The Resurrected Man (44 page)

But SHE knew all too well that what SHE regarded as being sensible and fair was often far from what emerged as the human consensus.

Verstegen said something SHE didn't quite catch.

“I'm sorry, sir?”

“Nothing, my dear. You may now resume your duties.”

“Thank you.”

SHE did so, shedding with the resumption a powerful sense of unease.

In the meantime, an eikon had delved into the Pool to investigate the situation there, partly to ascertain whether the crisis was being exaggerated. As data from the fragment began to trickle in, SHE took a second to study it. Although the matter of the simulation's cost was obviously one of the most contentious issues, this was due not so much to the use of Pool resources
per se
, but to the breach of contract caused
by going over-time. Great though the demand was to sustain the simulation, it was nothing compared to that exercised by some peak users, many of whom remained anonymous. The extension of KTI's load conflicted with some of these, causing secondary ripples affecting smaller users down the chain.

So the crisis
was
real in the sense that it had annoyed a lot of people.

In looking for a way to spread the load more efficiently, QUALIA noted that the current mean latency figures had deviated in a manner similar to events comprising the Novohantay Sequence. What
that
meant, SHE didn't know, but noted it for future examination.

“He's not saying much.” Odi Whitesmith had the MIU contingent under control but was himself becoming restless.

“That is correct,” SHE said.

“I don't mean to be critical, but you've hardly tried to draw him out.”

“His mental state is fragile. I do not see that it is wise, or even necessary, to perform an in-depth interrogation at this point. The information will come when he is ready to divulge it.”

“Can't you hurry him along a little?”

“
When he is ready
,” SHE repeated, tired of arguing with everyone she spoke to.

Whitesmith looked neither surprised nor annoyed, just philosophical. SHE wondered if he was used to not getting his own way. “Marylin asked me to ask you to call her,” he said. “She wants to talk to him. I told her it was unlikely, but that I'd pass it on.”

“Thank you, Officer Whitesmith. Please inform her that I am aware of her request.”

“Duty's done, then. She wouldn't want me to do any more than that.” He nodded and killed the line.

SHE gave Marylin Blaylock's request the consideration it deserved. Although SHE could understand and perhaps even sympathise with the woman's need for personal reassurance, SHE could not allow it. SHE was acutely aware that the conversations flowing through Artsutanov
Station were steadily increasing in volume—in both senses of the word. The number of minutes over-time had reached fifty-two. On the hour, SHE expected the intensity of the debate to reach a new height—although exactly what the outcome would be SHE couldn't guess. Whichever way it went, recovering Jonah's lost memories was the priority and, being a delicate operation, should not be disturbed by outside influences.

Jonah, conscious once again, was completely oblivious to the whirlpool surrounding him.

“QUALIA, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. I will answer it if I can.”

“What's the current value of the mass/energy reserve?”

“0.497 MLu.”

“Two people less than when I asked you before, right?”

“Correct.”

“You said you'd give me the figures covering the size of the reserve going back a while. Can I have a look at the last couple of days in the form of a graph? I want to see if I'm following this properly.”

“Of course.”

“Run me through this,” he said. “What I'm seeing here is first, the dip when the victim's body was created. Right?”

“Cary Ann Pushkaric. Yes.”

“The following two dips are—what?”

“They result from the Resurrections of Jason Fassini and Lon Kellow. The last dip to the right, followed by the rise, corresponds to your own Resurrection and the return of your new body, temporarily, to the reserve.”

“So when I come out of here, the reserve will go back down by one.”

“Correct.”

“What's the dip to the left of my Resurrection?”

“It has no label attached to it. Given its brevity, I assume it to result from either observational or transitional error. During the operation of KTI, as d-mat demand ebbs and flows, the mass/energy reserve can fluctuate momentarily before returning to its usual level.”

“In this case, how long did it take?”

“Approximately two hours.”

Jonah nodded. “I guess in a couple of days it'll be up to its
usual
usual level, 0.5 MLu, where it was before Pushkaric was dumped.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, QUALIA. You've cleared something up for me. I hope I haven't put you out too much.”

“Not at all. Have you found something?”

He hesitated, as though he wasn't really concentrating on what he was saying. “No, I don't think so. But it's always worth looking.”

