appeared. He was nervously pacing the small living room of his
apartment.
"Notice the quality of this footage," said Sidebar. "I shot it this
morning, using nothing but natural light."
Gomez poked Natalie in the side with his thumb. "You folks called on
him--and talked with him?"
"Bright and early," she replied.
"Can you tell me some of what he told you?"
"Bouchon had confided in him, just a few days before he was
slaughtered, that he suspected Bram Wexler was conspiring with two or
three of the major Teklords."
"That's a pretty serious charge. Did Bouchon have proof?." "No, he
wasn't even certain what exactly was going on, but he knew Wexler was
involved in something shady and that it had to do with Tek," answered
the redheaded reporter. "Originally, Bouchon had been sharing his
suspicions with Zack Rolfe, calling on him at his place after office
hours."
"Bueno. That means Bouchon wasn't fooling around and that
Rolfe was lying."
"That seemed to me obvious from the start, Gomez, and I'm really
astounded that none of the IDCA people, nor any of the policemen on
this case, realized that," she said. "Gradually Bouchon began to
wonder if he could trust Zack Rolfe. He apparently didn't much like
Chasseriau, but he was certain he was honest. So he came to him to
discuss what was worrying him."
Gomez shook his head. "It was too late by then. They'd already
decided to kill Bouchon to keep him from nosing around further."
"Now take a look at Screen 3." She touched another button on the arm
of the control chair.
A bland chinless man, wearing rich, regal robes and a glittering,
gem-encrusted golden crown, was addressing a crowded auditorium.
"I'm keeping the sound off on all these images because it interferes
with my narration," explained Natalie, "but you can take my word that
his powers of--"
"Caramba, "said Gomez, "that's none other than King Arthur
II."
"Bram Wexler, a hypocrite who outwardly pretends to be loyal to the
President of Great Britain, is associated with an organization known as
the Excalibur Movement," Said Natalie. "Their prime objective is to
see that England once again becomes a monarchy. I haven't been able to
find out yet if they'd resort to murder to gain their ends, but, by
whatever means, they want to see this simp ruling their country."
"This explains Zack Rolfe's last words."
"He said something to Jake as he was dying? It would've been nice,
Gomez, and in keeping with your alleged newfound spirit of cooperation,
had you found it in your peanut-sized heart to share those words."
"Chiquita, what Rolfe did was warn Jake to watch out for Excalibur--or
words to that effect."
The pretty reporter tapped the palms of her hands on her knees, then
rubbed her hands together and smiled at him. "I can really sense this,
we're on top of a very big story here."
"And a very big conspiracy most likely, involving Teklords,
monarchists, and lord knows who else."
"It would make sense, especially since your partner is over in
England just now, for you and I to work closely together on this from
here on out, Gomez."
"Si, absolutely," he said. "That's a dandy notion, Nat." "Wonderful."
Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. "Mush," said Sidebar.
2O
There had been two of them, both carrying highly polished
dee-troknives. When Dan had tried to explain to them what he was
doing in the ruins, one of them slapped him hard across the face.
"We don't want any bleeding back talk puffer," he warned in his
whispery voice. "You just keep it buttoned and come along with us,
hear."
"But I'm--"
"What did I tell you about talking back?" The lanky blond young man
slapped Dan again.
This blow hit him across the mouth, splitting his lip and drawing
blood. Spitting, Dan started at the young man.
The other boy, who was thin and at least a year younger than Dan ,
stepped between them. "He doesn't mean any harm, Ludd," he said,
catching hold of Dan's arm and shoving him back. "Let him try to
come at me, Angel. I'd like a chance to slice his heart out."
"No, we have to take him back to camp. That's the rules." "Rules, my
arse." Ludd swung his knife up in front of his face, flicking the
switch that started the sawtooth blade whirring. "What's to stop us
from slitting him open here and now, taking his dabs, and--"
"That's against the rules," warned Angel. "Strangers have to be taken
to camp. After that, if Jamaica decides, we can kill him."
"Whole blooming country's going to hell because of bloody rules." He
slashed angrily at the air with his knife, shut it off, and jammed it
into his thigh holster. "All right, all right, we'll act like raving
twits and take him back with us."
Angel knuckled Dan's upper arm. "It isn't a far walk," he told him
quietly. "Don't try to break loose, don't say a bleeding
word--otherwise Ludd may decide to do for you."
After a few seconds, Dan nodded curtly.
After leaving the detective agency offices, Jake walked along Berkeley
Street. As the day waned, it grew grayer and colder and a harsh wind
filled the crowded walkways. The sky trams flying slowly overhead were
brightly decorated for the holiday season; each one playing a different
Xmas tune from the speakers planted in its red and green underside.
Stationed on the corner was a chrome-plated newsbot, hawking the Daily
Skan. Jake paused, seemingly to listen to the mechanical man recite
the menu of scandalous news to be found in this afternoon's edition.
"Is the VP a puff?." asked the got in his deep tinny voice. "Who
caught Senator Yates-Drake with his trousers down? Are there Martians
living in Manchester? Whose knickers were found in the War Sec's sky
van
A plump black man brushed by Jake. "Excuse me, sir," he said, poking
his Bam card into the appropriate slot in the robot's side.
"Here's a bloke what knows what's news." Whirring and rattling, the
robot swiftly produced an eight-page fax copy of the Skan out of the
wide slot across his chest. "Here you are, guy, hot off the blooming
presses."
As the customer accepted his newspaper, Jake moved on. He was certain
now, as he'd suspected since leaving Bairnhouse's, that he was being
tailed. Crossing the street, he went through one of the arched entry
ways to the Berkeley Square Multimall.
It was exceedingly warm on the ground level of the vast mall, and the
air smelled of pine boughs and hot toddy. Jake hopped onto a servo
ramp and let it start him on a slow circuit of the place. He rode by a
string of self serve boutiques--Stylz, Fitz, Ragz--and then past a
great, sprawling food market called Farmer Dell's Hydroponic Farmstand,
Branch225 of My Man Chumley's Fish & Chips and Branch 316 of Pubz, Inc.
He stepped off the moving ramp in front of the St. George & The Dragon
Inn. The neo wood sign dangling over the wide doorway of the simulated
country inn offered a crude depiction of the armored saint slaying a
fierce, fire-breathing creature. The paint was convincingly aged to
make it seem centuries old.
Jake ignored the main entrance, slipping instead into the imitation
courtyard next to the imitation inn. The yard was paved with
authentic-looking cobblestones, and a wagon loaded with real straw was
parked near the simulated stables.
Running, Jake stationed himself behind the wagon. He couldn't be seen
from here, but he had a good view of the entrance of the courtyard.
Within the shadowy stables robot horses snorted and shifted on their
hooves. Even the smell of a real stable, suitably subdued, came
drifting out of the shadows.
A moment passed before a figure slipped, cautiously, into the
courtyard.
It was a slim young woman, auburn-haired, in her late twenties. She [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]