Tears in Rain (31 page)

“Because he’s the only one who seems to know what to do in these times of danger and insanity. Because we’re condemned to disaster at the hands of a government of useless replickers. Because like all good people, I can see the abyss into which we’re headed if we don’t remedy the situation. Because I want to collaborate in the defense of the human race, which is what’s at stake, nothing more, nothing less,” she railed emphatically.

And then, in a moment of absolute inspiration, she added, “Because I don’t want to leave any future child of mine with the legacy of a corrupt, perverted, heinous world.”

And she smiled her most maternal and helpless smile.

Bruna-Annie’s fiery speech seemed to have some sort of an impact on the man, who scratched his chin hesitantly—or, rather, the implants in his chin, which made his jaw look more manly and powerful. Under the soft skin of his arms, his silicon biceps moved up and down like tennis balls. But all the same, he still wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Sure. And you suddenly turn up here from nowhere, saying all these lovely words, and you want us to believe you. Where
have you come from? Who the hell are you? I’ve never seen you around here, nor at any of our events.”

“I was born in the Britannic region, but I live in New Barcelona. Here, I’m transmitting my ID number to you. Three days ago I took part in a supremacist demonstration and the police arrested me for assaulting a rep. They finally let me go for lack of evidence. But I’m a university professor and I can’t afford this sort of thing or they’ll fire me from the university. You know how strict they are about these things. That’s why I’ve come to Madrid to offer my assistance. Better to be active here and live in New Barcelona. So the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing.”

The man agreed.

“But you don’t need to see Hericio to collaborate with the cause. I’m Serra, one of his deputies. Won’t I do?”

Bruna tried to look like a pussycat, softening her usual tiger look as much as possible. Her cheek padding helped because it rounded her mouth and made her look insipid.

“I’m delighted I wasn’t wrong; I knew you were someone important. I could tell. However, I still have to speak to Hericio. Because I’m thinking of making a donation to the party. I know you’re in a period covered by an FP. Well, I want to give some money to the cause. But I want to be certain that Hericio is all he makes himself out to be. That we’re inspired by the same ideas.”

Serra nodded his head. The talk of money seemed to resolve all his doubts.

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Where can I find you?”

“I’ll be at the Majestic Hotel. But only for three days.”

“I’ll get back to you,” he said.

And he walked away, his tennis balls wobbling like jelly with each step.

Bruna noticed they were following her as soon as she hit the street. She had assumed that they’d tail her and she tried to make it easy, because the tail, one of the boys who had been with the
man in the vest, was not at all good. He was so clumsy that she was almost tempted to ring Lizard so he could give him a few pointers on how to tail someone without being seen.

She entered the Majestic and asked for a room as Annie Heart. The hotel was from the middle of the twenty-first century but had recently been replastered and converted into a lower-range establishment. Bruna had stayed there when she first arrived in Madrid and, as was always the case with her, had taken note of what the hotel had to offer. She went up to her room, which was on the top floor, and checked that everything was still as she remembered it. If you were a guest of the hotel and had a key, you could get down to the street via the external fire escape at the back of the building. It ended up at a lung park that hardly anybody ever used. She left her bag in the room and went downstairs to the hotel bar, which was half-full. It was eleven o’clock at night and she was hungry. She asked for a gigantic real-chicken sandwich and a vodka and lemon with two ice cubes, even though the two drinks she’d had earlier on an empty stomach had left her with an unpleasant throb in her head. But consistency was consistency. She saw her tail at the back of the place doing a disastrous job of hiding behind an interactive screen and decided to put on a good show for his sake. Just then, two Apocalyptics came into the bar, handing out brochures and promoting their cause.

“Brothers and sisters, listen to the word. Here you are losing your most precious asset—your lives—in alcohol and recklessness. The world is ending in one week. Don’t close your minds to the truth!”

There were vague rumblings of annoyance, and the barman rushed from behind the bar to throw them out, which he did quite easily. They were fairly docile visionaries.

Bruna swallowed her mouthful of sandwich and spoke loudly enough to be heard throughout the bar, taking advantage of the momentary attention the business of the Apocalyptics had attracted.

“They might seem like a couple of crazies to you, and they certainly are, but it is true that the world is ending. That’s to say, the world as we know it. Do you want those technological freaks to finish off the human race? The reps are our creatures! Our artifacts! We made them! So are we now going to let them exterminate us? They’re our mistake! Let’s put an end to this dangerous error!”

Some applause was heard from the other end of the counter. It was an endorsement that left Bruna with a bitter taste in her mouth. She had completely lost her appetite, so she paid and, pretending to be a little more inebriated than she was, went up to her room, supposedly to go to bed.

But she still had much to do. She pulled off the wig and the false eyebrows; she removed all the padding and undressed; she opened her bag, took out the solvent and removed the dermosilicon covering her tattoo. Next, she took out the contact lenses and got rid of her makeup, and had a quick vapor shower. She sighed with relief on rediscovering Bruna in the steamed-up mirror. After she had dressed in her usual clothes—a dark purple latex jumpsuit—she put away the items of her disguise and went out into the corridor with considerable stealth. She crossed the deserted corridor and, using the key to her room, opened the service door that provided access to the fire escape. It was twelve thirty at night now, she was on the fourteenth floor, and on the external metallic platform an unpleasantly cold wind was blowing that raised goose bumps on her skin, still damp from the shower. She again swiped the chip in her key across the electronic reader that controlled the emergency staircase and the steps quickly unfolded ahead of her descent, making a worrying metallic screech that could have betrayed her presence. Just as well that the tinkling of the nearby lung park served to cover it up. Bruna hadn’t thought of any of that, neither the noise of the staircase nor the unexpected help from the artificial trees. She was irritated by her lack of foresight; she
was too tired to think properly. Thank goodness she’d had luck on her side.