SHE left Jonah to consider the data. Although SHE failed to see the point behind the request, it was good that he was thinking in a rational manner. The continuing memory seizures were obviously having no lasting effect; likewise, the simulation itself. At least he was doing more than focussing on his entrapment.

The hour over-time came and went. For a couple of minutes it seemed as though QUALIA's prediction of confrontation would fail to come to pass. Then, on the fourth minute, events flared up again.

“Word's got out,” announced Fabian Schumacher to the network in general. He added to a select few: “Disario's going to bust something
if she doesn't get an official explanation soon. Who the bloody hell told her?”

“I did,” said Herold Verstegen.

Schumacher turned on him. “That was not your decision to make.”

“On the contrary, Fabian. My conscience made it my decision.”

“You're not paid for your fucking
conscience
—” Schumacher spat, then regained his self-control. “
Why
did you tell her?”

“I cannot stand by and watch the MIU ruined by this experiment. In appealing to Chief Commissioner Disario's common sense, I hoped to force a decision that seems, to me, both obvious and belated.”

“You know it's not that simple, irrespective of who pays for what.” Schumacher shook his head as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “If we switch him off, we're saying he isn't alive. If we say he's alive, we can't switch him off. Whatever we do, we have to be careful.”

“Exactly,” said Verstegen, “so why not take the decision out of our hands and put it in the EJC's? It's their problem then, not ours. Let them take the blame—
and
pay the cost—if something goes wrong.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” said Trevaskis.

“Now there's a surprise,” Schumacher muttered. “QUALIA? What're your feelings on this?”

“I must side against you this time, sir. Jonah McEwen's well-being should not be allowed to interfere in the efficient operation of an EJC department.”

“Really?” Schumacher's surprise could not have been more evident.

“Yes, sir. I am sorry.”

Trevaskis, too, looked as though SHE had shocked him. “You changed your mind pretty fast,” he said. “Did I present that good an argument?”

“No, sir. I came to that conclusion on my own, after examining the evidence more closely.”

“Regardless of who convinced who,” said Verstegen, “are we any closer to consensus?”

“Closer, obviously,” growled Schumacher, “but you still have to convince
me.
I can overrule the lot of you, if I want to.”

“
Do
you, sir? If so, may I ask why?”

“Don't take that tone with me, Herold, and wipe that bloody smirk off your face. Nobody likes a smartarse.”

“Especially when they're right, sir.”

“It really would be the safest course of action, sir,” said QUALIA. “At this point in time, any other would be too controversial.”

Schumacher fumed silently for a moment. “All right. Someone—
not
you, Herold—call Disario and bring her up to date. Tell her KTI refuses to pay for the fuck-up, and that the MIU will shut McEwen down rather than continue to cause a fuss. If she can keep it quiet until we bring him out of cold storage, we'll avoid damaging publicity. If she can't guarantee us that, then she can go to hell.”

“Yes, sir,” said Trevaskis. “Shall I—?”

“Do it. I'll deal with RAFT.” Schumacher shook his head. “Christ.”

Trevaskis immediately broke the connection to carry out the order.

“That was the sensible decision,” said Verstegen.

“Damn you, Herold, I'm not finished. Consider yourself on probation. Go sneaking around behind my back again and you can start looking for your old job back. Only
this
time, don't think you'll find some bleeding-heart liberal prepared to overlook a fatal explosion or two, understood?”

Verstegen nodded, but said nothing. Schumacher plainly took that as acceptance, and ended the conversation.

“Thank you, QUALIA,” Verstegen said into the silence he left behind.

“For what, sir?”

“It went pretty much as I expected, that's all. Your support was pivotal. Now all that remains is for someone to make the announcement.”

He stared into the camera for a moment, then also killed the line.

Alone, SHE was content to rest for a moment, glad that a decision had finally been made, but already dreading the effect the news would have on some people. Jonah, in particular, would no doubt take it as further proof that his entrapment was the work of someone who wanted to keep him quiet, and that the person responsible was one of those who had voted in favour of the move. But that was clearly impossible. Of the four involved, Schumacher, Verstegen and Trevaskis lacked obvious motives and had unblemished alibis. None could be the Twinmaker; none had a reason to be; none therefore was.

