Текст книги "Accidental Creatures"

Автор книги: Anne Harris

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Hector’s Hebrew was rusty, but he had no difficulty remembering the meaning of those words. “Blessed are You, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us by commandments and commanded us to kindle the Sabbath candle.”

Paul said the kiddush blessing over the wine, and poured a cup for each of the adults, and smaller portions for the girls. They drank, and then Paul lifted the white cloth covering the challah, and recited the berachah, “Baruch Atah Adonai Elohanu Melech ha’olam hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz.” Each of them grabbed hold of the braided loaf, pulled a piece off and ate it.

Paul and Cerise then turned to their daughters, “May God make you as Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. May the Lord bless you and care for you. May the Lord cause the light of His countenance to shine upon you and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace,” they prayed.

Hector prayed too, though silently and not to God. He prayed to one who he knew would answer his prayer, because she had the time before, when he hadn’t even known he was beseaching her. She had heard him then, and given him the dream. With all the fervency of a parent praying for his child he prayed to her, the first person wronged by God, to deliver his project from the arbitrary judgement of Nathan Graham.

oOo

They were all there when Graham got to the table; Russ Giacona and Tina Marples and Pauline Zimmerman, all of them sparkling in their suits like the polished crystal goblets on the table. And then there was Kent, leaning back in his seat, his jacket unbuttoned, lazily swirling the scotch in his glass. He didn’t sparkle, he didn’t have to, he was the chief executive of Detroit operations and he answered to no one but Anna Luria herself.

“Oh good, Nathan’s here,” said Tina brightly as he approached, and they all stood.

“Hi Kent, it’s good to see you again,” he said shaking his hand, “Russ, Tina, Pauline.” Everybody shook his hand, everybody avoided knocking over any goblets or candlesticks. As he sat down, Graham glanced surreptitiously at his watch. He was on time, goddamn it. They were early. It was probably Tina’s doing, trying to make him look bad. At least they’d had the decency to leave a seat next to Kent open so he didn’t have to talk to the man from the other side of the floral centerpiece.

“The waiter was on us like a starved vulture the minute we sat down,” said Kent, leaning over and speaking conspiratorially out of the side of his mouth, “so we went ahead and ordered drinks.” He waved his hand, and a red jacketed waiter hurried to his side. “What would you like, Nathan?”

“Scotch and soda,” he said to the waiter, who scurried off again. He could have stood a double, without the soda, but it wouldn’t have looked good, to order the same thing Kent drank. Kent opened his menu, and everyone else followed suit. “I’ve heard that the salmon is very good here,”

Graham told him. Actually, he’d called up the chef this morning and demanded that he have it sent in fresh from Alaska. Salmon was Kent Carlysle’s favorite fish.

He pursed his lips, his grey eyes scanning the menu. “Mmm, not really in the mood for fish tonight. Think I’ll have the filet.”

“They get it straight from Mitsubishi’s own farms,” said Russ, leaning over his menu, “it’s very fresh.”

Graham stared at him. The conniving little assassin. He’d probably known Kent wasn’t in the mood for fish today, and had exploited that knowledge by talking to the chef, finding out where he got his beef, maybe even demanding that he order it from Mitsubishi. Of course he pretended not to understand the significance of Graham’s look, sitting there gazing at the menu, smugly, innocently, knowing all the while what he’d done. What was worse was that the chef knew all about it, and had, in fact, sided with Russ. They were probably laughing at him right now in the kitchen. When the waiter returned for their dinner selections, Graham could swear he was smirking.

Pauline had the wild mushroom flan, an appropriate choice for her position. Tina ordered prawn souffle, a bit of a risk, but she was a climber. Russ and Kent both ordered the filet mignon, which left Graham in a difficult position. He could stick by his guns and have the salmon, or he could back off and opt for some neutral entree; roast duck or pork loin. There was a nice leek and chestnut saute on the menu, but a vegetarian choice was out of the question. He didn’t know which way he’d go until he said it, “I’ll have the salmon.”

After dinner they retired to the club bar. To Graham’s surprise, Kent took him by the arm and led him away from the others, to the opposite side of the room. They sat on stools, Graham facing the length of the bar. He saw Russ and Tina and Pauline at the far end, in an irresolute little knot, casting pathetic glances of resentment his way. He looked back at Kent.

“They’ll find out about it soon enough, let them sweat in their little bean counter undies for one night. I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“Shoot, boss,” said Graham.

