Tears in Rain (42 page)

“Things have reached boiling point,” he commented once inside the lobby.

And he couldn’t hold back a happy, toothy little grin.

It was a squalid office building, and the HSP was on the fourth floor in a large, ramshackle space with winding corridors and narrow cubicles everywhere. The door on the landing was permanently open, and hordes of people were going in and out. An air of chaotic, frenetic activity prevailed.

“Follow me.”

They went through a maze of cheap, sliding partitions and windowless inner spaces lit by faint residual light.

“This is a labyrinth. It’s served us well until now and it was cheap, too. But given how big this has become, we’ll have to move to a more appropriate location.”

They reached an office that was better furnished, and stopped in front of a desk manned by a youth whose chest was crisscrossed with straps and who had two plasma guns under his armpits.
What a nerve
, thought Bruna.
How powerful they think they are
.

“He’s expecting us,” Serra growled at the guard.

The youth nodded without saying a word and tapped the screen on his mobile. A reinforced door behind him opened with a click.

“Go in by yourself. When you leave, ask for me,” said the deputy.

There was a short corridor on the other side of the door, and at the end of it, another reinforced door that unlocked when Bruna got to it. She opened it. Hericio’s office was large and rectangular, with two more doors on the right and a big picture-window. Hericio was standing next to it, gazing out pensively, and the android had the feeling that this was a scene prepared especially for her—that, like Serra, Hericio was playing the role of leader-calmly-contemplating-his-historic-responsibility. Bruna crossed the room, ostentatiously swaying her hips, fully in
the role of Annie the Destroyer.
If there are going to be performances, everyone should perform
, she said to herself.

“Annie, Annie Heart. Finally, I get to meet you,” said the man, shaking her hand. “Come, let’s sit over here; we’ll be more comfortable.”

They arranged themselves on the synthetic leather armchairs. The picture window, Bruna observed, wasn’t real. It was nothing more than a projection of a street on a constant loop, similar to the images in the mem pirate’s house—or, rather, Pablo Nopal’s house. In reality, the office was like a strongroom, with all the doors armor-plated and no access from the outside. The pretend window, the artificial leather, and the fake leader.

“I understand you want to make a donation to the party. I apologize for getting right down to business, but as you can see I’m very busy. Things are moving very quickly and I don’t have any time to lose,” he said pompously.

Then, as he listened to himself speaking, he thought he might have been too impolite.

“Or rather, in your case, no time to enjoy, to relax, to converse. I haven’t much time to talk to you, something I regret.”

“That’s fine, Hericio, I understand. And I’m grateful to you for seeing me during these difficult times. But you also have to understand that I want to be sure that my money is going to end up in the right place.”

“Rest assured. With an FP, you’ll know what your money has been spent on down to the last G. Everything will be used for the party, of course. Speaking of which, our permit is on the point of expiring. We’d have to process your contribution within the next ten days.”

“That’s not a problem and that’s not what concerns me. I’m even prepared to invest funds outside the law. What I need to know is whether the HSP is deserving of it—whether
you
are worthy of it.”

Hericio lifted his chin with an angry, nervous twitch.

“Have you seen all those people downstairs? Out on the street? All those people asking us to intervene and save the situation? Look, Annie Heart, years ago during our period in the wilderness, we might have been desperate for your support, but today...You’re the one who’s asked to see me. If you want to participate in this transformational project, if you want to collaborate in the rebirth of humanity, then do it. And if you don’t, you can happily leave by that door.”

The tone in the man’s voice had become increasingly pompous, and he ended his speech as if he were at a rally. That was why he’d received her today and here, at party headquarters: to impress her with his success. He was a salesman and he was selling his party, which was on the rise. The rep fluffed up her hair with her hand and smiled, unperturbed.

“Well, all I can say is that it’s in your best interest to convince me.”

Bruna’s aplomb disconcerted the politician. He leaned back in his chair, put his fingertips together in the manner of a preacher and scrutinized her with distrust.