The fourth member of the discussion SHE automatically excluded from suspicion.

Verstegen made the announcement while Jonah was in the midst of a memory seizure. That saved QUALIA the awkwardness of having to listen to his theory again. But it didn't, unfortunately, save her entirely from dissent.

“You're switching him
off
?” Marylin shouted, both aloud and via prevocals.

The intensity of the protest startled QUALIA into responding. SHE felt compelled to do so by another new feeling, one SHE could not immediately identify.

“Yes, I—” SHE stopped in mid-sentence, intending to summarise why the argument had fallen in favour of that decision but realising midway that SHE could not recall exactly how that argument had gone. “That is, Director Schumacher—”

“Yes?”

QUALIA was frozen by the accusing look on Marylin Blaylock's face. Was
that
what SHE was feeling? Could it possibly be
guilt?

SHE was saved once again from a moment of awkwardness—this time by an alert summoning QUALIA's attention elsewhere in the KTI network. Leaving an eikon behind to apologise to Blaylock, SHE headed immediately to the site of disturbance—where SHE found
something so unexpected that for a moment SHE did not truly believe QUALIA's diagnostic programs.

But it was true. Something had relaxed its grip on the Resurrection procedures required to bring Jonah back to life. His LSM could now be accessed. The crisis was over.

But why now?
QUALIA wondered, even as SHE quickly processed the information before orders could officially come from above to terminate the experiment.
What had happened to change the situation?

Jonah himself was philosophical when he awoke from the seizure and was told the news.

“Someone got what they wanted,” he said. “That's all that matters.”

SHE agreed. Things had worked out for the best. Jonah's existence was no longer in jeopardy; the MIU was no longer threatened; working relationships could return to normal. And SHE—

SHE could savour the surprisingly sweet feeling of relief while it lasted, certain that it would not be for long.

“
D
a nu ego na khuy!
”

“
Language
, Marylin.”

“Don't patronise me, Jason.” She turned on the MIU agent. “They would've killed him!”

“You don't know that—”

“Neither do they!”

“What does it matter? If he
had
died, we could've just Resurrected him again later.”

She couldn't meet Fassini's eye.
The comment was too close to that made by his own killer.
You have Resurrection. This is not murder.

“Maybe,” she muttered, her anger evaporating as quickly as it had come. They were sitting in a recessed stall not far from the Resurrection suite in which Jonah was supposed to be revived. News had just arrived that the sabotage had been overcome.

“Anyway,” Fassini said, “dying's not what it used to be. It's an occupational hazard, now.”

“That doesn't make it right.”

“No. It just changes the way we look at things. I don't mind dying as long as some good comes out of it. And in this case—well, maybe.”

She remembered that she was theoretically visiting
him
, not hanging around in order to be close when Jonah returned. Fassini had been Resurrected twelve hours ago. Although physically fit, he had not yet been released.

“How're you coping?”

“Fine. Once I've got through Triple-R counselling and proven that I'm not suffering from identity-shock or looking for revenge, I'll be out of here.”

“How long?”

“Usually a day or two. But I'm not going to sit around. I'm already off the
stup
and onto Phase Three Reorientation.”

She caught the argot for drugs. “They're much more strict here than I expected. I'm amazed they let me through.”

“Meeting friends face to face is recommended practice, I'm told. Keeps the ties to the real world strong, and helps everyone around the victim deal with his recovery.”

She nodded. It was odd to hear him using words she didn't normally associate with death:
victim of
and
recovery from.
Death was now something one could get over, an avoidable accident. But it was even more disturbing to hear him refer to himself in the third person—as “the victim,” as though he wasn't really himself. Maybe this was a
symptom of the identity crisis Resurrection counsellors feared. If it was, there was very little she could do to help him through it. Recovery was up to him alone.

On the heels of that thought came another. Every newly Resurrected person was given the chance to repeal legal reexistence. Although she couldn't understand why someone would do so, there was, in essence, little difference between an aborted Resurrection and the acts of the Twinmaker. Both involved taking copies from d-mat data then killing the copy. The only distinctions, perhaps, were that one was sanctioned by the EJC and that permission was always sought from the victim first.

“Jonah didn't have to go through all this,” she said.

