Marlowe and the Spacewoman (10 page)

Marlowe opened the box with the mother of pearl lid carefully.  About a dozen pea-shaped light beads were inside.  He picked a couple out, squeezed them until they lit up, dropped one on the floor and tossed the other up the stairs.

“That better?” asked Marlowe as he returned the box to his pocket.

“Much better.  Those are pretty neat.”

“Well, when we leave, remind me to pick them back up.  They’re really expensive and hard to get these days.”

Marlowe took point and slowly crept up the stairs.  There was a thin, threadbare carpet covering the steps, with some sort of floral pattern.  It was too faded and dusty to clearly make out.  Marlowe soon discovered that every fourth step creaked, a defect that was quite possibly deliberate.  He took to skipping those.

At the landing there was a thick oak door with no handle and a slot near the top.  Nuts, thought Marlowe, they’ve got a bouncer.  An idea popped into his head.

“Hey Nina,” he whispered.  “Think you could knock that door down?”

Nina glanced dismissively at the door.  “Absolutely.  No problem.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“And if a large goon is on the other side?”

“Still shouldn’t be a problem.”

“OK, wait until the slot opens, then work your magic.”

Marlowe slid up to the door, his back pressed firmly against the wall.  Nina had settled in at the other end of the landing, half crouching, hands on the floor in front of her, one knee just off the ground, the other leg extended out behind her.  She nodded, Marlowe knocked.  There was an ominous rumbling sound behind the door, and then the slot slowly scraped open.  Two yellow, blood-shot eyes glared out.

“Whaddya want?”

Nina moved fast.  She blurred past Marlowe, jumped up in the air with both feet in front of her, and plowed into the door.  The door, for its part, buckled, splinters flying out around the frame, and then disappeared inwards.  There was also a mighty, deep-throated gasp that was obliterated by the sound of the door and whatever was behind it crashing into the floor.  Marlowe rolled forward, coming up in a karate stance, but the only thing standing beyond the threshold was Nina.  He crawled carefully over the door and the crumpled goon underneath it.

“Very nice, Nina.  You’re proving to be quite handy to have around.”

The center of the room was empty, a wooden floor with no carpeting or furniture.  But a bank of reconstitution tanks lined each wall, transparent cylindrical plexiplas containers with built-in lights shining down on the tank’s contents.  Bubbles ran up through a slightly green syrupy fluid.  The far wall differed from the rest, where a rectangular fish tank sat between two recon tanks.  Inside, a large silver fish with yellow moon eyes stared out at them.

“Nina, get back!” shouted Marlowe as he fumbled in his pockets, the sudden surge of adrenaline overwhelming his nano probes before they could even attempt to calm him.  The fish suddenly sprouted eight metallic legs, clambered out of the top of the aquarium, and leapt to the floor.  Each leg ended in a sharp needlepoint, and another one sprouted from its nose.  The cold eyes split into segmented stalks, some of the sensors watching them, some surveying the rest of the room.

“What is it?”

“Ninja fish.  Waterproof robot with neurotoxin-tipped appendages.  I can be resurrected if it gets me, but you can’t.”  His hands were still searching and patting down pockets.  “If I go down, try and get me to the car and take me home.  But only if it’s safe for you.”

The ninja fish advanced on Marlowe as Nina stepped back onto the landing.  Finally his hands closed around the object he sought.  The stapler.  He had bought it several years ago.  He hadn’t known its purpose when he came across the strange, v-shaped device, but the antique had a nice, hefty weight to it.  That and the vaguely remembered reference to one in a mystery novel he’d read as a child made the purchase irresistible.  He had eventually determined its true purpose, which was why he always carried it with him.  He whipped out the stapler and flung the lead-weighted weapon at the ninja fish, striking it square on the kisser and bending the hypo there.  The impact also crushed two of its legs.

The ninja fish skittered backwards on the remaining six legs.  Its extended optical stalks eyed Marlowe warily, cold mechanical hatred glinting in them.  Marlowe, meanwhile, had gone back to searching his pockets.  The ninja fish, after a lengthy pause, decided this meant that, briefly at least, while the stapler lay on the floor, it had the upper hand.  It bore down on Marlowe again, who produced the apple and winged it at his approaching attacker.