“May I ask how much money we’re talking about?”

“Ten million Gs.”

Hericio gave a start.

“You don’t have that much money, Annie.”

“It’s not just mine. I didn’t tell Serra, because it’s information that shouldn’t be out there and it’s none of his business, but there’s a group of top-level professionals and businesspeople from New Barcelona backing me—quite well-known people. We’ve formed a supremacist lobby group, a clandestine group, because we support direct action. We’re fed up with the traditional parties, who’ve led us into this despicable situation. But we’ve been thinking that the HSP might perhaps be different. We’ve followed you, we’ve listened to what you have to say, and we’ve liked what we’ve seen. And when we saw you were asking for an FP, we thought it was a good opportunity, and that it might be an indication that
you were planning something. Although I have to tell you that we’re still not convinced that you really are our man.”

Hericio’s face was a catalog of contradictory emotions: vanity, greed, distrust, excitement, fear, indecision. Greed won out.

“And what would I have to do to convince you?”

“Better to ask what
should you
have done. We believe in action, not words. So tell me what you really dedicate yourselves to here in the HSP.”

The man looked stunned.

“I don’t understand.”

Bruna stared at him.

“Well then, let’s speak frankly. In New Barcelona, some of us thought that the HSP had something to do with the recent replicant deaths—Chi and the others.”

Now distrust won out. Hericio became so nervous that his voice sounded half a tone higher.

“Are you accusing us of murder?”

“We simply believed it was a marvelously thought-out campaign to incite resentment and awaken the sleeping conscience of the people. A stroke of genius in terms of social agitation, really.”

“Who do you think you are, suddenly appearing out of nowhere and accusing us of something like that?”

“I haven’t come out of nowhere. I’m sure you’ve checked me out thoroughly. You know everything about me. I now see you even know how much money I have in the bank. I’m a competent and well-known academic. So now it’s my turn to say to you what you said to me earlier. Trust me and show me that we can trust you, and the ten million is yours. But if you don’t want to, I’ll quite happily leave by that door.”

Hericio swallowed.

“I’m not sure what you’re proposing. I don’t even know if you really have all that money.”

“And I’m not clear that we’re on the same wavelength or if we’re after the same thing.”

There was a short, heavy silence.

“You’re covered with bruises,” said Hericio, pointing at her with his finger.

“They’re birthmarks,” the rep replied with caustic sarcasm.

The man looked at her with incredulity and then got back to their earlier topic.

“So what do you want me to tell you, Annie? I’ve celebrated every one of the rep murders—and the disgraceful end of that freak Chi, in particular. I was even delighted—and I’ll deny this if you repeat it in public—with the murder of the humans caused by that techno who blew herself up, that Nabokov. Every death is a tragedy, even more so if the victims are children, as in that case. But that slaughter has been fundamental to raising people’s awareness, and it’s well known that you can’t have revolutions without victims. If truth be told, it seems a fairly small price to pay if we can thereby save society from degenerating. But neither I nor my party has had anything to do with all that.”

“I see. And from this point on, what are you intending to do?”

“Lead this change, of course. We are in touch with other supremacist groups on various parts of the planet. There have been quite a few protest movements throughout the world this past week—nothing comparable to ours, but it’s obvious that there’s a global reaction brewing against all these disgraceful acts.”

“That’s all very well, but I’m talking about the here and now—about deeds, not words. What, specifically, is your next step going to be? Because right now, what’s needed is something really dramatic, a final incitement. For example, now would be the perfect moment for a rep to assassinate...Chem Conés, for example. Chem is one of your disciples, a known supremacist, and right now, as acting president of the region, he’s the main focus of attention. Imagine what a magnificent impetus his death would give to the cause.”

A flash of emotion lit up Hericio’s face. Bruna leaned forward and whispered, “We could help you with that. Professional help, efficient, secure.”

But the light had already gone out. The man stood up and began to walk around in circles.

“I’m not saying you’re not right. A death like that would be most advantageous. A martyr. Yes, that’s it, our cause needs a martyr,” he babbled.

