to be visiting two of them at the very same time. What’re the odds on that?”

“Roughly 2.5 billion to 1,” said Carlton promptly. “That was rhetorical.”

“Oh, sorry.” But the odds were helpful. It wasn’t even remotely likely.

“So what did you learn about Katy?”

“Well, like he said, the system’s down. All visitors report to the central desk, state their destination, which is automatically checked. In her case a man was waiting in the lobby.”

“What man?”

“He didn’t say. He did have ID, however. He said, ‘She’s with me,’ and they both went up in the elevator.”

“Which floor?”

“That’s it. He had ID, so the deskbot didn’t check the apartment number.”

“Didn’t it recognize him?”

“No. Said it hadn’t seen the guy before.”

“Bit lame, isn’t it?”

“Not for this place,” said the cabby, “this ain’t exactly the Ritz.”

“Did it get a picture of him?”

“It gave me this.” The screen on Carlton’s chest popped on. They were watching a security cam replay.

“Freeze it,” said Alex. “Go in as much as you can.”

Carlton zoomed in to the elevator.

“It’s her all right. What the hell is she doing in a wig?”

The big man by her side kept his eyes to the floor.

“Recognize the muscle?” asked Alex.

“Just the type,” said the cabby.

“Well, what now?” asked Carlton.

“Stakeout,” said the cabby. “You don’t know where she is, so you gotta wait till she comes out.”

“We can run a check on McTurk,” said Alex. “Get me Sammy.”

Her face appeared on Carlton’s chest.

“Hey, funny man, I was going to call you. Interesting new girlfriend you got yourself. Ready for a download?”

“Rolling,” said Carlton.

Whilst Carlton was downloading, Alex asked her to check on the Scotsman.

“So who is this Peter McTurk?”

“I met him a few times. I don’t really know what he does.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can find, but it’s gonna cost you more than a dinner.”

Dunphy grinned. “Lucky you.”

Carlton flashed her the security scan of the muscle in the elevator. He could have been one of the guys McTurk met at the airport.

“Where are you, Alex?” asked Sammy.

“Outside the Rialto.”

“Better be careful. It has a pretty slimy reputation. Drugs, low-lifers, that kind of thing.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him for you, Sam,” said the cabby.

“That you, Dunphy?”

“The same, though
larger
,” he said, showing her his
big
wide grin.

“Thought I recognized that
big blond
thatch.”

“You still doin’ the files thing?”

“Same old,” she said. “Nice to see you again, Sammy.”

“You too, hunk,” she said. “Glad he’s with you. Keep your eye on him. One of the finest comic brains of the weekend.”

“Ouch,” said Alex.

“Well, gotta go, kiddo, this thing’s cooking, and it’s hot. What ya call it again?”

“A Ganesha.”

“Some kind of Polish word?”

“Indian. Probably Sanskrit.”

“Yeah, right. Like that really helps.”

She disconnected.

“Let’s take a look at the babe’s file,” said Dunphy. “Don’t worry,” he said in response to Alex’s look. “I’m strictly retired. Hey, no extra charge.”

The first file on Katy Wallace was less than interesting. Turned out her real name was Katerina Walewska, after the great queen of Poland who became Napoleon’s mistress. Katy was described as an “entertainer,” which covered a multitude of sins. She had been born in one of the Silesian work camps on Rhea, had brown eyes, a small mole on her lower left back, dark brown hair, five-ten in height, and weighted approximately 130 pounds out of the shower. There were various pictures of her. Katy as a fifteen-year-old, Katy graduating, some professional glossies, and some footage of her auditioning. Her voice was cute. Not wildly original, but she could carry a tune. There were details of her work experience. Seems she started entertaining in the camps. Obviously trying to get out, thought Alex. A shipping disaster was described. She had survived that. It appeared someone took care of her and helped her off Rhea. Reference to a further file on her parents. Then a note about the original Katerina Walewska.

The second file contained notes on the container people, and the immigration of her parents from Silesia on the planet Earth. They had been one of the first to answer the new lands call, and subsequently got caught in the contract trap. They had been tricked into a two-year contract on Rhea, only to learn on arrival the contract was in Saturnian years, which meant fifty-nine Earth years and ensured they were on a veritable life sentence. Illegal, of course, but try finding a lawyer out by Saturn in those days. So they were trapped. In the system though not of it. The Company, in their case the SudPolnischeKristalleGesellschaft, fed them, clothed them, housed them, and would eventually bury them, a form of slavery redeemed only by the wages, which were not bad, though pointless since there was nothing to buy. Real estate was cheap, if you liked icy wastelands.

The third file was clearly labeled “Restricted,” and Dunphy gave a big wide grin and perked right up.

“I should warn you that reading this file is illegal,” he said.

“Right,” said Carlton, switching it off.

“No, no, I
should
warn you,” said Dunphy, “but I’m not going to.”

“Oh,” said Carlton, switching it on again and making a mental note to search what Dunphy had said for irony.

The file fleshed out further details about Katy’s mother. It seemed she was some kind of an intellectual, had degrees and everything. She must have reacted badly to the harsh realities of the work camps. Why did they leave Earth in the first place? Alex wondered. There was a brief reference to politics and then a few more details about Katy and her early training in crystallography—hardly surprising, growing up in the minefields of Rhea. Crystals grown in the one-sixth gravity could attain amazing and precise growths. Her mother was an expert in crystalline microbiology, the new microtechnology which had completely replaced the computer chip and controlled almost all communications. Hence the Ganesha, he thought. She knows what she is doing. Be careful, Sammy. But what exactly is she doing?

“Who’s the father?” asked Dunphy. “There’s no mention of him yet, and all that shit about the mother. I don’t get it.”

“Bingo,” said Alex as a new file came on the screen.

Disappointingly it was censored electronically.

“‘Father deceased. Further information withheld,’” read Carlton.

“‘Withheld’? That sounds like a security file,” said Dunphy. “Usually they do that for a state execution or something. Otherwise they’d list a form of death.”

The same thought must have occurred to Sammy, for she had appended the single word “Daddy” in the margin. The rest was electronic gibberish.

“Well, there’s a whole load of nothing,” said Dunphy, picking his big white teeth.