Wetware (25 page)

CHAPTER 2

April 19, 2029

BRIGGS TUGGED at the button on his coat that was about to fall off. He pulled at it just hard enough to feel that it was loose, but not hard enough to break the thread. He twisted it one way and then the other while he scrolled through the results of the tests he had ordered for Kay’s fluid. The lists of proteins went from the bottom of the monitor to the top, but he didn’t have a diagram of the shape of each one, and it was this architecture that determined the practical impact a protein would have. In the midst of it, in a bright orange band, he saw one that was labeled PATHOGEN. He stopped, highlighted the protein that had set off the alarm, and asked for a library search on it. It took a minute or two, but then he understood why so much time had been used: the library had no papers, no information at all. It was something new. He asked for clinical tests with animal models. He got another prompt that said, INSUFFICIENT PARAMETERS. ENTER PROTEIN INFORMATION. He ripped the button off and sat there with the small, useless thing in his hand. A couple of black threads stuck out of his jacket where the button had been, and he picked at them, hoping that this way he could disguise the fact that the button was gone.

A materials salesman came in, smoking a cigar and looking around, trying to figure out just what kind of budget Briggs had to work with. The salesman, whose name was White, glanced at the button in Briggs’s hand, then at the shelves in the office, most of them filled with broken equipment. He sighed. White’s shirt was an old-fashioned one with pointed collars.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” said White.

“Yes,” said Briggs.

“I hate it when that happens,” said White. “When I lose a button.”

Briggs put it in his pocket.

“I’ll sew it on tonight,” Briggs said.

White didn’t look convinced, but he nodded as though that was the right thing to do. He glanced around again and said, “You know, I figure you in for ten percent of the order.”

“What?” said Briggs.

Briggs turned around and saw that the word PATHOGEN was still there in bright orange. Then he closed it up. White was rolling his shoulder as though he had a cramp in his neck.

“Your order,” said White. “You’re going to need materials.”

“Oh,” said Briggs. “Sure. Materials. I get a lot of stuff from a discount house.”

White looked as though he had eaten something that didn’t agree with him.

“A discount house doesn’t figure you in for ten percent,” said White. “Do you see what I’m saying?”

White said he could get Briggs good polymers and he would make sure they arrived when they were needed, and of course he could make sure there wasn’t any mismatching of colors, which happened with the cheap discount places, always mixing different batches, taking just the dregs of what was left over and making it seem that it was all one batch. It wasn’t. Sometimes it was three. That’s why it was discounted.

“You’re offering me a kickback,” said Briggs. “Is that it?”

White looked a little sour.

“I didn’t say kickback,” said White. “I just said ten percent of the deal. It isn’t like it comes out of my pocket. And it doesn’t come out of yours. So who gives a shit? You just increase the bill by ten percent, and then we split it. What could be better?”

Briggs reached into his pocket and picked up the button again and fingered it while he thought about the orange band that had run through the monitor, rising like a spirit released from the depths. The same color as a Halloween pumpkin.

White said that his competitors mixed batches of texture too, and this caused problems you wouldn’t believe. His expression was that of a man who had seen real trouble.

“I can imagine,” said Briggs. He stared at the wall where someone had written, “Please, O Lord, in thy mercy . . . ” Briggs squeezed the button.

White said, “All right. Fifteen percent. That’s as high as I can go. See? That’s seven and a half for you and seven and a half for me. It’s like free money. If the orders go up, why, great. I use my share to keep a little place downtown . . . ”

“I’m sorry,” said Briggs. “What did you say?”

“If that’s the way you want to be,” said White. He shrugged. “No skin off my nose.”

White stood and picked up his case, zipped it up, hiked up his pants. Then he stood at the door.

“All right,” said White. “Ten for you and five for me. Now I can’t do better than that. You know that.”

White looked around to see if anyone was listening.

“I mean, you don’t want me to take less than that, do you, for Christ’s sake?” said White. He began to flush a little.

Briggs looked down at the button again.

“Maybe we can work it out,” said Briggs.

“Yeah,” said White. He was still insulted. “Like how?”

“Can you get me antibiotics?” said Briggs.

“What do you need stuff like that for?” said White. “In a junk outfit like this? Come on. Who are you kidding?”

His eyes flitted around the room, trying to figure out what to do.

“I’ve got another project,” said Briggs.

“Yeah?” said White.

Briggs nodded.

“In a place like this?” said White. He looked around again, as though he were seeing it all through the haze of a fever. He blinked.

“I’ll need stuff for all stains. Red, purple, yellow. The works.”

