Tears in Rain (33 page)

Lizard took a holograph ball from his pocket and activated it. The word
revenge
floated above the One’s table. The image was no doubt taken from the body of one of the victims, although you couldn’t see what the word was written on in the holograph, and the tattoo had been enlarged four or five times.

“Is Your Eminence acquainted with this?”

The man glanced at the holograph indifferently.

“No.”

“There’s nothing about it that seems familiar?”

“No,” the ambassador repeated without even bothering to look at it again.

The inspector manipulated the ball, and the image expanded until it was evident what it was: a tattoo on the back of a dead woman’s naked body.

“And now?”

The legate considered the body for a second with a blank expression. Then he looked at Lizard.

“Now even less.”

“But that script...Those letters are from the Kingdom of Labari,” Bruna retorted.

The chancellor-priest didn’t even look at her. He continued to address Lizard.

“At first glance, it might appear that that type of writing bears some resemblance to a certain script used on my world for ceremonial occasions.”

“The Labaric script of power,” stressed the rep.

The man ignored her interruption and continued.

“But I’m sure we’re dealing with a copy.”

“I’ve seen power writing and the script is identical,” Bruna insisted.

“Why do you think...my apologies. Why does Your Eminence think we’re dealing with a copy?” asked Paul.

“How do you know when a replicant is a replicant and not a real person, even though it’s such a good imitation?” replied the One.

“By the eyes.”

Bruna was furious with Lizard. She was outraged that he would answer a comment clearly formulated to humiliate her.

“Labaric writing has its own ‘eyes’ for those who know how to look. And this is a forgery, absolutely no question. Anything else?”

“Yes. Do you know whose dead body that is?”

The priest sighed in annoyance as if he were dealing with an idiotic question, although his expression of utter disdain was somewhat undermined by the wobbling of his chubby cheeks.

“I assume it’s one of the replicants who was recently executed by other replicants.”

“If the writing really is a forgery, who might be interested in implicating the Kingdom of Labari in a case as foul as this one?”

“The One Truth has more enemies than there are grains of sand at the bottom of the oceans. The Primordial Order is always being attacked by the henchmen of disorder, of whom there are many. But we are accustomed to it; they’ve been trying to distort our words for millennia. They have no effect.”

“Millennia? The Labaric Cult began less than a century ago,” interrupted the rep sharply.

The chancellor-priest continued to ignore her.

“The One Sacred Principle was the beginning of everything. Then, feeble man forgot who he was and what he knew. We have merely gone back to uttering pure words,” he declaimed.

He leaned forward and fixed his blazing eyes on Paul, and his face became contorted with revulsion.

“Moreover, what do we care whether or not they kill those things? They were not part of the Principle and they do not count. They do not exist. They have no more significance than the buckle on your shoe. You see, they seem so imperceptible and irrelevant to us that we have even allowed you to bring one of those things here—
here
, into the Embassy of Labari! And what’s more, a female.”

The man stood up abruptly, although if truth be told, you couldn’t really tell; he was considerably shorter than was suggested by his bulky head.

“May the Sacred Principle be your Law,” he muttered ritually.

And he left the room, dragging the shapeless, purple robe that was too long for him along the ground.

Bruna left the building as quickly as she could, anger adding to her speed. Lizard was following a few steps behind, circumspect and phlegmatic, suspecting an outburst.

“Hold on, Bruna. Where’s the fire?”

The rep whipped around and pointed a shaking finger at the policeman.

“You...Thanks for your support in front of that miserable racist,” she roared.

“Professionalism, professionalism. A detective like you should know that a major portion of our work consists of interrogating nasty people, and nasty people are unpleasant. You mustn’t lose your composure, no matter what they say. They say all that to distract you. And it’s worked in your case.”

In reality, deep down the rep knew it. Lizard was right. But she was too enraged to stop.

“You humans are all the same. In the end you always support each other,” she said venomously, still tasting the bitterness in her mouth.

The inspector’s face darkened.

“That’s not true,” he muttered with a hint of annoyance.