He grimaced, “I’ve got a situation brewing down in Wichita, that new plant that went in about a year ago. Labor problems. It’s not like here, where we’re working with second and third generation vatdivers, people who, by and large, know what to expect from the job. These greenhorns in Kansas still think we owe them something more than a steady job at a living wage. They’re making all kinds of fuss about environmental standards and safety and so on. They’ve even gotten the IEPA in on the act. Meanwhile the people I’ve got out there don’t seem to know how to handle the situation. I’d like you to go down and show those cowboys how it’s done.”

Graham’s alarm was so great it must have leapt out of his eyes.

Kent held up a hand, “I don’t mean permanently, you understand. Just get that jackass Nichols pointed in the right direction. Hell, it probably won’t take more than a week. Not for you, with the way you handled that labor movement nonsense we had five years ago. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. I don’t forget anything like that. In fact, it’s why I thought of you. I need a reliable, results-oriented man on the job down there.”

“I’m not a production manager anymore,” Graham said carefully.

Kent waved his hand in annoyance, “I know that, Nathan. I’m just asking you to do this as a favor to me, understand?” His eyes were flinty and hard, their gleam belying his light tone of voice. Graham understood. He would go, because to refuse would be to set himself against Kent, and he couldn’t afford to do that yet. “Of course,” he nodded. “Of course, I’d be happy to help.”

“Great,” said Kent, shaking his hand. “There’s a review meeting with the IEPA Monday morning at eight, but I want you out there over the weekend so you can scope everything out beforehand. I can have my driver pick you up at your place in an hour and take you to the airport.”

oOo

In his first class compartment on the GeneSys airliner, Graham poured over the school records, family histories, love affairs and purchasing habits of Hector Martin’s two assistants, searching for a weakness he could exploit.

People could be controlled if you knew their secrets, and companies, as his mother had said, were made up of people. Where she’d been wrong was in thinking there was anything more to it than that. In her obsession with the organism of her company, she had neglected its constituents. She had allowed herself to forget that she was dealing, after all, with people. It was not a mistake her son would repeat. Henry Theodore Greenfield graduated magna cum laude from Lawrence Technical Institute, did his graduate study in lysis proteins and injection processing at MIT and then returned to Detroit to work with Dr. Martin in a doctoral fellowship program conjunct with the University of Detroit Mercy College. He broke up with his high school boyfriend while at Lawrence, had three affairs at MIT and was now seeing a second year radiology intern at Beaumont Hospital. He had experimented with a variety of drugs over the years, but had never developed a habit for anything more serious than cocaleaf. His mother lived in Dearborn, and worked for Blue Cross/Blue Shield. The identity of his father was unknown. There certainly wasn’t much to go on with the respectable Mr. Greenfield. Perhaps his colleague Colin Arbegast Slatermeyer would be more forthcoming.

In fact, his file did show more promise. His parents were married, were, in fact, members of the downriver fundamentalist enclave ALIVE! Colin grew up there, attended school in the compound’s youth center, and at the age of eighteen was recommended by one of his instructors to be sent out of the community for further education.

Graham raised one eyebrow. Usually such magnanimity on the part of ALIVE! was expected to be repaid, either by returning and benefiting the community as a doctor, lawyer, or some such, or by a tithe of 30% of the individual’s income. It was contractual, and in fact, Slatermeyer had signed, opting for the tithe. He didn’t want to go back, apparently.

Graham pulled up his pay stubs, and scanning them, smiled. Slatermeyer was taking a pre-tax deduction of $500 off every check, and squirreling it away in an escrow account. It would be reported to the IRS

as investment income, not earnings, and therefore, it would be invisible to ALIVE!’s auditors.

“Clever, clever,” breathed Graham under his breath, and he scanned ahead to his quarry’s current profile records. He had an economy model maglev, dark brown. Its navigation module revealed sporadic trips to bars and restaurants around town, an occasional foray up north, no trips downriver whatsoever, and every Sunday like clockwork, a visit to the Belle Isle Aquarium.

Chapter 6 – A Day In the Life

Helix woke up in the middle of the night, her head and her ribs and the wound on her side all hurting at once. She lay there for a while, listening to the quiet, looking at the darkness, until her thoughts got round to the previous day, the restaurant, and the men in the alley. When she started to think about the playground, she got up, and walked carefully to the bathroom.

To the right of the toilet, beneath a window cracked and peeling with water damage, sat a porcelain bathtub. She looked with longing at the old, claw-footed affair. Wincing, she pulled off her t-shirt and turned on the water. She looked in the medicine cabinet, but there was no kosher salt. You can't have everything, she thought, gazing at the steaming tub, and she eased herself into the warm, delicious water. oOo

Chango awakened blearily on the couch in Mavi’s living room. Her head throbbed and her face was mashed into the textured upholstery. When she sat up she carried an imprint of Fleur de Lis on her cheek. Rubbing it she made her way to the bathroom on unsteady legs and flung open the door. Something splashed in the bathtub and let out a sharp cry of dismay.