“Sure,” said White. “I could do that. Fifty-fifty split for the fifteenpercent increase. Right?”

“Okay,” said Briggs.

“Say, what are you working on out here?” said White. “This isn’t some dummy outfit, is it? You didn’t come out here to do something you want a little privacy for, did you? Because if that’s the way it is, you can count on me.”

Briggs stared at the scrawled line on the wall.
Mercy.
Then he looked back at White.

“See what I’m telling you?” said White. “Don’t go out to Dow or Borg or any of those big outfits. I can do just as well. With a good order, I can play with the big boys.”

“I’ll remember,” said Briggs. “I’ll need all stains. Can you get them?”

“Don’t be silly,” said White. “I can get almost anything. Didn’t I just say you could count on me?” He glanced around the office again with a commercial disbelief, and then back at Briggs. “Say, you don’t look so good. Have you got a fever?”

“No,” said Briggs.
Not yet.

“Well, there’s something always going around,” said White. “You got to eat right. You got to lose weight. I got to lose thirty pounds. I want to be light on my feet.”

White put his hands in the small of his back, and from somewhere in his body Briggs heard a small, definite crack. Then White put his cigar in his mouth and blew out little puffs of smoke. He sighed. Then he made his way down the hall, mumbling to himself, the keys and change in his pocket jingling as he hitched up his pants and sighed again. Briggs looked at the smoke that hung in malignant puffs, like exhaust from an engine that was burning oil. He took out the button and fingered it. He looked at the phrase on the wall, and then, as though it were too painful to read, he glanced around the room filled with broken equipment. The accumulation of things that no longer worked added a muted presence to the room. It was keenly silent, but filled with a minor dread that could be felt in every junkyard in the world.

CHAPTER 3

April 20, 2029

FROM THE front, the hotel’s fire escapes resembled a series of enormous black Z’s, one on top of another. Kay and Jack stood underneath them and looked up the street, where some buildings made a broken-toothed clutter against the sky. Kay waited for a moment, testing the wind, since she knew that the neighborhood had two contradictory aspects. It was like a man who was nice when sober, but nasty at night when he was drunk, although there was a peaceful, even angelic period of transition. And when Kay and Jack came out of the hotel, it was the angelic hour of the afternoon when such a man went into a bar where a waiter, with a fatigued wariness, put down the man’s first diamond-clear martini.

“You know, I’d like to have a little fun,” Jack said.

“Okay,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

He blushed. Then he looked down the street. On the front of one of the buildings he saw a marquee that said, ICE SKATING. FREE SKATE EVERY AFTERNOON. Jack gestured toward the sign. “I’d like to go down there.”

“All right,” she said.

They started walking, and as they went, she said, “Are you carrying it?”

“Carrying what?” he said.

“Don’t be cute,” she said.

She reached over and touched his jacket pocket. The pistol was there.

“You can never tell,” said Jack. “Everything is fine now, but wait until dark.”

The lobby of the rink was like a motion picture theater, and they bought their tickets from a booth. Inside, they heard the music that the rink played, old songs and waltzes. A sign said, RENTALS INSIDE. Beyond it they saw the ice, a white oval, opalescent and obviously cold under the theatrical lights. A dozen skaters went around and around, looking as though they were dressed in cloaks torn from a black flag. One skater had both his arms out as he tried to keep his balance. The music was from a long time ago, and it gave the place a retro feeling.

The counter where they rented skates was covered with green linoleum that had been worn down to a white around the edges. Jack ran his finger over it, trying to guess how old it was, perhaps a hundred years, maybe more. They both rented a pair of skates and went over to a line of chairs to put them on. Kay giggled when she stood up. Jack laughed too.

“You walk like a penguin,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Well, what do you think you look like, Mr. Big-Time Skater?” she said.

They managed to get out to the ice. Kay pushed off and began to skate, putting her weight on one blade and then the other. Jack caught up with her and took her hand. They went around together, and then Jack said, “Watch.” He turned on his skates and started going backwards, right next to her. She laughed and said, “Oh, Jack. I didn’t think you could do that.”

“Here,” he said.

He put out his hands and invited her to dance, old-style dancing like one saw in movies. What did they call it? Ballroom dancing. She kept her eyes on his and then reached out, putting one hand on his shoulder and taking the other hand. The sound system played a waltz, and they went around, Jack looking into her eyes every now and then, leading her, turning her from time to time. They came to a stop in a spray of ice shavings.

“Come on,” he said. “You aren’t going to stop now, are you?”

They waited at the side of the rink for more music. Kay’s breath came in heaves and she leaned back, her cheeks red with the cold, her eyes bright. One of her skates made a chipping sound as she tapped in time to the music.