The apple skipped along the floor and then smacked into the deadly assailant.  Three legs became embedded in the apple, and now the ninja fish found itself unable to move.  Marlowe circled a safe distance around his pinned prey as it flopped, making his way towards the stapler.  He hated to be separated very long from the ancient weapon.  He picked it up, and then hurled it down on the aquatic assassin, crushing its body.  It was still squirming, but now the needles were no longer a threat.  He pulled the screwdriver out and stabbed it deep into the guts of the fish.  He twisted and turned it until the mechanical monster stopped moving.  Then he picked up the stapler again and made a good show of completely flattening the finned fiend.

“OK, Nina, it’s safe.  You can come back in.”

There was no response.  Then he heard footsteps on the stairs.  He whirled around to see Nina entering with an entire side of beef.  Marlowe just stared, his jaw gaping.

“Oh, you got it.  I thought I could just drop this on it and immobilize it.”

“That would have worked too.”  And was a much better idea than the approach Marlowe had ultimately followed.

He hefted the weighty stapler in his hand.  A little scratched, a little scuffed, but otherwise no worse for wear.  It was amazing how handy that weapon had proven to be, in all sorts of situations.  He was quite proud of the prowess he’d developed wielding it, even without the benefit of an instruction manual or formal instructor.  The apple, however, was a total loss.  He put the stapler back in his pocket, but kept the screwdriver out.

“OK, now we look for Tray.”  Marlowe surveyed all the damage.  The crumpled, immobile bouncer under the cracked and splintered door, the ninja fish crushed into the floor, the side of beef that would never be fit for human consumption, and, of course, the butcher with the pulverized pelvis downstairs.  It sure would be a shame if Tray wasn’t here.  Not to mention, Marlowe wasn’t sure he had the energy to duplicate this at the next recon parlor if he was forced to continue his search at the next shop on his list.

He started walking down the line of tanks on one side of the room.  There were four tanks to a wall, and the room was an octagon, so that added up to a total of thirty two tanks; well, thirty when you subtracted the ninja fish aquarium that took up the space of two recon tanks.  

Nina took up position across from him.  “What am I looking for?”

“Well, he’s registered as a Dove bar, but that doesn’t mean he’ll go back to that body right away.  It’s fairly early in the process for him, so most of the electronic guts will still be visible.  He may or may not have a hypodermic syringe attachment.”

Marlowe studied each tank carefully.  Most were empty, but some had soap bars in the process of being reconstituted.  It was a safe bet, given this was an unregistered black market recon parlor, and the retention of a goon at the door, that they all had something nefarious to hide.  He examined each soap carefully.  Most were too far along in the process to be Tray.  They all bubbled nervously as Marlowe gravely eyed them.  He was beginning to worry that they wouldn’t find Tray here.

“Hey, Marlowe, I’m not sure, but what about this one?”

Marlowe walked over to Nina’s side and looked into the tank she was gesturing to.  There was a nest of silicon and wires in an oval-shaped frame, and a hypodermic syringe was clearly emanating from one end.

“Geez, Tray, are you even trying to hide yourself?”

Marlowe kicked up the mag in his right eye and zoomed in, looking for a serial number.  He found it; a perfect match.  The search for Tray had ended.  Now for the interrogation.

“Good work, Nina, you found him.”

“I think I’m starting to get the hang of this world.”

“Good, good.”  Marlowe was preoccupied, his voice distant.  He’d just noticed a string of tiny bubbles, potential pearls of wisdom, floating up from Tray’s exposed blower.  He kicked up the mag again, zooming in on the blower.  He watched the pattern and pace of the forming bubbles, translating.

“Marlowe.  Innocent.  Trap.  Itchy trigger.  Doomed.”

Tray could be perpetrating a last ditch trick to protect himself, but Marlowe’s gut began the old familiar wibble wobble, and he decided not to take any chances.  “Nina, we need to leave.  Now.”

