Punktown: Shades of Grey (15 page)

As he smiled at the hologram, however, a feeling of guilt came washing through Art’s body, and he had to look away. Bill must have stared at that pretty face every night, pining for a woman he had never actually met. Art was not without a conscience
…which
was why he had had himself cloned in the first place.

Art had been fascinated with criminals all his life, collecting books and vids on them.
Particularly serial killers.
As wealthy as he was, he had even assembled a small museum of murder in his home; he owned the bloodstained clothing of victims, the bloodstained weapons of monsters. These monsters were outsiders, and Art felt he could sympathize with that; his wealth had cut him off from the great majorities. He had always wondered what it would feel like to kill another human being. Yes, he had stalked an old girlfriend or two, had even spray-painted one’s vehicle (taking an almost erotic delight in the act), but could never bring
himself
to harm them. Art had never even struck another person before today.

He couldn’t bring himself to fulfill his dark curiosity, his dark desires. He had been raised a Nouveau Catholic by his parents, and though he didn’t attend church anymore he still felt the weight of its teachings. Thou shalt not kill…

But one had more of a right to kill one’s own self. Right? And clones were not born and raised in the manner of natural human beings. He was violating no one but extensions of his own body. Right?

The clones didn’t even have his personality, for the most part, but those programmed bogus histories. Though there was bound to be some similarity, in that much of the human personality is based on electro-chemical activity in the brain, and the brain literally changes on the microscopic level each time a new memory is added to its infinite library—these being physical properties that would be reproduced to some extent.

Art saw decorations in Bill’s flat that he would never tolerate in his own apartment; a painted nude, for one. On the other hand, the woman in the painting was just the kind of woman he would most crave, if he could have any in the known worlds.

There were eight clones made; seven remained, spread throughout Punktown. Balser had hidden them well from his boss in the teeming city, in no doubt all walks of life. It might take months or even years to track them down, to stalk them.
To hunt them.
But Art was rich; it was inherited wealth, and he owned people competent enough to run his businesses for him. He had to have something to occupy his boundless free time, and to satiate his jaded desires. A challenge. A game…

One down.
Seven suicides to go.

««—»»

Jed Mercer sat in traffic in his semi-robotic garbage truck, its various insectoid limbs retracted and the trash zapper humming as it finished digesting the last load. A man with a chainsaw chased a woman through the intersection but their uniform blue color signified that they were merely holograms advertising a new thriller movie. “Ghosts,” Jed murmured, watching them dash down a side street.

He glanced to his right, at a number of
buildings which
loomed above the trees of the park. One building in particular always held his interest when he came this way, though it wasn’t much different from the others. He even found himself taking a longer route to come by this way. He didn’t collect trash in this part of Punktown, however. This was the rich sector. Rich people lived in those towers, with the late afternoon sun blazing in their many windows. Still, it seemed to Jed that he knew somebody who lived in that building, if he could only remember who that was.

An irritable beep behind him alerted him to the changing of lights. With a roar, the garbage truck surged forward again.

««—»»

On Forma Street, definitely not in the favored sector of Punktown, Jed slammed on his brakes so abruptly that a hovercar nearly collided into his rear. The driver, a Tikkihotto, leaped out of the vehicle and yelled in Jed’s window, his optical fibers wavering in the air furiously. Jed activated one of the truck’s arms, and the alien fled back to his car as it reached for him. Jed pulled the truck over toward the curb, double-parked, hit his blinkers and jumped out.

“Hey!” he called to a woman standing on the sidewalk, chatting with a dolphin-mouthed Choom. “Amy!” he called.

The woman looked his way and seemed to blanch. She said something to the Choom, who glanced at Jed in irritation and moved on.

It was indeed Amy, Jed realized in shock. She was supposed to be on Earth, taking a six-month course in nursing. What was she doing back, and on Forma Street of all places? And her
clothes
…

“Amy!” he said, reaching her. “For God’s sake, what are you doing?” He gestured at her attire: an open leather jacket over what appeared to be a thong swimsuit, or a little less. “Are you insane? This is Forma Street, not the damn beach! When did you get back?”

“Look, mister, I’m sorry…I don’t know you.”

“What? What are you saying? Are you on drugs?”

“Look,
mister…please just go
away. My name isn’t Amy. Look…” She dug in her purse, flipped open her wallet. “See? My name is Evan Reardon.”

“Amy…is this a joke, or what?” He took her elbow, his face glowing hot with anger and confusion.

“Now you’ve done it,” she hissed, looking afraid. “Here comes my pimp.”

“Your…?”

A hand clamped on Jed’s shoulder, whirled him around. He gazed up into the face of Evan/Amy’s procurer—a hulking humanoid with the face of a deep-sea fish, but
uglier
.

