The Resurrected Man (45 page)

“If he was in your shoes, you mean?”

“No. Cynicism isn't the same thing as paranoia. Jonah is, in his own peculiar way, something of an optimist.”

“Really? Not that I've seen.”

“Well, it's hardly been the right circumstances, and I did say he was peculiar.”

Whitesmith glanced at her. “You're doing it again. Defending him.”

“Maybe.” She squeezed the handles of the wheelchair as tight as she could. “He's not really in any position to look after himself.”

“Don't bet on it.”

Jonah jerked awake. “Shit! That was a bad one.”

“I'm here if you want to talk about it,” she said. “Or there are counsellors.”

“Not yet.” He shook his head violently, as though clearing out water. “Have you spoken to the others?”

“Who?”

“Trevaskis, Geyten, Schumacher—”

“Not yet.”

“Well, don't leave it too long. I want to get this out of the way. But first—no, wait, I have to tell you something I might have forgotten before. The meeting needs to be in my unit, where it all started. That's the only place I can be sure we'll have complete privacy.”

“In
Faux
Sydney? But—”
That's so far away
, she'd been about to say. Protestations of distance and inconvenience held little water in a world containing d-mat. “It'll be hard to get Schumacher.”

“I'd like him there if he can make it, but it won't kill me if he can't.”

“Does that mean he's innocent?” asked Whitesmith.

“Does asking that mean you've wondered about him?” Jonah replied. “No clues. You'll have to wait and see. All of you.”

Marylin could practically hear Whitesmith bite his tongue. “You were going to say something else, Jonah. What was that?”

“Fassini. I really do need to see him beforehand. How soon can we arrange that?”

“Well, he's not far away. He was Resurrected twelve hours before you and is still going through counselling.”

“He was?” Jonah looked surprised, then appalled as he realised. “Oh god, yes—of course. I'd forgotten that. If you think I shouldn't bother him—”

“We can work around that.” She opened a channel in her workspace while she pushed the wheelchair. Fassini answered immediately. He was on his way moments later.

“How's the other one—Lon Kellow?”

“Taking it slowly, the last I heard.”

They arrived at the recovery room. It was empty, Marylin having requested that Fassini wait outside to give them a chance to settle.

“I need a pen and piece of paper,” Jonah said. The sterile, pastel-coloured room contained little more than a desk and a handful of chairs.

“A pen?” she echoed.

“Or a pencil. Something to write with, and on.”

She glanced at Whitesmith, who shrugged. He turned to go looking for what Jonah had requested, muttering: “It'll be an abacus next.”

When they were alone, Marylin pulled up a chair and sat opposite Jonah.

“How're you feeling?” she asked him, studying his face.

“Honestly?” He held out his hands; they were shaking. “Wired. Dosed. Tilted.
Geil.
Take your pick.”

“Why?”

His eyes flickered in a pointless attempt to see if anyone was watching or listening in. “Because I
know
, Marylin. Trust me. We'll get this sonofabitch yet.”

“I hope so,” she said. “Because I really need a break from all this.”

“That I can understand. I need to ask you a favour, too.”

“You can ask.”

“As soon as I have the pen and paper, I'm going to write a note to Fassini. If I black out midway—”

“You want me to promise not to read it?”

“No, I wouldn't do that. I just want you to keep quiet about it. Don't say anything or do anything differently, if you can. Let it happen the way I want it to. Otherwise—” He looked even more uncomfortable. “Otherwise, we won't have any evidence to speak of, and the killer will walk free.”

“Which one?” she asked. “Your father's murderer or the Twinmaker?”

He shook his head, infuriatingly reticent. “Promise me.”

“I can't promise anything but to do what I can.”

“Thanks.”

There was movement in the open doorway.

“I found these.” Whitesmith handed Marylin a sketch pad and pencil. “They belong to one of the interns. We have to give them back afterwards.”

Marylin passed them to Jonah, who nodded gratefully.