"Gah!" shouted Chango, startled by the movement, and found herself staring at Helix, naked in the bathtub, and staring back at her with bewildered, sleep filled eyes. "Sorry, I didn't know you were in here," she said, turning to the sink and running the tap. She splashed water on her face, and then turned back to Helix. “Were you sleeping?”

Helix sank beneath the edge of the tub. “Yes. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, it helps.”

“Oh,” said Chango, still looking at her.

“I’ll be out in a minute, if you could just-”

“Oh, sure, sorry.” Chango dried off her face and backed out the door. She went into the kitchen, where Mavi was leaning over the sink, pouring water into the coffee pot. "Guess who I just surprised in the bathroom?"

Mavi looked at her jadedly, "Helix?"

"Well, yeah."

Mavi nodded and set the coffee pot on the counter. “I thought so. It wasn’t me and as far as I know, you’re not in the habit of surprising yourself. Why didn't you knock first?" Chango sighed and shrugged. "I wasn't thinking. I didn't expect-Mavi, she was in the bathtub."

"So? She can take a bath if she wants to, Chango, what's the problem?" Chango leaned closer and lowered her voice. "She was sleeping in there, Mavi, in the water." oOo

Helix stepped carefully out of the tub and toweled off. Her ribs were still sore, her neck stiff, but her knife wound was almost healed, and the lump on her head was way down. She stepped into her freshly laundered, custom made four-sleeved body suit. The cellweave fabric warmed slightly at the touch of her damp skin, helping her dry off. She wished it wouldn’t. Her skin was always too dry, no matter what moisturizers or oils she used. The only thing that ever really seemed to help was soaking in a tub of salt water.

She slipped on her tunic and went out into the hallway and stood there, torn between the security of her room, and her curiosity about the house and its neighborhood. She’d been gone from Hector’s for three days now, and so far she’d spent most of it in one room. Someone was making coffee in the kitchen. She followed the smell down the hall.

Chango and Mavi stood close together by the sink, their conversation breaking off abruptly as Mavi saw her. "Oh, Helix, it's good to see you up and about."

"Thanks," she said, remaining in the doorway, at a loss for what to do next. Chango and Mavi stood looking at her expectantly. Her cheeks burned, and she realized she was blushing.

"C'mon in," said Chango, suddenly darting across the room to her and guiding her to the table. "Have a seat. You want coffee? Mavi just put some on."

Helix nodded slowly, "Yeah. Yes, thank you."

Hanging from a peg near the door was Hector’s raincoat. Just the sight of it made her feel better, more secure. Chango and Mavi had both seen her, seen her arms, seen everything, Night Hag too, but still she felt naked, being anyplace but Hector’s apartment without that coat on. She glanced at her companions. Mavi was stirring sugar into her coffee, Chango was pouring a bowl of raisin bran. “Oh, there’s my coat,” she said, feigning surprise.

“A little the worse for wear, I’m afraid,” said Mavi.

“That’s okay. I’m a little cold, that’s all.” It was true, she usually was cold. She used to keep Hector’s apartment so warm he could hardly stand it.

Chango and Mavi exchanged glances as she got up and slipped into the raincoat and buttoned it over her lower arms. “That’s better,” she smiled and seated herself at the table again. Mavi poured her a cup of coffee and handed her the steaming mug.

“Want some cereal?” asked Chango.

“Sure, thanks.”

Chango poured her a bowl and added milk.

“So what are you up to today, Chango?” asked Mavi getting up to retrieve a basket from next to the stove.

“Oh, I have a few errands to run. Helix, maybe you’d like to come along, see the neighborhood, get to know a few people.”

“I don’t know.”

“You said you left your father because you wanted to find something for yourself. You’re not going to find it hiding out here, are you?”

She was right. She’d left Hector to find out about the rest of the world, and now she was just turning this place into another Hector’s apartment; walls to hide behind.

Mavi sat down, pulled a length of knobby yarn out of her basket and wound it around her fingers. “Fresh air would be good for you, but no adventures.” She pointed a long hook at Chango. “Stay in the neighborhood, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” said Chango.

“What are you doing?” asked Helix as Mavi worked the yarn with her hook.

“Crocheting. My mother taught me, but you just can’t find yarn anymore.”

“What’s that, then?” Helix pointed at the blue-green-red-yellow length of ropy stuff in her hands.

