Kelley Eskridge (37 page)

“Ah, Segura,” she said. “You beat the
drop-dead time by two minutes. Don't ever stand me up again.”

Jackal resisted the urge to warble

no arrest today
. “I'm sorry, I
wasn't
checking e-mail. I didn't know about the appointment. Are we going to
have to do this after every aftershock?”

“Maybe.”

“Is that standard policy? I mean, if it
was, you'd have some people in here practically every day.”

“You're lucky you're not flat on your back
in an MRI scanner right now. These are exactly the kind of readings I
was waiting for. Now, would you like to tell me what happened to you in
there?”

Her heart began to slam. “Nothing unusual.
It was just like being in VC always is.”

“How's the job search going?”

Jackal bit the inside of her lip. “You
know I didn't get the job.”

The lids blinked briefly over the
disconcerting eyes. “That's too bad.”

“They found out about my conviction. I
assumed you told them.”

“No, I gave you a glowing reference. I
want you to have something you want to keep badly enough to trade for.
Well, you keep looking, make me proud.”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“Beep! Wrong answer. Would you like to try
again?”

Jackal sat mute while her heart tried to
crawl up her throat.

“That's okay. It's only a matter of time.
It's very interesting watching you try to put your life back together.
If you do, you'll finally have something to protect. And if you don't,
then you're going to need my help eventually. Either way, I'll be there
with my best listening face on. And it won't be so bad, you'll see.”

She grinned briefly and then turned her
attention back to her screen. Jackal counted silently to thirty.

Crichton looked up with her galactic eyes.
“Are you still here?”

She wanted to yell yes, I'm still here,
you manipulative ratfuck jerk! But she remembered her training and the
debit value of frustration in the long term. “No,” she said, biting
down on it, “I'm gone.”

Jackal enjoyed bringing Snow along Perdue
Street in the early evening, with the weight dropping from the faces of
the passersby as they made their ways home, voices calling children for
supper, the lighted windows framing people in moments of living. The
air was crisp and still, with a faint tang of salt as they turned down
Marginal Way and drew closer to the canal. As they passed Estar's gate
Jackal said, “I don't know if I told you that Estar Borja is a friend
of mine. She lives here.”

“Here's another friend,” she said a minute
later as they approached the counter in Solitaire. Scully gave Jackal a
piercing look when she introduced Snow, and then clasped Snow's hand
gently and said, “How wonderful that you came.” It seemed they liked
each other right away.

Scully already had Jackal's beer on the
counter: Snow squinched her mouth at the taste, and Scully asked, “Do
you eat lobster?”

Snow nodded, a little uncertain.

“What's your favorite fruit?”

“Satsuma oranges.”

“And your favorite color?”

“White.”

He took a bottle of golden wine from the
refrigerator and poured a glass. “Try this.” Snow sniffed at it
suspiciously, looked at Scully, tasted, and gave him a delighted smile.

“Never fails,” he said smugly. “First
glass is on the house.”

It was a slow evening and everyone seemed
relaxed about their food and drink, so Scully had time to keep the
tables bussed, and paused every so often to talk. He asked smart
questions about Snow's work, and laughed at her jokes.

“Everyone's watching us,” Snow commented
at one point.

“Jackal has a habit of exploding people's
expectations of solo behavior,” Scully said with a grin. “I've already
had at least two watchers summon up the gumption to ask me who you are.
None of them have the nerve to ask why you're getting the red-carpet
treatment from a solo.”

“What have you told them?” Jackal asked.

“That if they want to know who she is,
they should ask you.” He laughed. “It seems to be an effective
deterrent.”

When he was not there, Jackal and Snow
drank and ate hummus and pita bread, and talked about Snow's day at the
plant, about Crichton and her monster eyes.

“Why did she want to see you?”

It was the sort of innocent question that
needed an hour's worth of answer: Jackal mentally bellied up to the bar
and started in. “Because I had something called an aftershock, and I
have to go in after the happens.” She held up a hand to forestall the
next question. “Before I tell you what an aftershock is, I need to
explain what VC is like.”

