Metal Fatigue (2 page)

"He'll cope."

"I guess he'll have to." She looked around. "Are you going to tell me where we are, or — ?"

He hushed her with a finger to his lips. "Wait until he arrives. Then he can explain."

They scanned the room to pass the time. Kennedy no longer boasted a decadent social set, but this crowd wouldn't have been part of it even if it had. Roads recognised a number of people, several matching records in the city's Most Wanted datapool. It was almost as if all the riff-raff of Kennedy Polis had gathered for a quick drink before venturing out into the night to pursue their regular activities. A disconcerting number were young — from teenagers to mid-twenties — reflecting the city's growing youth crime problem.

"If only I had my gun," whispered Barney. "Isn't that Danny Chong, the bounty-hunter?"

Roads nodded. "It is, but forget it. This is neutral territory. No-one has jurisdiction in here."

"Except 'the Head'?"

"Right. And I shouldn't have to add that we're outnumbered as well."

"Point taken. As long as the restriction works both ways, I'll keep quiet."

"It does." He was glad she understood. Barney wasn't stupid, but she was still young. At his age, he tended to forget about justice and aim for workable compromises instead.

He was about to point out another celebrity of the underworld when a third voice from within the cubicle cleared its throat and spoke:

"Would you care for a conversation?"

They turned to face a holographic image of the head of a man in his late forties. The head was bald and angular, somehow twisted from true; the nose in particular was obviously crooked. Its lips curled with wry amusement.

The head floated in the air one centimetre above the table-top. Barney's gasp of astonishment was clearly audible.

"The cost for my time is negotiable," the head continued, radiating dubious goodwill. "It can be debited from your R&R account or settled in cash. Whichever you prefer."

"Really?" Roads settled back into the chair. He doubted that the first option was accepted very often; the Rations and Resources transaction could be too easily traced, for both patron and establishment. Although the alternative, cash money, had only recently reappeared in the city, as a result of the latest downgrade of the R&R commerce network, unofficial currencies had always circulated through the underground economy.

Barney reached out to touch the hologram, as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her hand passed through it unimpeded.

"What is it?" she hissed to Roads.

"I am a computer-generated psychogenic template," said the hologram before he could reply. "A simulated personality, if you like, provided for nothing more than your entertainment."

"But — "

"My existence is highly illegal. I can assure you of that." The head grinned, obviously enjoying her discomfort. Hardware sophisticated enough to generate real-time holograms hadn't been used in decades for anything as frivolous as entertainment.

Roads leaned forward to butt in. "Quit playing games, Keith. I haven't got all night."

The head froze in mid-expression, caught between a frown and the beginning of a word, like a movie in mid-frame. An instant later it returned to life. Although its grey features hadn't changed, Roads detected a subtle difference, a nuance of facial tension that suggested another, quite separate personality.

"Ah, yes," said the head, tilting in acknowledgment. "I apologise for the previous personality. A simple ruse to affirm your identity."

"And you are?"

"Tut-tut, Phil. It hasn't been that long, has it?"

"No, but it pays to be sure."

"Quite so, for both of us."

Roads felt the pressure of eyes upon him, and belatedly turned to his companion.

"Keith, I'd like you to meet my assistant, Barney Daniels. Barney, this is Keith Morrow."

Her eyes widened.

"Pleasure," said the Head, bowing at the neck. Not just 'a head', but
the
Head.

She stared at the hologram, then at Roads. "
The
Keith Morrow?"

"At your service."

"Oh my God."

Roads knew what Barney was thinking. Keith Morrow was on the city's
other
Most Wanted list, the one the general public didn't see. There was no physical description for anyone on that list, just a tally of suspected crimes against the city — including conspiracy, murder, and resource misappropriation. Standing orders were not to arrest, but to 'decommission'. In Morrow's case, in all the years Barney had been on the force, no Regional Security Department officer had come close to doing either.

Barney's hand slipped down to the radio in her pocket.