“Just let me catch my breath,” she said.

On the other side of the ice, a woman came out through the door in the waist-high enclosure of the rink. She wore a white short skirt, and a white blouse, white tights, and white skates. The woman shoved off, her hips moving with the thrust of skating, the blades flashing as she went around in time to the music. Jack watched.

“I’m going to take a turn while you rest,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“No,” she said.

She suddenly felt the coldness of the room penetrate the heat of the skating. No, she didn’t mind. Not really. She wanted him to have a good time. Mostly all he did was sit around the hotel or go to practice with her. Her sense of loneliness came over her with a sudden heaviness. “No,” she said. “Go on. Have a good time.”

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. She tried to smile. “Go on. I’ll watch for a moment.”

She leaned back against the rail. Jack went out, seeming to slide around the rink, his hands clasped behind his back, his skates swinging out in short, stylish strokes. He gained on the woman in the white skirt, who glanced over her shoulder once and smiled. She went a little faster, putting her weight into it now, and yet Jack came up beside her, with a speed that was hardly imaginable. They went along, the skates silent on the ice. The music changed. Kay could almost recognize it: something from a previous age, but still having a sweetness to it that she was ashamed she responded to, and as she did, that sense of surprised loneliness came over her again. Well, she didn’t want Jack to stop. She guessed. Jack reached over and took the woman’s arms and then they went around together, blades of the skates flashing together. Jack bent closer and whispered something and the woman laughed, and when he spoke again she put her fingers to her mouth, pleasantly shocked. They went on skating with each other. The woman’s cheeks were red now, her eyes turning every now and then to Jack, as though she couldn’t believe her good luck.

Kay guessed she felt something like homesickness. She realized that another human being could give her a sense of warmth, and not just in the moment, but deeper than that, as though her existence could be hotter, lighter. In fact, she felt being alone as lack of heat, as though her cold toes, the sting on her cheeks, were the manifestation of separation. Why had Briggs done this to her, left her on the ice, facing such a vista? Cold, harshly lighted, indifferent. What could she do about being made to exist like this, isolated, frozen, as though this place were the expression of the emotional landscape she had been condemned to?

On the ice now were some other people, men mostly, who were wearing shirts with round collars and pants that were tight at the ankle. As the men skated, they kept coming closer to Kay, one of them glancing over his shoulder at her. He said to one of his pals, “Hey, look at that, will you?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “All alone.”

“Not for long,” said one of the others.

Kay shoved off, back onto the ice. Up ahead, in the swirl of skaters, in the rush of them, she lost sight of Jack and the woman. She guessed it would be all right. She went around once, listening to the music. She turned around on her skates, went backwards, and saw the men in the tight pants and white shirts.

“Say,” said one of them to Kay, “how come I haven’t seen you around?”

Kay went on skating.

“It’s my first time,” she said.

“Oh, the first time. Say,” he said to the others. “Her first time. Well. Isn’t that something?”

The others couldn’t think of anything to say, so they just kept on skating on the ice, like a dark squadron.

“You know there’s a first-time tax,” said the one who had spoken. He turned to the others. “Isn’t that right?”

“Oh yes. The first time. The tax,” said one of the ones who skated in a group. The others just went along grimly, blinking into the wind. She wished they would say something, anything, which was better than dumb and stupid silence.

“I’m just trying to have a good time,” said Kay. “All right?”

“Well, that’s what I mean about the tax,” said the first. “Say, my name is Freddy. What’s yours?”

“Kay,” she said.

“Isn’t that nice,” he said. “Kay.”

He said it as though he was trying it on for size.

“Well, Kay, let me tell you about the tax,” he said.

“That’s okay,” she said.

“I’m the tax collector and you’ve got to give me a kiss,” he said. “See, we go back under the stands there and you give me a kiss.”

Kay went over the ice. Why had they come here, anyway? She looked up ahead, but Jack wasn’t there. More people had come onto the ice, and the accumulation of them all moving, some of them falling down, contributed to Kay’s sense of disorientation, which now came to her not just with the sense of being alone or abandoned, but with a general apprehension. She was in the wrong place and she knew it.

“Just one,” said Freddy.

He pointed.

“Over there,” he said. “At the end of the grandstand. See? Right there under the speaker.”

“You can’t hear nothing because of the music,” said one of them from the pack. “It’s noisy, but it’s kind of private for all that.”

Kay started counting. One, two, three, four, five . . . Then she looked up ahead, but didn’t see Jack. Now his absence seemed like a betrayal of some kind, although she knew that this wasn’t his fault. He was just trying to flirt a little with that pretty woman, but now she wished he hadn’t. She wanted to go back to the hotel. Tomorrow she’d have to go to practice again.