“He's a special case.” Fassini looked wistful. “Half his luck.”

Activity in her workspace distracted her. “Hang on, Jason.”

It was Whitesmith. “Just had word from QUALIA. He's on his way.”

“About time. ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes. Trevaskis wants a rapid debriefing. I'm telling him not to get his hopes up because I doubt McEwen will want to, but I still have to ask. Can you come down here and help me negotiate? You talked him into the simulation in the first place; he'll listen to you.”

And look where it got him
, she wanted to say, but didn't. Whitesmith didn't like asking, that was for certain. “It wasn't my intention to talk him ‘into' anything, Odi. I only told him what I thought was right.”

“Whatever. Just do it for me again. He did ask for you before the simulation ended, if it makes you feel any better.”

It did, surprisingly. “Is that all he asked for?”

“Fassini as well. Don't know why. How's he doing, by the way?”

“Fine. Do you want me to—?”

“No. But let him know we might need him later. Will he be up to it?”

Marylin glanced at the MIU agent, who was dressed more formally than usual in a station jumpsuit and tapping restlessly on the arms of his chair. “I think so.”

“Good.”

“I'll be down soon.”

“Thanks, Marylin. And I'm sorry about before, by the way; I
was
overcompensating. From now on, you're on your own.” He smiled. “If we get through this in one piece, you'll be C-1 before you know it.”

She nodded vaguely and killed the line. Whitesmith's casual promise seemed to echo in the virtual silence.
C-1 before you know it.
It prompted an uncomfortable realisation.

“What's wrong?” Fassini asked. “You look like you've been hit by an icy-cold
vaffler.
”

“I've just had a thought,” she said.

“Oh? About?”

“About me. I'm not happy.”

“I didn't think you ever were.”

“I'm not happy
here
, Jason.” She stood. “But I used to be. Life wasn't supposed to be this serious.”

He stared up at her. “Dying doesn't make it any funnier.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“In every jest…” He lifted one shoulder. “I always thought I'd be able to avoid it if it happened to me, but I couldn't. It happened too fast. So you tell me: is knowing we have Resurrection worth the life we have to lead in order to get it?

“I don't know.” She'd thought it was, once.

“Everyone has a different answer to that question,” he said. “I guess I already know mine, although I reserve the right to change it at any time. You have that right, too. No one will think you're crazy for exercising it.”

Maybe, she thought, she'd be crazy if she
didn't.

Whitesmith was waiting for her outside Resurrection Suite 23.

“You look tired,” he said.

“You can talk,” she shot back. “If you don't get some sleep soon, we'll be hauling
your
arse out of here before long.”

He smiled. It looked ghastly. “Get your punches in while you can. You've got five minutes until the audience arrives and we have to be civil to each other.”

“At a stretch, we can probably manage it.” She indicated the closed door behind him. “Shall we?”

“When they let us. I don't think they like me much.”

“So let's talk.” She leaned next to him against the wall. “Have we learned anything from this little escapade?”

“Us? No, not really. Jonah? Hopefully. We'll only know when he tells us.”

“We've learned
something
, surely. We know that hot-wiring a human works, and that superimposition of this sort can be used to unlock memories frozen by InSight. That might come in handy if there are other people with Jonah's problem.”

“A few,” Whitesmith said. “You'd be surprised how many people manage to fuck up their own heads. Or have them fucked up for them.”

“There you go, then.”

“Learned nothing about the case is what I meant.”

“How about Indira? The autopsy results on the latest victim must be available by now. I haven't had a chance to look at them.”

“The usual stuff, more or less. Except—yes, you'll like this—you remember the sign that Jonah said used to be in his father's study?”

“There is no such thing as unnecessary death.
”

“That's the one. Apparently it's one of the weapons the Twinmaker used to torture her. Bashed her pretty bad, too. One of the corners has a distinct notch, an imperfection from when it was carved. Some of the injuries carry that mark. There's even—”

She raised a hand. “It's okay. The details can wait.”

“Anyway, she died from shock. We'll send a clone patrol tomorrow to check her out.”

“For what it's worth.”

“Right.” He ran a hand through close-cropped curls, then sniffed his fingers. “I really need a shower.”