"Don't." Roads reached across the table to stop her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bouncers hovering. "This isn't a bust."

Her eyes flashed. "Then what is it?"

"A very bad pun," said Morrow, looking pained. "I am a businessman, my dear, not a petty criminal. Ask Phil. Just a smuggler with connections, I swear."

"Hoarding is still illegal," she protested.

"It is, yes, for the moment. These are desperate times. I do what I can to survive, and no more, until the day when I am no longer considered to be a criminal."

"On those charges only."

"On all charges. I do not prey on the weak; only the strong."

She hesitated, but her hand remained in her coat. "Phil?"

"Trust me," he repeated. "I'm not bent, if that's what's worrying you."

"Alas," rued the Head. "How true."

"And besides," Roads went on, "we couldn't arrest him if we wanted to."

"Why not?"

Morrow smiled. "Because I'm dead, my dear, that's why not. I died over fifty years ago."

"That's impossible — "

"'Impossible' is a ridiculous word." Morrow rolled his eyes. "You children of the Dissolution are all the same. You have difficulty accepting the fact that the present is not representative of the past. Many things that once could be done cannot be done now. That is all, my dear."

Barney still floundered. "I don't understand."

"No," said Morrow. "And therein lies the difference between us."

"I'll explain later," said Roads, leaning over the table to place a hand on her arm. "We've got more important things to talk about at the moment."

Barney nodded dumbly, casting a
What the hell have you got me into?
look back at him.

Their drinks arrived at that moment via a trapdoor in the rear of the cubicle. Roads put his in one corner of the table, away from the flickering hologram. Barney drank half of hers in one gulp.

Roads reached into a pocket, produced a cigarette and a lighter. He lit up and took a deep, sour breath.

"I need your help," he said to Morrow, getting down to business.

"I guessed as much." The Head rotated to face him.

"How much do you know?"

"That you have a serious problem. I'm glad it's you and not me, no offence."

"Thanks. Are you going to help me?"

"That depends. Are
you
going to help me?" Morrow countered.

"If I can."

"How?"

"I don't know. Put in a good word, perhaps."

"That won't be necessary. I have something more concrete in mind."

"Tell me."

"First, the problem," said Morrow. "You've got a thief to catch. And a killer too."

"How much do you know?"

"Enough. Since the first of August, there have been thirty break-ins and eighteen political assassinations within the city — all of them unsolved. The bulletin boards think that both series of crimes were performed by one and the same person, although RSD is treating them as separate matters entirely. No-one has given the killer a nickname yet, but the thief has been dubbed 'the Mole'. What little evidence you have in either case is inconclusive. In particular, the identikit pictures of the Mole are ... how do I put this? ...
interesting
." Morrow smiled apologetically. "You can't blame me for having been suspicious of you, at first."

"No, I don't." In the six weeks the Mole had been operating, RSD had learned only one thing about him: that he looked exactly like Roads. After the first break-in, Roads had been on suspension until he could prove his alibi; he didn't like remembering the experience. "Is that all you've found out?"

"Absolutely not, my friend. I know that the murders were of highly placed officials who actively supported the Reassimilation Bill. Mayor Packard is down-playing the political motive behind the killings, but the thought of joining the Reunited States of America has obviously ruffled someone's feathers. I know security has been upped at Mayor's House, and another hundred officers have been drafted from RSD to help with the arrival of General Stedman on Tuesday." The Head winked. "I'm sure that's ruffled still more feathers downtown. Or have RSD and the MSA finally reached a consensus that I'm not aware of?"

Roads didn't dignify the comment with a reply, although it certainly hit home. RSD had evolved during the Dissolution from a small, privately-owned security company. Kennedy's former police department and a small Army garrison had been combined to form the Military Services Authority. While RSD officers patrolled the streets and maintained civil law, the MSA's main task had originally been to keep external forces out of the city. In recent years, however, the MSA's authority had been extended to cover many matters dealing with the city's internal safety — a fact many old-hand RSD officers, including Roads, resented.