He came to a halt in the middle of the office and looked at her.

“But it can’t happen. It can’t happen. I’ll never take part in something like that, nor will I allow the HSP to participate. And do you know why, Annie Heart? Do you know why? Not for lack of courage or decisiveness, nor because of any moralistic prudishness, because I’m well aware that the greater good far outweighs one small act of evil. But when you do something like that, you run the risk of being found out. It possibly won’t happen in your lifetime, because probably while you’re alive, you’ll be able to arrange things so that everything remains hidden. But after you’ve gone? Then the historians and archivists arrive on the scene like vultures and poke around in everything. And I have to look after my reputation—you understand, Annie Heart? I’m destined to be one of the great figures of history. I’m the restorer of the human race. The savior. Future generations will speak of me with veneration and gratitude. And I have to look after that legacy! I mustn’t give the enemy any excuses, because I won’t be there to defend myself, to explain myself. To date, I haven’t had to get my hands dirty, and I’m not going to start doing that now when I’m at the gateway to posterity.”

He’s serious
, Bruna said to herself, astonished. So astonished in fact that she realized her mouth was open, and closed it. Of course, she had never expected that the racist leader would openly confess his part in the plot; she had only wanted to air the topic to see how he would take it.
Throw a line in the murky waters
,
as Merlín used to say. But she wasn’t expecting a reaction like this. The guy really believed what he was saying. He was an idiot. She had a feeling—she was almost certain—that Hericio had had nothing to do with the deaths of Chi and the other reps. Either that or he was a consummate actor. Suddenly, she felt a ring of fire squeezing her temples. All the dissembling had given her a splitting headache. It was the price she paid for the stress of pretending to be someone she wasn’t and for humoring this repulsive supremacist. For appearing to hate reps and even believing it a little in order to be more convincing.
Four years, three months, and thirteen days.

“Fine. I think I’m clear on your position,” said the android, getting up from her chair.

“And what...what’s going to happen with the money?”

“I’ll talk it over with the others” was Bruna’s ambiguous answer.

Hericio’s face crumpled ruefully, as he mentally waved good-bye to the ten million.

“We could do many things together,” he pointed out accommodatingly when they were already at the door.

“We could. If you change your mind about what I’ve said, leave a message under my name at the Majestic Hotel. I’ll call there daily for the next month to check.”

The door closed behind her, and Bruna gave a small sigh of relief. She walked down the short corridor to the office. The youth with the straps and guns was still there, but what was worse, so was Serra.
By the great Morlay
, the migraine was drilling through her skull. The deputy approached her, cocky and smarmy.

“A robot will bring what you wanted to your hotel in two hours’ time. You’ll have to pay him in cash. Five big ones. Friend’s price.”

Five hundred Gs for a plasma gun. Not a bad price at all. If it worked.

“So I thought we could go to your room to wait for the robot,” murmured Serra, moving closer to her.

Bruna put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him away. She intended to do it gently, but she was tired, and it must have ended up being too hard, because the deputy became angry.

“Hey, what’s going on! You’ve gotten all you wanted from me and now you’re trying to dump me? You think I’m the sort of person a blonde like you can laugh at?”

Uh-oh, the usual fireworks. Chest thumping like a gorilla to scare her. Bruna breathed in and tried to contain herself and concentrate in between the lashes of pain whipping across her forehead.

“It wouldn’t even occur to me to laugh at you, Serra. What’s happening is that I’m not feeling well. I have a horrendous headache. Now, you have two options: you can either believe what I’m saying and let me have a rest and, if you like, we can see each other tomorrow afternoon, or you can assume it’s the typical excuse and kick up a fuss and we ruin our fun. You choose.”

“You were leaving tomorrow.”

“In the evening.”

Serra thought for a moment, sulking.

“It’s true that you don’t look well.”

“It’s true that I don’t feel well.”

The guy stepped back and let her past.

“What time tomorrow?”