She patted him on the shoulder, not bothering to contradict him. He didn't smell, but she understood the need to bathe. It had been the same in Quebec. A shower was a good substitute for sleep or home.

“Why don't—”

She was interrupted by the door opening behind them. A medical attendant looked out.

“He's arrived,” said the woman, her expression forbidding. “Can I assume that you intend to forgo the usual procedures?”

“You can assume whatever you like,” said Whitesmith, “as long as you let us in.”

Whitesmith went first. Marylin nervously followed him. This was the first time she'd actually seen someone emerge from the Resurrection apparatus. Although smaller and less complicated than she'd expected, basically a d-mat booth with a few extra touches lying on its back, its purpose made it seem doubly arcane.

“He's still not quite cohere,” said the intern, bending close over the coffin.

“Are you sure?” Marylin moved forward. “He could be having another memory seizure.” She too leaned in to look. Jonah's face was slack and blank. His expression revealed nothing to her, except that hers, if he even saw it, likewise meant nothing to him. “QUALIA, can you—?”

“Now that he is no longer hot-wiring,” said the AI, “I am unable to diagnose his mental condition with the same degree of accuracy. A medical cage will have to be installed before I can hazard a guess.”

“Could it be permanent?” she asked, trying not to think what they would do if Jonah had been brain-damaged by the experience.

“Unlikely,” said the intern. “He'll be with us before long.”

Jonah's eyes flickered open, and scanned the faces of the people bending over him. “Mary?”

“Déjà vu
, Jonah. We have to stop meeting like this.”

He sat up, or tried to. His movements were sluggish and clumsy. “Meeting…?” he echoed.

“That's okay.” She helped him upright. “I was joking.”

“I'm not.” He cleared his throat. “We need to have one. A meeting. Soon.”

“You should rest first.”

“No, it's important. I have to tell you all something.”

“Who?” she asked. Then, sensing Whitesmith nudging her from behind, she added: “What?”

He ignored the second question as though he hadn't heard it. “The whole gang: you, Whitesmith, Trevaskis, Verstegen, even Schumacher if you can get him. Face to face, and soon. No VTCs.”

“Why?”

“I know who killed my father.”

His eyes suddenly rolled up into his head and he sagged like a puppet. She grabbed him before he could bang his head on the edge of the coffin and, with the intern's help, managed to lie him on his back. With a whirr, the sides slid down and they were allowed greater access to his naked body.

The medical supervisor examined him closely. “If this man comes to any harm as a result of your intervention—”

“He won't,” Marylin said. “This is just a seizure. You can tell because his lips are moving.”

Whitesmith leaned over her shoulder to see. “Is he prevocalising anything?”

“Fragments only,” said QUALIA. “Very few distinguishable words.”

“Any names?”

“Several, including those of Marylin Blaylock, Lindsay Carlaw and Herold Verstegen. Yours too, Officer Whitesmith, and mine.”

“The whole gang,
” he quoted. “Except for Schumacher.”

Jonah stirred.

“I know who killed Lindsay,” he announced, then stopped, looking puzzled. “Did I say that already?”

“Yes. Why don't you just tell us now and—”

“Forget it, Whitesmith.” He sat up again. “Did I mention that I want to talk to Jason Fassini?”

“Yes, before you left the simulation.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good, Jonah?” Marylin asked.

“Because I need a gopher.”

“What can he do that I can't?”

“Nothing, Marylin, except swear with a smile on his face.” He slipped into a dressing gown handed to him by the intern. “You're too close, too canny. You're even too suspicious, if not suspicious
enough
in my opinion. He, on the other hand, may be a good agent, but he's no investigator. I'm safe using him. He won't second-guess me.”

“On what?”

He smiled. “You're going to have to wait too, I'm afraid. The walls have ears, as they say.”

She leaned back. “You're playing a game, aren't you? You want someone to sweat, and you think this is the best way to do it.”

His smile didn't change, but that was the only reply she got.

They had to use a wheelchair to take him to an empty recovery room. Barely had he reached his feet when another memory lapse knocked him out.

“This is going to be frustrating,” Whitesmith muttered.

“It's frustrating already.” Marylin let the intern and the attendant arrange Jonah in the chair then moved in to take control. They left the suite and its staff rapidly behind. “A more cynical person might think he was doing it deliberately.”