Roads put aside the cigarette and leaned forward. "Go on."

"The thief is another kettle of fish," Morrow said, his face sobering. "And the one you're after in particular — the Mole, rather than the assassin. That's been your assignment for the last six weeks. But you've had no luck thus far, and I can well see why."

"Oh?"

"Of course. The thefts were not of valuable items that would reappear later, as the b-boards depict them, but of information concerning RSD resources, movements of the MSA, reactor status and population figures, among other things. Correct?"

"Yes." The MSA break-in tended to overshadow the other thefts, but Roads knew them all by heart.

Morrow went on: "It's hard to see why anyone would bother stealing this data at all. There's so much of it, for a start, and of such variety. Who could possibly find a use for it all?"

"That's what we've been trying to determine." Roads leaned back into the seat, away from Morrow's probing stare. "As you say, the evidence is nonexistent, and the few suspects we've uncovered all had alibis. Motive is all that's left, and it's getting us nowhere."

"So you've finally come to me for help," Morrow said, the suggestion of a grin at the corners of his mouth. "Do you suspect that I am involved, perhaps?"

"No," Roads said. "You could break into any system you wanted without sending in the heavies."

"Exactly. The computer sciences employed by this city are not what they used to be." A fleeting regret clouded the Head's face, almost as though he missed the challenge.

"They're still not exactly easy to break into," said Barney irritably. "Whoever the Mole is, he knows what he's doing."

"True," the Head conceded. "So it would seem."

"I'm hoping you might have heard something," Roads prompted. "A rumour, anything."

"If I had, I would tell you for free."

"Does that mean you haven't?" Roads tried to keep the disappointment from showing.

"Not exactly." Morrow hesitated. "But it's strange," he said. "I thought you would have guessed by now."

"What?" asked Barney.

"Let's study the Mole's behaviour, shall we? He works under the cover of darkness, often three or four nights in a row. He is a meticulous professional, and he works alone. He does not socialise or talk to others, for, if he did, someone would surely have seen him doing so by now."

"We know this, Keith," Roads said.

"Yes, but have you ever stopped to ask yourself what he
does
do on his nights off?"

He had, frequently. "I've got a feeling you're going to tell me."

"Exactly. And the time has come for me to ask for that favour in return."

"Go ahead."

"It's quite simple," Morrow said. "I too want you to catch the Mole."

Roads performed a mental double-take. "You what?"

"I want you to catch him, for even I am not immune to this invisible thief. On every night the Mole has not been robbing you, he has been locking horns with me. And winning, I should add."

Roads almost laughed at the Head's expression. It must have hurt Morrow plenty to even contemplate asking an RSD officer for help, albeit that Roads had come to him first.

Barney shook her head. "Shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

"What have you lost?" asked Roads.

"Not much. Invoices, inventories, securities, private records. I get the feeling the Mole is simply testing my defences, waiting until he's ready to pull off the big one."

"Have you kept a record of what he took?"

"Naturally, and of the time each break-in occurred. Like you, I have been unable to determine a pattern."

"Regardless ... I need your data."

"And you shall have it. But only you, not the entire Regional Security Department."

"You have my word. They don't even know we're here."

"Good."

The trapdoor opened in the back of the booth, revealing a data fiche the size and shape of an old smart card. Roads gently picked it up and pocketed it, keen to study it but trying not to raise his hopes too high. The revelation, unexpected thought it was, might still lead nowhere.

Morrow had closed his eyes, and appeared to be thinking to himself. Roads looked at Barney, who shrugged. He waited as long as he could before breaking the silence.

"I don't suppose you have a card reader here, Keith?" he asked. "I want to get started on this right away."

Morrow's eyes snapped open. "Of course; you must be keen to explore the depth of my vulnerability. But not right now. I have other work for you to do."

"Oh?" Roads said cautiously.

"Yes. The time is two-fifteen. You are still here, which I take to mean that you have not received a report from RSD HQ regarding the latest robbery."