“Jason Fassini is out here,” Whitesmith went on. “Shall I—?”

“Not yet.” Jonah wheeled himself closer to the table. “We'll call when we're ready. Any luck with the invitation list?”

Whitesmith opened his mouth, then closed it. Marylin threw him an expression of pained apology as he took the hint, backed out the way he had come and closed the door after him.

Jonah had settled at the table and was already writing on a piece of paper, shielding the page carefully with one hand.

“When everything's organised,” he said without looking up, “I'm going to need a moment or two on my own. Nowhere special; here will be fine. Fifteen minutes should be enough.”

She resisted the temptation to peek at what he was writing. “You're asking for an awful lot of favours, Jonah.”

He raised his head for a second then returned to the task. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“Do you really know what you're doing?”

“Yes.”

“Why won't you tell me?”

“Because you won't like it.”

Something in his voice warned her not to pry, but she couldn't help herself. “Am I in any danger?”

“Yes and no. Both of us are.”

“How?”

He shook his head in frustration. “Maybe you should help Whitesmith organise the meeting in
Faux
Sydney. I'd really like to get this under way soon. The quicker we can all agree on a time—”

He stopped in mid-sentence and sagged nose-down onto the page.

She tried to rearrange him into a more comfortable position, noting how solid he was under the robe compared to when she had first seen him in the bath, days ago. She caught only a glimpse of what he had written on the page; the rest was obscured by his head. What she could see had something to do with SciCon.

Mindful that if she could see it prying eyes might too, she arranged the sleeve of the robe to cover the rest of the page. She didn't know if he was doing the right thing, but she
did
know that she could either support him or defy him. She couldn't do both.

“Will he be okay like that, QUALIA?”

“Yes, Marylin. I have instructed his overseer to see to his well-being when it can or to summon help when it cannot. At some point I would like to examine him in detail to ensure that his InSight-affected tissues have not been traumatised by the superimposition.”

“You'll have to ask him when he wakes up.” She bent down to look at his slightly flattened face. A thin line of saliva led from his twitching lips onto the page. She thought he might be saying her name, but she couldn't be sure.

The door opened behind her, and she jumped.

“Sorry, Marylin.” It was Fassini, just his head visible. “Officer Whitesmith asked me to check on you. It was too quiet in here, if you know what I mean.”

She did. The room was soundproof. “Wait outside, Jason. Not much longer, I hope.”

He nodded once and backed out.

Taking too long
.

She put a hand on Jonah's shoulder, intending to see if he would respond to a gentle shake, and he suddenly started awake.

“Holy
—” They retreated from each other like startled rattlesnakes. He touched a hand to his eyes, then remembered the page in front of him and turned it over. “Holy
hell,
” he said. “That's what Lindsay used to say when something went wrong. I never understood it as a kid, but then, religion was always a mystery to me.”

“Was that what the flashback was about?”

“No, not really. I was watching an old recording from my childhood. It was late one night not long after he died. I think I'd been drinking.” He rubbed his temples with one hand. “Felt like it, anyway.”

She nodded at the page. “Can you finish this now?”

“Yes. Leave me alone and I'll get it done more quickly.”

She backed away and left him to it. She sought out Whitesmith via her workspace. He was busy with another call, but not for long.

“It's turning out to be surprisingly easy,” he said. “Indira's in, of course, and Jago. Verstegen too. We might even have Schumacher, if we can fit it into his schedule.”

“How soon are we looking?”

“There's a window in an hour.”

Her stomach turned. “That's soon.”

“I know. No one's happy about losing the half-hour to go to
Faux
Sydney, but they'll do it if they have to. With security, of course. I'm sending a team in to double-check the grounds now.”

“Now
you're
being paranoid.”

“I know, but with everyone in the same spot, more vulnerable than they would be up here, it might pay to be. The Twinmaker likes a scene, in case you hadn't noticed.”

She grunted, and Jonah looked up.

