Tears in Rain (51 page)

Inside, the embassy resembled a military barracks. Ultramodern and technological, of course, but like a barracks. Austere, monochromatic, and full of diligent soldiers who walked as if they had a metal rod instead of a spine. A female officer in an impeccable uniform accompanied them to the door
of the minister’s apartment. A robot opened the door and led them into the living room, a spacious room with no windows but with two walls totally covered by 3-D images of the Floating World. It really felt as if they were in space.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” said the minister as he came into the room. “I’m Copa Square. Coffee, a soft drink, an energy drink?”

“No, thank you.”

Square asked the robot for a ginseng concentrate and sat down in an armchair. He was a tall man with perfect features. So perfect that they could only be the product of a knife wielded by a good surgeon. Not a single catalog item here.

“You understand this is strictly off the record and, that said, also a sign of our goodwill. Despite the Earthling campaign of slander and deceit.”

He was smiling as he said this, but it was a cold smile. He was one of those people who use courtesy as a veiled form of threat. A fairly common occurrence among diplomats.

“I thought the idea of an unofficial meeting meant we were going to be able to dispense with the usual clichés. You know Ainhó did it,” Lizard said calmly.

Copa Square’s smile became more pronounced. As did his coldness.

“Ainhó has already left Earth, protected by her diplomatic status. An embassy vehicle took her to the orbital elevator, and by now she will be arriving at Cosmos. It makes no difference whether she did it or not. You are never going to be able to put her on trial, and on Cosmos they will never know what happened here. In a way, it is as if everything that happened here was...nonexistent.”

“Yes, I know that on Cosmos you have strict censorship, but I never thought you’d brag about it.”

“And yet it is something to be proud of. In the first place, technologically. Creating technology capable of filtering and controlling the vigorous, multipronged flow of information is a scientific
accomplishment. But on top of that, and even more importantly, it is an ethical and political achievement. The population does not need to know about anything that can be manipulated and misunderstood. Our people do not believe in gods. They do not believe in riches. On Cosmos, as you know, private property and money do not exist. The state provides, and individuals receive according to their needs. But the human being has to believe in something in order to live. And our citizens believe in the ultimate truth, in happiness and social justice. We are building paradise on our Floating World. I know reality is complex and contradictory, and it has to be managed from the shadows. But that ultimate truth has to remain pure and clean so that the people will not become disillusioned. In order to protect all those ordinary people who do not understand that the shadows exist.”

“So I see...it’s a curious paradise of believers run by cynics,” interjected Bruna sarcastically.

“If you are saying that for my benefit, you’re confused. You have no idea the extent to which I believe in that truth, which burns at the heart of everything I do.”

Square was silent for a few seconds, looking at Bruna quizzically.

“You are the technohuman that Ainhó manipulated. I can understand that you would be outraged. But in reality, everything that happened to you is a consequence of what you are. You androids are so artificial.”

“Is that why we are forbidden on Cosmos?” Bruna asked, trying to contain her rage.

“For that reason, and because you were conceived as slaves. You are too different. You do not fit into our egalitarian society.”

“You say that what happened has to do with the artificiality of reps, and I assume you’re referring to the mem implants and such,” Lizard interrupted hurriedly before Bruna could reply. “But we know that before Unification, Ainhó was working on a secret EU plan to develop behavior-inducing implants for
humans. So our brain is just as capable of being manipulated as theirs.”

It had been a shot in the dark up to a point, but it landed.

“That EU plan you refer to is typical of Earthling hypocrisy: big, public condemnations of censorship, but at the same time, you are full of dirty secrets. That project was dismantled overnight, and all of Ainhó’s work was confiscated. Almost twenty years of research. And since she refused to accept the situation, her career was destroyed. A heroic achievement on the part of the free world.”

“Of course on Cosmos there are no individual professional careers. Just one unique and great career—of the political hierarchy,” muttered Bruna.

“And you immediately offered her your protection,” said Lizard, disregarding the rep’s comment.