Bruna had wanted to wound him and she had certainly done so. Now she was beginning to regret it, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize to him. Not yet. Not with all that adrenaline and humiliation still churning around inside. So they walked on together for a few minutes without saying a word, not knowing where they were going until Lizard stopped.

“It’s time to eat. Let’s grab something and that way we can talk a bit about the case.”

Before Bruna could answer, a call came in from Nopal. She gave a start, signaled to the policeman that he should wait for her, and walked off a few feet to talk to the memorist.

“What are you doing with that bloodhound? Have you managed to be arrested by him?” asked the writer sarcastically.

And what’s that to you?
thought the detective, but for some reason she couldn’t say it to him. She grabbed the wrist on which she wore her mobile with her other hand to stop it shaking. Nopal made her nervous.

“What do you want?”

“Your appointment tomorrow. The guy rang me. He wants you to get there an hour earlier.”

Yes, of course. The get-together with the mem pirate who wrote illegal memories.

“So it’ll be at...at 12:15, right? Same place?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Thanks.”

Pablo frowned.

“Listen. That Lizard is dangerous. Don’t trust him.”

Bruna became irritated. Suddenly she felt she had to defend the inspector. She felt that Paul was her friend.
Paul
: it was the first time she had thought about him using his first name. In fact Paul seemed less of a risk to Bruna than Nopal.

“You’re wrong. The other day he saved me from a beating,” she said.

And she gave the writer a quick summary of her encounter with the thugs.

“Well, what a coincidence. They attack you and Lizard just happens to be there. And it’s enough for him to take out his gun for everyone to run off. Because it turns out that—oh, what luck—none of the assailants is actually carrying a firearm. And no one is arrested, of course. I can write much more realistic scenarios.”

“That’s nonsense,” said the rep.

But Nopal’s words began to buzz around inside her head like menacing hornets.

“You won’t believe me, Bruna, but I am your friend. I am now, and I always will be, on your side. And I worry about what might happen to you. It’s clear that this escalation in antitechno violence is meticulously organized. I can see it, I know it. I’ve spent years re-creating life and I can tell when life is too perfect, more realistic than the real world! Everything that has happened has been prepared, is being controlled, is following a script. And you can’t set up something like this without the involvement of the police as well.”

The android didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to hear any more. But she listened.

“Isn’t there anything about him that has surprised you? No strange behavior? He hasn’t by any chance made an effort to become your friend? To gain your confidence?”

Bruna glanced over at Lizard and caught him watching her from afar with his arms folded. The android quickly looked away. She had indeed always found the policeman a little too friendly, too collaborative. Like today. Why had her taken her to see the priest?

“But how would it help him to become my friend?”

“As far as I’m aware, you’re the only independent detective who’s investigating the case on behalf of the technos. If he has you close at hand, he can find out what you’re learning. And he might have something worse in mind. This script still contains
many surprises, and it strikes me that it’s a horror story. Be careful, Bruna, and don’t trust him.”

And he ended the conversation, leaving the rep full of despair and feeling like an orphan. The android walked slowly back to where Lizard was waiting for her, her spirits as heavy as her feet.

“What did he say to you?” asked the policeman sharply.

“Who?”

“Nopal. What did he say to you?”

“Why do you look over my shoulder to see who’s calling me? Is total lack of respect an aspect of police brutality?”

“I saw you. I saw that sideways glance you threw me. It wasn’t a nice look.”

“Oh, by all the damn species! Stop bothering me with your paranoia!”

“Why did you become so nervous when he rang you? I’ve never seen you like that before. What’s with you and that man? Don’t trust Nopal, Husky.”

Well, well! Earlier on he’d been calling her Bruna; now, he’d gone back to the more formal surname. The policeman’s green eyes looked very dark, almost black. Two shiny, hard balls with a fearsome expression, trapped like insects under his thick eyelids.

“Pablo Nopal is an assassin. I know it. He killed his uncle and probably killed his secretary. Everything incriminates him beyond a shadow of a doubt, but he got away with it because we couldn’t find the weapon. He used an old-fashioned gun, one that uses gunpowder with a 9mm metal bullet. Probably a P35.”