“Almost done,” he said, bending back to the page to write another line, then straightening up in the seat. He folded the page in two before she had even a chance to see how much he had written. “There. You can send in Fassini.”

“Hear that?” she asked Whitesmith.

“Got it.”

The door opened to admit the recently Resurrected agent.

Marylin stood. “I'll leave you two alone, if you like.”

“It won't make any difference,” Jonah said.

“Regardless. I think I need a break from playing nurse.” She headed for the door. Fassini waved her through. It shut silently behind her.

Outside, Odi Whitesmith stood waiting. He looked up as she approached.

“Are we getting somewhere, or is he just taking us for a ride?”

“He certainly thinks he knows what he's doing,” she said.

“No guarantees, in other words.”

“No.”

“Schumacher's agreed,” he said. “If we're wasting his time—”

“He's not stupid, Odi. He'll know this is a long shot. In fact,” she added, the thought only hitting her then, “the fact that he's agreed so readily might tell us something.”

Whitesmith cocked an eyebrow. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“I'm not saying anything, except maybe we shouldn't write Jonah off just yet. If he really
does
know what he's doing—”

“Then I for one will be pleasantly surprised. And someone else,
too, no doubt—somewhat
less
pleasantly.” He smiled at the thought. “It's all so desperately Agatha Christie, isn't it?”

“Do you really think the Twinmaker might be one of us?”

“I guess so. Doesn't seem much point to it, otherwise.”

She nodded.
Desperate
—yes, that was exactly the right word.

The door opened and Fassini emerged.

“He's passed out again,” said the agent. “Should we—?”

“No,” Marylin said. “QUALIA will keep an eye on him.” The AI didn't respond, but she assumed e had heard. “How did it go?”

“Well, I think. I told him what you were organising, Officer Whitesmith, and he seemed pleased.”

Whitesmith made a sound that Marylin couldn't interpret.

“Did he give you the note?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

“Yes.”

“Have you read it?”

“Yes.”

“I know he's asked you to do something for him. Will you do it?”

For the third time, looking uncomfortable, Fassini said: “Yes.”

“When?”

“Later. Look, Marylin, you'd be best not to worry about it.”

“But I do.”

“Well, don't. It's no big deal. At least,” he added, puzzled, “I can't see how it could be.”

That puzzled her, too, until she remembered what Jonah had said in the simulation—that he couldn't even talk to anyone without the Twinmaker overhearing. That was true in Artsutanov Station, too. Hence the elaborate procedure with the pencil and paper, shielding the words he wrote from anyone's view, possibly asking Fassini to track down the information he himself was unable to find. But what was the advantage of passing the buck to Fassini? The Twinmaker would know something was going on, and would watch the agent just as closely as he watched Jonah.

The information Jonah wanted might have seemed irrelevant to Fassini, but that was only because he didn't have the other pieces required to complete the puzzle.

No doubt it would make sense once they were combined in
Faux
Sydney.

No doubt
…She had rediscovered her confidence in him, it seemed. That was encouraging, although it in no way made up for the disadvantaged position she found herself in. She hated being dependent on anyone, on any level. Especially when there was so much at stake.

The voice of QUALIA intruded on her thoughts.

“Jonah wishes to know the anticipated time for the meeting in
Faux
Sydney.”

“0600 Goliath time,” Whitesmith said. “It'll be confirmed in a moment or two.”

“He will be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

“Why doesn't he tell me this himself?”

“He has temporarily deactivated his overseer and requested that I have sole access to sensors within the recovery room.” The AI sounded mildly amused at Jonah's ultra-cautious behaviour. “He also requests that no one be allowed to use the booth in the unit itself. Even he will come via the nearest public rank.”

“Whatever.” The quick shake of Whitesmith's head expressed as much bemusement as annoyance. “Just tell him to hurry the fuck up.”

“I will pass on your sentiments, sir.” QUALIA paused. “Excuse me. There is another matter that demands my attention.”