“Olga Ainhó is a great scientist and the DSC needs every conceivable assistance to advance its project.”

“But she doesn’t share your ideological passion, does she? She didn’t strike me as a paradise enthusiast,” said Bruna.

“Ainhó’s is a privileged mind, but she’s a wounded woman. Her sixteen-year-old son had the idea of surreptitiously breaking into the closed-down lab to retrieve his mother’s files, and he was gunned down by the security guards—who, it must be said, were technos. Combat androids like yourself.”

Which explains the sadism, that perverse detail of gouging out one’s own, or other people’s, eyes
, reflected Bruna with a shiver.
What a sick woman.

“Ainhó never overcame it,” continued the Cosmic. “She is pathologically obsessed with her son’s death. She lives solely for revenge, and that sometimes causes a person to commit grave errors. In fact, that could be a good explanation of what has happened. A hypothetical and totally unofficial explanation, naturally.”

“Aha! You mean that a mentally unstable Ainhó conceived a megalomaniacal plan of revenge against Earth in general and technos in particular,” said Lizard.

“Hypothetically, that could be the case.”

“And Cosmos has now repatriated her and offered her shelter out of sheer generosity,” added the rep.

“We have many enemies and we need every conceivable support, as I have already said. She may be unhinged, but she is a genius. We would not want to have to do without a scientist of her stature. Hypothetically.”

“Why do you bother to receive us and offer us this absurd explanation? We are nothing more than a small regional investigative squad, but without doubt, all of Earth’s secret services now know that you’re stirring up social conflicts to destabilize the USE,” said Lizard calmly.

Square gave him a withering, aristocratic look of disdain.

“The Democratic State of Cosmos is a neutral state and is totally respectful of existing legislation.”

“Come on, Square, you know we’re in a secret state of war. The Second Cold War. And cold wars sometimes become too heated. Between you and the Ones, you have all the terrorist groups on the planet on your payroll. You’ll do anything so long as it debilitates the United States of the Earth and increases your power and influence. Speaking of which, that small detail of the fake tattoos struck me as exquisitely Machiavellian. You also managed, in passing, to compromise the Kingdom of Labari.”

The diplomat raised his beautiful eyebrows a little.

“I have no interest in continuing to listen to your tired clichés and your insults, so I think this is the moment to put an end to our conversation.”

“Just one more question: How did you persuade Habib?” asked the rep.

The minister looked at her with a strange expression of malevolent delight, like a snake contemplating its paralyzed prey before devouring it.

“I did not convince anyone. You continue to be wrong about me. But I will tell you something about Habib. He had lived
sixteen
years. What do you think about that? You believe that all you technos have to die at ten years of age, but that is not the case. We have scientific knowledge at our disposal that makes it possible for technos to live much longer—twenty years, even thirty. And if truth be told, that knowledge would also be available to Earthlings if they were genuinely interested in developing it. How do you feel now, Bruna Husky, knowing that there are other androids who do not die so early? Are you not revolted by this famously free world that cannot even be bothered to do research into TTT because it is not profitable? Would
you
not be prepared to offer your services to Cosmos in order to be able to live even one year longer? Would
you
not be prepared to do anything?”

Lizard almost had to drag her out of the embassy. He had her gripped firmly by the arm, and it was thanks to this that the rep was capable of walking along corridors, going down stairs, and making it to the street, because otherwise she would have been paralyzed by the weight of her thoughts and by panic. By her fear of death, and her own anger, and her desperate desire to live.

They got into the car and Lizard took Bruna to her apartment and went in with her, because he felt she was still too upset. Once inside, the inspector—who seemed to be permanently hungry—suggested they make something to eat.

“Eating cheers you up. That’s why they used to have that tradition of banquets at funerals.”

So, to Bruna’s amazement, the inspector prepared a rice dish into which he threw everything he could find in the food dispenser: peas, shrimp, green onions, eggs, cheese. And then they sat down and ate and drank in silence. When they were opening the second bottle of wine, the detective dared to extend a bridge over the abyss that had opened up in her mind.