“Oh, they save it up at vat 9. Every month or so Benny brings me a bag of it. The bodies aren’t good for much of anything-”

“Except bouncing balls,” said Chango

“-but I tie the tendrils together and make stuff with them. Pele sells them for me at the Eastern Market. I used to do a lot of afghans, but lately I’m doing hats.” She had begun working the yarn into a round.

“The hats sell better.”

Helix’s eyebrows rose of their own volition. “They’re – they’re that stuff you fish out -”

“Agules,” said Chango, “Mavi’s a recycler.”

“Since you’re making the rounds Chango, you want to drop some of these off for me?”

“Sure, but it wouldn’t kill you to let sunlight strike your face either, you know, instead of just sitting around in here all the time, smoking and knitting.”

“Crocheting. Besides, I’ve got things to do. Xenia sprained her ankle and needs a sassafras poultice, and Harvey is still trying to come off Blast. He needs more goldenseal tincture. Oh, and stop by Hyper’s while you’re out, see if he needs more valerian.”

“Sure,” said Chango, getting up and taking her bowl to the sink. “Helix, will you join me?”

Helix gnawed at her lower lip with one fang. “I don’t know. Actually, I should start looking for a job somewhere. Do you know anyplace around that’s hiring?”

Chango and Mavi laughed. “Not hardly,” said Chango, her smile narrowing to a smirk. “Besides, come with me and you won’t need a job.”

oOo

Helix followed Chango across the street to her motor car, a yellow behemoth covered with patches of red polybond. It was a warm, cloudy, humid day; the air dense and full of a strange, yeasty smell. It felt soft and damp against her skin, soothing. “Wow, it’s nice out,” she said. Chango looked at her incredulously. “Nice out? You must be joking. Days like this GeneSys should issue everyone in Vattown a divesuit. Smell that? It’s growth medium, and it’s probably morphing us as we stand.” She opened the door for Helix. “You have to get in on this side, the door on the passenger’s side doesn’t work.”

Helix slid into the spacious seat, cracked and shiny with spots of bioadhesive. They pulled out and rumbled down the street, and Helix leaned back and watched the sky pass above them.

After innumerable turns down narrow streets pitted with erosion and lined with vacant lots and houses in varying stages of disrepair, Chango pulled over in front of a vast field of brick and metal rubble. “All that’s left of the Russell Industrial Center,” she said and got out of the car. Helix watched as she ducked under the half-hearted barricade and picked among the dust and stones. She returned with a fragment of concrete. The brief but intense heat of the disintegration process had melted a crescent wrench into its surface like an instant chrome fossil.

“What’s that?” asked Helix.

Chango looked at her and then heaved it into the back seat. “It’s art,” she said, and got back into the car.

oOo

“Hey Hyper!” called Chango opening the screen door. “Why don’t you lock your door, fool?”

At one of several metal worktables, a scrawny young black man was busily removing solder from a circuit board. He glanced up at them, "Because then I’d have to get up to let you in. I'll be done here in just a sec."

Helix looked up in wonderment at the ceiling, nearly tripping over a stack of holocubes. There were things hanging up there that she’d never consider hanging from a ceiling; whole computer systems, a fish tank filled with murky water.

The front of the house was furnished with stained cushions, a threadbare beanbag and a bucket seat from a levcar. Chango flopped down in the levcar seat. Helix just stood there, staring as Hyper's hands flew with soldering iron and vacuum tube. He was right, he was done in just a sec.

"Hi," he said as he suddenly stepped around the table, and then, "Hi!" as he noticed Helix.

"Hi," she said.

"Hyper, this his Helix. Helix, Hyper, a very old, dear friend of mine."

"Hey, Helix," he said, dodging forward to shake her hand. Helix took his hand in her upper right one.

“Thanks for lending me your transceiver.”

“Hey, no problem. Glad to see you’re doing all right, have a seat.” He pointed her to the beanbag. “Can I take your coat?” he added.

She looked up at him, “No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Chango, “it’s fucking eighty degrees out today. Aren’t you hot?”

She wasn’t hot, not really, but the lining of the coat was sticking to her arms and the back of her neck. And she did feel sort of stupid wearing it, when everyone else was in t-shirts and shorts. She looked carefully at Hyper. Chango had said he was a sport, but she could find nothing out of the ordinary about him except for his bizarre taste in home furnishings. “What’s different about you?” she asked.

“My metabolism. It runs high. I have to eat a lot of small meals and I don’t sleep too much.”

She was disappointed. She’d been hoping for nictating membranes or retractable ear flaps, at least a tail. It must have shown.