Snow put on her now-we're-getting-to-it
expression, and Jackal began.

It took more than an hour because Snow
wanted to go back and ask about the screening process, and poke at the
link to Garbo. “It's really sick that they would put you as a
participant into this program that you'd been leading.”

“I don't think the program people have any
idea about that. No one here does.”

She also told Snow about the nasty mess
that she'd caused with her interview at the gallery. “They'll spread it
all over the community. I won't be able to get a return e-mail from
these people, never mind an interview. I guess they're afraid I'll take
them all to dinner at the top of the Hengler Building and throw them
off the balcony.”

Snow looked startled, either by Jackal's
words or the bitterness behind them. Then she sat up straighter and
applied herself to the issue. It only took her a minute to say, “You're
a project manager. Go get a project.”

“I've been trying to get a project.”

“No, you've been trying to get a job.”

“What's the—” Jackal stopped. If Snow
thought it was different, then it was. She put it into a mental corner
where it could ferment for a while, while Snow wandered up to the bar
for more hummus. Jackal stared at the tabletop and tried to work out
what to do. She had not told Snow any details of her time in VC, only
about the technology and the cell itself, and then about the early
reclamation and her life since then—judiciously edited to exclude
Crichton's bloodhounding. What if Crichton decided to pressure Snow for
the information she wanted? Better that Snow know nothing: Jackal would
just have to keep that secret. But it made her anxious.

She watched Snow now at the counter
chatting with Scully, politely making room for a solo as if she'd been
here a thousand times. Then a shadow fell across the table, and Jackal
looked up as Estar took the seat across from her.

“There you are.” Estar seemed particularly
alive tonight, her face alight and attentive and slightly amused, as if
she had some piece of special news reserved for exactly the right
moment. She wore black trousers and boots, and a soft jade-green tunic
that curled around her body when she moved. “Jane and I were here last
night to see you, but you were absent. I imagined the mugger or the
wayward bus, but I see that you are fine.” She noticed Snow's glass and
picked it up, sniffed at it and then took a sip. “Pah,” she said, “tell
me this isn't yours. Who would drink this?”

“I would. It's good, actually,” Snow said
from behind Jackal. Estar's head came up sharply and she raised an
eyebrow. “Then this would be your seat.”

“Yes.”

Estar relaxed farther into the chair. She
said to Jackal, “And who is this beautiful girl,

chacalita
?
A new friend?”

Oh, wonderful, Jackal thought, Estar picks
the perfect time to become jealous. “This is Snow, from Ko. From my
real life.

Mi amada
.” Oof, her
internal voice said, the “real life” remark probably isn't the best
choice of words. And now Snow was looking at Jackal speculatively.
Jackal didn't blame her: it was a bit of a mixed signal to call someone
your beloved in public and send her off alone to a hotel when no one
was looking. But at this awkward moment, Jackal understood that she had
not erased her love for Snow. It wasn't that simple. Perhaps what she
had scoured away in VC was her capacity for daily love, the dozen
hourly acts of will that bound people together; she did not know if
this new Jackal could build those links. And that meant she didn't know
if she and Snow could be together; at this moment, it certainly seemed
a bad bargain for Snow.

Nevertheless, she caught Snow's hand in
hers to put the public seal on it. Don't you be mean to her, she
thought to Estar: if I have to choose, this is the way it will go.

“I see,” Estar said, and stood gracefully.
She put an elegant hand out to Snow and drew her into the chair. “Snow.
A perfect name. And I am Estar.”

“It's Estar's house we passed on the way
here,” Jackal said.

“Yes, of course. And Jackal tells me
you're an artist.”

Estar smiled. “Among other things. Would
you like to see some of my work? Chacal, fetch me something rich and
red. Snow, come with me.” She pulled Snow up again and toward the back
of the room. Snow put on her best good-manners face and followed
without resisting.

Jackal shook her head and strolled up to
the counter, barely registering the way the tourists crowded back to
give her room. “Another beer?” Scully said over his shoulder from the
grill.