“Over there, see?” said Freddy.

The others, the ones behind him, spread out a little, and as she went one way they herded her like sheepdogs, pushing her toward the door of the rink closest to the grandstand. As they went toward it the music seemed louder, since they were getting closer to the speaker. The cone of it had a black and shiny membrane.

“Don’t you like my shirt?” Freddy said.

“Sure,” said Kay. She looked around at the others. They didn’t smile, didn’t smirk, didn’t do anything but force her in the direction she didn’t want to go.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” he said. “That shows you have good sense.”

“It’s a pretty cool shirt,” said one of the young men at the back of the pack.

“You got to be cunning,” said Freddy. “Now, that is the first thing you’ve got to remember. Like a wolf.”

One of the men put back his head and yowled, and the others laughed now. Then they yowled, too. They all came up to the door of the rink, and the inertia of their speed helped them jump over the small lip there onto a rubber mat beyond it. The mat was like a piece of licorice the size of a flag.

“Just one kiss,” said Freddy. “That’s all. Come on.”

The others stood there, blank-faced.

“Only Freddy will have one,” they said. “See?”

“Sure,” said another. “Just one. That’s all.”

They moved between her and the ice, but it was so bright that the men seemed like shadows in front of it. She had been trained for this, but that sense of weighted isolation got in the way. She felt her need, even her hopes, as nothing more than fatigue. She even thought for a moment of whether she should just go and give the jackass a kiss and be done with it. Who cared? But she knew it wasn’t going to be taken care of that easily. She looked at their necks, at the vulnerable spot.

“So,” said Jack, as he stepped over the lip of the door. He was taller than the others. “I see you made some friends.”

“They aren’t friends,” said Kay.

“No?” said Jack. “Then what are they doing here?”

“Who are you?” said Freddy.

“You’ll get out of here if you know what’s good for you,” said another.

“Look at his shirt,” said one.

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” said Jack.

The others just smiled. The music was very loud as they stood underneath the speaker. The black material of it looked like the ocean under moonlight.

“We’re just going to take Kay back in here for a minute,” they said.

“Oh yeah?” said Jack.

“They have a tax or something,” said Kay. “A kiss.”

“Just to get things started,” said Freddy.

“A kiss?” said Jack.

“That’s right,” said Freddy.

“Come back with me,” said Jack. “I want to tell you something. Back in here. Under the bleachers.”

The four men in the tight pants stood on their skates, looking at each other.

“Okay,” said Freddy. “Let’s go back in there.”

The woman in the white skirt came by, and as she did, she glanced over at Jack. She smiled and waved. Her arm rose and the hand came up and wagged from side to side, the entire gesture having about it an air of a pretty girl on the deck of a sailboat, waving to a friend. It was as though every summer, every warm day and blue sky, every bit of youth and cheerfulness and sweet desire came down to this open hand and the smile of those vermilion lips against the ice.

The young woman reached into her pocket and brought out a black band, which had a small piece of metal attached to it. She reached up and put the band on, the velvet strap making her neck seem longer, whiter. Then she skated off. She made the first turn and went along the far side of the rink, her speed increasing, as though she just wanted to come back again, so she could wave at Jack. And so he would see her velvet strap, which made her neck look so long and white. She seemed to know how cheerful and seductive her wave was. But as she came to the end of the straight part of the rink, Kay strained to see what it was on the black velvet ribbon. Even from a distance, Kay saw that it was made of silver, a pendant of some kind, like a drop. She heard the sound of it, too. She was reminded of Russia, of something specific: the sound of a troika, of three horses, with bells on them, pulling a sleigh through the snow. She had never seen this, and yet it seemed to be right there as though she had: the horses blowing plumes of steam, the harness black and brutal as it went across the horses’ backs, the lines of bells on the harness, silver and tinkling in the snow. It announced the horses’ arrival, the sound carrying so perfectly on the subzero air. Kay stared at the young woman, and in the flash of the blades of the skaters, in the clutter of their movement through the spray of ice, she heard the bell, still diminutive, but all the more piercing for that. Jack turned to listen.

“Jack,” she said.

“What?” he said. His voice was matter-of-fact.

“Jack,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No,” said Jack. “Wait.”

Overhead the speaker played “Summertime, when the living is easy . . .” The young woman came along this side now, smiling, shaking her curly hair, her neck up, the bell tinkling. She waved again, the quick movement of it just like before: sunny days, sails, water, a blue lake, puffs of white clouds . . .