“They don’t all die, Paul. There are reps who don’t die.”

“They
do
die, like everyone else. Just a bit later. And I assure you that those extra years won’t be enough for them. They’re never enough. No matter how long you live, it’s never enough.”

“It’s not fair.”

Lizard nodded in agreement.

“Life is unfair, Bruna.”

That was what Nopal was always saying:
Life hurts
. The rep remembered the memorist with a surprising stab of nostalgia. With the intuition that he would understand her.

Just then there was a knock at the door. It was a robot courier, sent by Mirari. It left a box in the middle of the lounge, a rather large box, covered profusely with “Fragile” stickers. Intrigued, Bruna opened the package. A furry ball shot out of the container and attached itself to the rep’s neck with a shriek.

“Bartolo!”

“Bartolo good, Bartolo beautiful,” whimpered the bubi.

By the great Morlay
, said Bruna to herself, terrified at the thought of having him in her apartment again. But the creature was so upset that she couldn’t prevent herself from stroking its back. She could feel the greedy-guts’ agitated heart—or whatever it was those
bichos
had for a heart—beating against her shoulder.

Still holding Bartolo, she went over to her screen and called the circus. Maio’s face appeared, more doglike than ever, bearing a knowing look.

“So, what’s happened with the bubi?” the rep asked impatiently.

“Hi, Bruna. You know I like Bartolo, and we get on well, but he’s eaten the trapeze artist’s sequined costume. And she’s told us, ‘Either he goes or I go.’”

“Bartolo good,” whispered the greedy-guts in Bruna’s ear, his voice still choked.

Okay. Okay!
The android resigned herself. She’d keep the bubi—for now. She’d find another place that would take him.

“That’s okay, Maio. It doesn’t matter. And by the way, thanks for saving my life. For everything.”

The alien sparkled a little.

“It was nothing. You saved mine, too.”

“Is Mirari around?”

Maio twisted around and pointed at Mirari lying behind him on a sofa at the back of the room.

“She’s asleep. I’ll wake her up shortly for the performance.”

“I wanted to know how much it would cost to fix the dressing room. The black plasma left it in ruins.”

“Don’t worry about it. The circus is insured and the insurance will cover it.”

Suddenly, the Omaá stretched his neck and tensed, raising his hand as if he were asking for a pause. A few seconds later, he relaxed and turned back to the detective.

“Mirari was dreaming they were amputating her arm. She has lots of nightmares over that arm. Sometimes they wake her up. But this one’s over now.”

Maio and Bruna looked at each other in silence for a few moments, and during that time the rep could see the
bicho
getting darker, until he had turned an intense reddish-brown color.

“Well, good-bye,” said the alien in full chromatic flight.

“Bye, Maio. And thanks.”

The image disappeared. Bruna became aware that she had a smile on her face. And that her spirits had lifted somewhat. She felt better.

“What’s so funny?” asked Lizard.

“Nothing.”

Nothing she could tell him about, of course.

They gave the bubi something to eat and then the animal, clearly exhausted, curled up on the couch and began to snore. Paul stood up and stretched. His fingers touched the ceiling.

“I’m delighted to see you’re more relaxed, Bruna. I guess I should go.”

The rep said nothing, stunned. The inspector’s pronouncement had taken her by surprise. She had seen herself preparing Bartolo’s food together with him, bustling around the apartment as if their being together would continue quite naturally.
But now he was saying that he was going. She wasn’t expecting it. It was absurd, but she hadn’t anticipated that Lizard would leave. Nor had she anticipated that he would stay. She simply wanted to go on like this, next to him, in this tiny peace, in a time without time, without conflict. She just wanted this postlunch conviviality to last forever.
Four years, three months, and nine days.
But no, that counting didn’t work anymore. There were reps who lived twenty years. Again the dizziness, the abyss.

The inspector cleared his throat.

“It’s been good working with you. Maybe we’ll get together again for another case.”

“Yes, of course.”

Don’t go
, thought Bruna.
Don’t go.