“Yes, and whatever you think Estar would
like.”

“What did she ask for?”

“Rich and red.”

“Oh, she's feeling dramatic.”

Jackal snorted. “She's always dramatic.”

Scully nodded to concede the point.
“Still, you know how she can get herself into trouble with people. Is
Jane here?”

“I don't know.”

“She should be. Estar has to stop sneaking
off on her.”

“I'll find out.”

She carried the beer and Estar's wine back
to the table and panned the crowd until she spotted Estar, one arm
lightly resting on Snow's back, pointing out the various panels in the
mural. Jackal sat and sipped her beer until they returned, Estar
touching Snow gently and possessively—fingers laid briefly on her
wrist, or a soft bump of Estar's shoulder against Snow's arm as they
moved through the room that was becoming more crowded now, warmer and
louder.

Jackal found a chair for Estar and placed
the wine in front of her. “Thank you,” Estar said dismissively, and
then turned her full attention back to Snow. Snow's face was impassive,
but Jackal could see the amusement deep in her eyes and in the slight
curve of her mouth. I know her, Jackal thought; it's so good to know
someone again. She winked at Snow behind Estar's back and kept sipping
as she listened to their conversation. Estar was being charming, and
Snow was being polite, but she wasn't giving much back.

“What's wrong?” Jackal said when Estar
left the table for the bathroom.

“She's absolutely fascinating and very
smart, and she's a loon,” Snow said flatly. “A loon on a timer. One day
soon—” she extended both hands, fingers fanned out, and mimed a
mushroom cloud.

“She's already done that. You read about
her on the web.”

“She's not finished.”

“I think she's different now. VC did
something to her. She's always been fine with me, although everyone
here is shit scared of her.”

“I'm not surprised.”

Jackal felt oddly defensive of Estar.
“She's been kind to me, Snow. She and Scully are the only people I've
met in this whole city that I can talk to. I recognize that they're a
little nonstandard, but so am I now.”

“I see that you've changed, if that's what
you mean.”

She didn't want to ask, but she had to.
“What do you see?”

“You really want to talk about this?”

Jackal nodded, because she did not have
enough breath to speak. Of course she didn't: she was sure that most of
the news was bad. But the best kind of knowing went both ways: Snow
understood her better than anyone.

Snow ran a finger around the rim of her
glass, marshalling her thoughts. When she returned her focus to Jackal,
she was wearing her looking-under-rocks expression.

“You drink more than you used to, but you
don't seem to enjoy it as much. Tonight, in here, is the first time
I've seen you move with your old confidence. I don't understand your
body signals anymore; I can't tell when you do or don't want to be
touched. It seems like much of your passion, your enthusiasm, is in a
box somewhere in a back room. It's hard to know whether that's because
you don't have your work to bring it out right now, or whether it's the
price of all those secrets you're keeping so hard. You're
compartmentalizing yourself. If you keep doing it, then you're right
about us—we won't make it.” She put up a hand to stop Jackal speaking.
“I know you haven't said that, but it's perfectly obvious. You still
show everything on your face. But you're so guarded that it's hard to
ask about things when they show.” She reached across the table and took
Jackal's hand. “I wish you'd let me help you. I wish you'd tell me what
was going on last year and what really happened in VC. I'm not someone
you have to hide from. I'm not going to judge you. God, Jackal, of all
the people in the world, I'm the one who isn't going to punish you—”

Estar appeared from the crowd and put a
hand on Snow's shoulder. “You both look entirely too serious.”

“We really—”

“We must spend more time together
someplace where we can talk uninterrupted. My home, perhaps. Snow, you
will agree?”

“It's up to Jackal.”

Jackal asked, “Where's Jane?”

“She is home already.”

“Why don't we walk you home if you're
ready to go,” Jackal offered, mindful of Scully's concern. She added to
Snow. “Then maybe we can go back to my place and talk some more about
this.” Snow gave her a beautiful smile.

At her gate, Estar turned and said,
“You'll come in for a glass of wine? Snow, I want to show you the
picture I told you about, the one of Mondarruego.”