“What’s wron-”

A tremendous roar filled the room, a shock wave blasting through both Marlowe and Nina, knocking them to the floor.  Everything went black as the sound of timber and masonry cracking expanded into the fury of structural failure.  The building swayed, throwing the pair back and forth.  Foamy liquid sloshed out of the many tanks lining the walls, splashing and soaking the hapless occupants of the room as they bounced back and forth.

Marlowe was amazed to return to consciousness with his memory intact.  When the blast hit, he was certain he’d be lucky if enough of him survived to be resurrected.  But his memory appeared to be intact, and his injuries minor enough that the nano probes could cope.

“What the hell was that?”  Nina sounded a bit shook up.

“Explosion.  But not in here, or we’d be dead.  House, you have anything?”

“I’m detecting alarms on all floors.   All the major news feeds are popping up Breaking News windows.  Details are sketchy at this point, but it looks like some sort of explosion has happened in the building.”

“Well duh,” said Marlowe.  “Can’t you give me anything more?”

“One report indicates an explosion on the third floor.  The City Fire Department is dispatching several vehicles to the site.  Chatter on the emergency channels indicates a large amount of structural damage and casualties on the ground.  I would egress immediately.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” said Marlowe, picking himself up.

“Tell you what twice?” asked Nina.

“We’re leaving.  Now.”  Marlowe skidded to a halt at the doorway.  “No we’re not.”

“What is it?  I can’t see anything.”

Marlowe noticed he was relying on his low light filter.

“Sorry.  Hang on.”  He fished out another light bead and dropped it.  Nina gasped.

The doorway was completely blocked.  A mountain of dirt and sand spilled into the room through the twisted, torn door frame, half burying the door and the goon under it.

“House, we’re blocked.  Is there another way out?”

“Just a moment.  I’m getting more details on the Emergency Response band.  Search and rescue drones arriving on scene are reporting all entrances to the building are blocked by debris, mostly dirt and sand.  The lower floors are intact, but the exit points are inaccessible.”

“So we’re trapped in here.  The bomb must have been designed to pin us down in the recon parlor.”

“I’m doing a little more digging on the third floor leaseholder.  One moment.  I am finding complaints filed by other tenants about heavy equipment and construction materials being brought in.  No action was taken.  Interesting.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense, House.”

“Based on these reports, I think they may have wired the floors over the exit points with explosives and then filled the entire third floor with dirt.  A simple, fairly low-tech trap.”

“And just a bit over the top.”

“It suggests a certain type of perverse cunning.”

“What is going on!” demanded Nina.

Marlowe gave her a quick rundown on what House thought had happened.

“But that’s stupid,” said Nina.  “Why not just blow us up?”

“Why indeed.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the emergency lighting kicked in.  It didn’t do much except reveal the dirt and dust swirling around them. Marlowe went back to Tray’s tank, dropping a light bead inside.  The semi-reconstituted soap seemed to be writhing.  Marlowe dug through his pockets until he extracted the bottle of bubbles.  He opened the bottle, took the plastic loop out and blew a quick query.

“Can you see me, Tray?”

Marlowe watched the blower for a response.

“Yes.  I’m sorry, Marlowe.”

“What are you doing?” asked Nina.  “This is no time to blow bubbles!”

“Quiet!  I’m talking to Tray, trying to figure out what’s going on.”

Marlowe blew more bubbles.

“What’s going on here?”

“They kidnapped me last week.  Lured me in with the promise of an easy job with a big payoff.  I should have known it was too good to be true.”

“Who kidnapped you,” blew Marlowe.

“They stripped me down, re-wired me, hacked my personality core.  Then they plopped me in here, to wait for you,” fizzed Tray.

“Who did this?”

Tray rattled slightly in the harness that held him down.  “They wired me to explode, Marlowe.  Bastards used an itchy trigger slaved to my optical scanner.  When a person I saw matched a stored image of you, I began to itch.  It’s a good thing I have night vision, or when the lights went out a moment ago….”