Several minutes later, a man was helping Jed into his car. They drove away, leaving the double-parked garbage truck. Tasting his own blood in his mouth, Jed turned his head groggily to see the man who had come to his aid.

His own
face smiled back at him grimly. “Hi,” said the stranger. “My name is Lloyd Proctor. I think.”

««—»»

“Amy,” Jed breathed, studying the holo portrait in Lloyd’s parlor.

“My fiancée, Sandy,” replied Lloyd, handing him a coffee. He hadn’t had to ask Jed how he took his coffee
;
light, with one sugar. “She’s away on Earth, taking a six-month course…”

“In nursing,” Jed finished.

“No; economics. So you’re a trash collector, huh?”

“What are you?”

“Up until a few weeks ago I was assistant manager of a book store. My coworkers all seemed to know me, but I’m not sure I trust them any more.”

“How long were you watching that prosty…Evan?”

“Several weeks. I wanted to do what you did, when I first spotted her, but I contained myself. We’re different in some respects, you and I.”

“Not many.” Jed wagged his head, taking in his host once more. Though their haircuts varied somewhat, they both had the same scar on their chins. “You don’t seem as surprised as I am about this.”

“Three weeks ago, I had closed up the shop and was getting into my car when I was attacked from behind. A man stabbed me twice in the back with a knife.” Lloyd pointed to the spot. “I struggled with him and managed to pull out the gun I carry. It’s a rough town, you know. Well, I popped off a few rounds but he got away. I nearly bled to death. After that night, I moved to this apartment and quit my job.”

“Did you see who it was who tried to kill you?”

“Yes—it was
me
. Or you, perhaps.”

“Me? It wasn’t, man, I swear it! I’ll go to the forcers with you and take a truth scan to prove it!”

“I believe you, Jed. You were too surprised to see that prosty to be faking it.”

“So…one of us is a clone, then?”

“Two of us are clones, Jed. And I don’t think it’s the guy who stabbed me.”

“But I know who I am! I’ve been a garbage man for ten years now! I…”

“Jed.” Lloyd smiled sadly, bitterly. “I’ve worked in that book store for ten years.”

Jed looked again toward that lovely holo portrait. “We have to question that prosty. And our lying little coworkers.”

“Someone has money, to pull this off. To pay to shut people up…”

Money. Yes! Jed whipped his head around. “Of course!” he hissed. “The building…”

««—»»

Six months after killing his first clone, only two of them remained. Art had surprised himself as a hunter.

Of course, there had been some complications. One clone was even murdered by someone else during a mugging; this was, after all, Punktown. And Art had needed to kill a woman who was a witness to one of his murders, but it had come easier than he would have believed. Now that his inhibitions had worn down, he wondered what game he might play next, when this one had been finished.

He had shot the first clone, but that had been too impersonal. He had poisoned one, bludgeoned one, garroted one,
stabbed
another. He liked stabbing best, he found. He still used plasma to eliminate the bodies afterwards, but following one murder a photo of the victim, taken from a driver’s license, had been shown on VT. That had given Art a scare, but no problems had seemed to come of it. Unless that was why the last two had eluded him.

One of them, though, he believed he had scared into hiding himself. That one had seen his face clearly, and apparently survived his knife wounds. What if he had fled to another city, or even another colony? That would be a bit more of a challenge than Art liked to contemplate. He wanted to wrap this challenge up totally before starting a new one.

He had found he enjoyed killing even more than he’d ever dreamed. He had even taken a very dark delight in raping one of his victims, raping himself, before strangling him to death.

In Punktown, the murders went mostly unnoticed. Maybe it was the wrong city in which to make a name for one’s self as a serial killer, but that lent him all the more anonymity, and privacy for his entertainment.

««—»»

It had been a productive day in the search for the remaining prey. Balser’s contact with the Teeb Family had called; the whore who’d been used to make holo portraits for several of the clones had been approached by one of the clones in the street. The Teeb contact had been concerned that this might spoil Art’s game, but he was appreciative for the lead, and had been allowed to question the woman. She said the man had driven a garbage truck, and had left it in the street, but by the time Art interviewed her it had been removed.

Tomorrow he would follow the garbage collection lead; for tonight, he would return to his apartment and relax in a nice tub while his holo harem performed for him.

He let himself into his apartment, only to find he was already there.

Jed held a large knife from the kitchen. Lloyd had the gun with which he had chased his attacker off. They had been waiting nearly an hour. Lloyd grinned at the startled expression on Art’s face.

“How did you get in?” Art stammered.

“I passed the three security checks, Mr. Lerna. The camera scan, the
voice scan
, and the hand-print scan. Of course.”

“How did you find me?”

“We’ll ask the questions,” Jed cut in. “Why did you clone us? How many more of us did you make?”

“And why did you try to kill me?” Lloyd demanded.

“I…I…”