“A Browning Hi-Power. That gun is more than a century old.”

“Yes, it’s an old piece of junk, but it can still kill.”

Those sorts of guns had been withdrawn from circulation after Unification, with the famous Clean Hands Law, which also restricted the use of plasma weapons solely to security forces and the army. The old pistols and revolvers were traced with efficient
scanners capable of detecting their metal alloys. And the fabrication of plasma guns required a sheet of celadium, a new mineral from the distant mines on Encelado, and each sheet was registered, numbered, and loaded with a locator chip. Despite all these precautions, there was no shortage of every conceivable sort of illegal weapon on Earth—from relics of the era of gunpowder to diverse types of plasma.

“What I’m trying to say is that he’s a man with no scruples and no morals. A truly dangerous character. And he was a memorist. Perhaps he’s the one who’s writing the content for the adulterated mems. Why is he calling you? Maybe he’s offered to help you? Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I don’t know what power he has over you, but I do know he’s deceiving you.”

“Oh, leave me in peace,” spluttered Bruna.

What she wanted to say was,
Don’t go on. Stop talking. I don’t want to hear any more. I’m confused
. But her confusion caused insecurity, and the insecurity was making her angry.

“I’ve had enough. I’m off.”

She turned her back on Lizard and, flustered, strode off down the street. She was about to jump onto a travelator when, out of the blue, she had an extraordinary idea. An incredibly simple, brilliant idea. She turned her head; it took her a few seconds to locate the broad shoulders and sturdy neck of the inspector rising above the crowd. She caught up with him just as he was beginning the complicated maneuver of folding his large body into his car.

“Lizard...Paul...Please, wait.”

She breathed in and gave a big smile. It wasn’t difficult: she was so pleased with the idea she’d had that she felt like laughing.

“I’m sorry. I’m behaving like an idiot. I’m...on edge.”

“You’re unbearable,” he said with a neutral, composed tone.

“Yes, yes, forgive me. That Labarian drove me crazy. The whole situation is driving me crazy. But let’s leave it at that. You were talking about having something to eat. That seems like a
good idea, but let’s go to my place. I’ll make us something to eat and at the same time, I want to show you something.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

They got there quickly in the official car, but it seemed like an eternity to Bruna. She had difficulty containing her excitement. They went up in the elevator without saying a word, and when they got to Bruna’s floor, the rep rushed to her door and opened it. A strange music filled the landing. Standing upright in the middle of the lounge-cum-kitchen was the
bicho
, playing a sort of flute. He stopped and lowered the instrument.

“Hi, Bruna.”

“Hi, Maio,” she replied, really happy to see him for the first time ever.

The rep looked at Lizard. The man was stunned. She’d finally managed to breach his stupid air of a laid-back know-it-all. She looked back at the alien—huge, as tall as Lizard but even broader, with that incredible face of a big dog—and his bare torso, and the colors, shimmering viscera, and internal juices discernible through his translucent skin. Wow. Bruna was beginning to get used to the
bicho
and there was no question he was an impressive sight.

“Sorry,” babbled Maio with his watery voice.

He picked up his old T-shirt and put it on.

“I took it off because it’s annoying; I’m sorry.”

It was not surprising that the T-shirt bothered him: it was stretched to breaking point across his large chest and seemed to be squeezing him like a corset.

“You must be a refugee Omaá,” murmured the policeman, still somewhat taken aback.

“That’s right.”

“Lizard, meet Maio. I met him one day in...the street. Anyway, yesterday I told him he could stay here on my sofa until he finds somewhere else. And Maio, this is Inspector Paul Lizard,
who’s helping me with my most recent case. Paul, please explain to him what you’re doing.”

“Explain
what
?”

“Well, you know, tell him that you’re investigating the matter of the deaths of the reps. And that we’ve been collaborating.”

While she was talking, Bruna was gazing intently into the Omaá’s eyes, as if trying to send him a signal. Then she realized her stupidity, and began to speak mentally to the
bicho. Get inside his head. Get inside this guy’s head and tell me what he’s thinking. Tell me if he’s hiding anything from me. Tell me if he wants to hurt me
.