She reached the bottom, jumped onto the sidewalk, and the staircase folded itself back up above her. The keys only worked to go down, never to go up. That was why the android was forced to do what she was about to do now. She walked around the corner, entered the Majestic, walked up to the reception desk and asked for a room. The manager, a pale man with prominent cheekbones, looked at her in a strange way. In a flash of inspiration Bruna realized,
He’s going to tell me there’s no vacancy
. The android felt feared, felt hated—more hated and more feared than ever before. She felt segregated and a sudden, distressing premonition made her imagine a world like that, an Earth where reps couldn’t go into hotels or travel on the same sky-trams as humans, or even mix with them. A drop of cold sweat slid down her skull, following a line parallel to her tattoo. And at that same moment, just when the immobility of the receptionist was starting to become unnatural, the man broke his absolute stillness, cleared his throat uncomfortably, and asked Bruna for her details so that he could check her in.
He doesn’t dare
, said the android to herself; the idea of refusing her had probably passed through his mind, but he hadn’t dared. Discrimination between the species was still illegal.

He gave her a room on the twelfth floor, two down from Annie Heart, and the rep went up to her new room, for which she’d registered with her real name, dragging her feet and feeling vaguely disconsolate. She went into the room and, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion of her overlong day, allowed herself to fall flat on her back onto the bed. She could sense the tiredness building up in her muscles, in the lower parts of her legs and arms, as if the fatigue were water weighing down on her body and pressing her into the bedspread. She was tempted to close her eyes briefly and sleep right there, but she knew it would be better to go back home. With a force of will, she spun around on
the bed and scrunched up the sheets and the blanket so that the robot cleaners would have something to do the next morning. Then she got up, grabbed her gear, and left the building, again using the emergency staircase.

She walked a few blocks so that they couldn’t connect her to the hotel and to check that she wasn’t being followed, and then she caught a cab; she was too tired to economize. She got out in front of her door and, as usual now, came face to face with the alien in the middle of the night, so alone, so different. The rep felt the anguish rising up inside her again and blocking her throat. Poor Maio. Poor Nabokov. Poor victims of Nabokov. Poor everyone. She crossed in front of the
bicho
, not wanting to look at him, and rushed to put the imprint of her finger on the lock to open the door. Her fingers must have been stained with the cosmetic silicon, because she had to repeat the action several times. An unease was growing inside her and already turning into an ache in her chest.
Four years, three months, and sixteen days
, she thought, like someone whispering a refrain. A private mantra for moments of anguish.
Four years, three months, and sixteen days.

“It’s fifteen days, Bruna. It’s almost two in the morning. It’s Thursday already,” babbled Maio’s liquid voice.

The rep stood paralyzed. The sound of the lock opening resonated in the silence, but the detective didn’t push open the door. She turned her head slowly toward the alien and they looked at each other for a few seconds without saying a word.

“Yes. I can read your thoughts, Bruna. I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have told you,” whispered Maio.

And his words sounded like grains of sand tumbling gently inside a hollow tube.

I’ll be damned
, thought Bruna.
Well, I don’t care. The
bicho
has won. Let him sleep at my place. We’ll find him a place to live. But he’d better not think he’s sharing my bed again
.

“Don’t worry, Bruna, I can sleep on the couch. Thanks a lot,” said the alien.

The android sighed, somewhat exasperated:
Heavens above
, she thought,
so
—”

“So I don’t need to talk to you; you can guess everything without me saying a word?” she concluded out loud.

“Oh no, no, Bruna, it’s much better to talk normally; it’s more comfortable, because that way we’re on an equal footing. And often, what you humans think isn’t what you end up saying. And what you say is what you want the world to hear. I prefer to hear your words, and that way, I know who you want to be on the outside.”

His reasoning seemed far too confusing for Bruna, given how late it was and how tired she was.

“Fine. Forget it. Let’s just go in. Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you.”

“Good. I have no idea what you aliens eat. And don’t tell me now. I don’t want to know. I just want to sleep.”

She spoke sharply and grumpily, but it was true that, in some way, Bruna felt better for having told the Omaá to come in with her. Monsters united were somewhat less monstrous.
Four years, three months, and fifteen days. Fifteen days.

B
runa had to admit that the Omaá was no trouble, despite the fact that the
bicho
was very big and the apartment was on the small side. Moreover, he and Bartolo got on really well: the bubi was beside himself with joy when he saw his compatriot, and from the moment the alien arrived, the pet didn’t move from his side. The greedy-guts slept coiled up next to Maio’s back, and was now perched on his shoulder. It was Maio who prepared breakfast for everyone, guessing exactly what the rep liked; reading her thoughts had its advantages. The alien ate some sort of powdered cereal for breakfast, which he moistened in a hot broth, making neat little balls from the resultant dough with his fingers. The rep watched him eat with fascination and then saw how he stored the rest of the food in his backpack.

“Omaá food. They sell it in the interplanetary section of some of the gourmet supermarkets, though it’s pretty expensive. I can also eat your flours but they provide far less energy. I have to eat kilos of Earthling bread to get as much nourishment as these little balls give me. I also like cheese and fruit, and I’ve learned to eat eggs. They don’t taste too bad, but if I think about what they are, they make me feel a bit ill. No corpses, please. Neither meat nor fish. Not even seafood protein paste. They put shrimp and other creatures into it, as well as algae concentrate,” he explained, as if he were answering a question.