The Sum of Her Parts (25 page)

“You can’t lead. It won’t look right. I’m the doctor. You can walk
next to me or behind me, but you can’t lead.” She waited for the expected sardonic comment.

It was not forthcoming. He simply nodded, looked uncharacteristically sheepish, and fell into step beside her.

“How do
I
look?” she asked him.

“Leading question,” he murmured. “Without going into pleasurable detail, I’d say good enough and determined enough that I don’t think the CEO of SICK itself would challenge you.”

She ignored the compliment. “I mean, do I look like a physician? Or more like someone who’s just trying to look like a physician?”

“I dunno what a physician is supposed to ‘look like.’ Lemme put it this way: if I met you in a hall and you offered me a pill, I’d take it.”

Her mouth twisted slightly. “Why do I have the feeling that if you met any woman in a hall and she offered you a pill, you’d take it. But I’m going to take that as a yes.” She nodded forward. “Is that a lift over there?”

He scrutinized the rectangular recess in the wall they were approaching. “Looks like it. Better hope it’s not key or security-coded or we’ll be stuck down here for a day until Gwi comes back.”

Halting in front of the elevator threshold he examined the door as well as the wall on both sides. There was no sign of a keypad, security swipe, or retina scan. Just a single simple unmonitored contact pad. At his touch, the door slid to the left and they stepped inside. Ascending one stop, they found themselves staring out at a virtual duplicate of the service corridor they had just left. Ingrid nodded at her companion, Whispr slid a finger across the lift’s control pad, and they ascended another level. Though more brightly lit and not as crammed with machinery, the second floor up presented yet another, cleaner version of the two levels they had already visited.

It was when the lift door slid aside to allow them egress to the third level that they were shocked by such unaccustomed brightness they had to fight not to turn away or reach up and rub at their eyes.

When her vision finally cleared, Ingrid saw that one corridor ran straight away from the elevator while another crossed from left to right directly in front of them. In contrast to the dank warren of automated maintenance passageways they had just scrutinized these halls were teeming with people. Naturals and Melds alike moved purposefully in all three directions. Preoccupied individuals strode past conversing couples or small groups with the ease of experience, secure in the knowledge that they would find their intended destinations without even having to look up. Their confident attitudes stood in contrast to those of a doctor and her assistant who remained standing in the elevator. Ingrid and Whispr had not seen so many well attired people in one place since leaving downtown Orangemund.

Nearly as slenderized as Whispr, a Meld clad in loose gray engineer’s coveralls stepped into the lift. Giving the motionless Ingrid a furtive nudge and following close behind, her companion edged her out into the passageway. When the engineer did not bother to look in their direction as the lift doors slid silently shut behind them, Whispr realized they had passed their first test.

Unmoving among dozens of pedestrians the two intruders stood bewildered, uncertain which way to go. Realizing this was bound to lead to awkward questions the longer they lingered, Whispr leaned down to murmur in her ear.

“Move, doc. Start walking. It doesn’t matter which direction. We can’t keep standing here with our thumbs up our asses. Somebody’ll notice. Then somebody’ll comment. Then …”

He did not need to elaborate further. Striving to make an educated
guess based on the direction of the lowermost service corridor they had just left and the climate duct through which they had recently crawled, Ingrid turned to her left and broke into a slow but even stride.

After the long days spent traversing the Namib, every face was a surprise, every sound a revelation, every smell a shock. She had to force herself to avoid making eye contact. She didn’t know any of these people and she didn’t want them to know her.

“Any idea where we’re going?” Whispr had adopted the perfectly blank expression he utilized when in the presence of police.

“North,” she told him. “I hope. If this passage doesn’t break off at an angle or start to curve we
should
be walking in the same direction as the big room we saw from inside the duct.”

“And if we’re not?”

“We’ll stop someone and ask for directions to the main research center.” She was only half joking.

Several hundred meters on, the corridor she had selected was still running straight and true—and hopefully in the right direction. While she continued to avoid looking directly at any of the facility staff she was well aware that a number of them had glanced in her direction in hopes of establishing a connection. Each time this happened she found herself damning her most recent and excessively colorful cosmetic meld.

Two approaching men were not to be denied. One was a science Meld. Maniped neurological storage created a smooth but not unsightly bulge on the back of his neck while each of his fingers boasted an additional joint, the better to help with manipulating intricate scientific equipment. His associate was a Natural, middle-aged and mildly attractive. It was he who confronted her, sidling sideways just enough to block her path. Behind her, Whispr tensed. Though they had no weapons, as a professional riffler he
was confident he could handle these brainjuicers without so much as a knife. The problem would not be putting them down: it would be what to do with them afterward.

As was often the case, it developed that he was worrying overmuch.

“Afternoon, Red.” An engaging grin revealed that the Natural was not as pure as he first appeared. He had undergone at least one detectable cosmetic manip: he’d had his teeth pearlized. When he smiled, small rainbows flashed between lingering bits of breakfast.

At least now we have confirmation of the time of day, Ingrid told herself. She smiled back.

“Good afternoon.” She tried to go around him. He was having none of it.

“Hey, why such a hurry? I don’t think I’ve seen you around the clinic.”

“Been sick recently?”

“Well, no.” The wattage of his dentition increased. “I don’t get sick.”

“Then you wouldn’t have much occasion to see me, would you?” She looked back at Whispr, her tone thoroughly professional. “Eric, don’t forget to take a double antiseptic shower tonight. I’m afraid some of those local cultures might have gotten on your skin.”

The science Meld spoke up uncertainly. “Cultures?”

“Yes.” She smiled pleasantly. “We’re working with some derivatives of local hederotoxin and the stuff can be hard to handle. You have to wash carefully when you’re finished working with the syringes because …”

“See you around some time, Red—maybe.” Clearly alarmed, the Natural stepped quickly out of her path. He and his friend resumed walking in the other direction—a bit faster than before, she thought.

“You’re learning,” a pleased Whispr told her softly. They continued
on. A pair of women in mechanics’ outfits waved as they turned up another corridor. Ingrid smiled pleasantly and waved back.

“I’ve had a good teacher,” she told him.

The seemingly interminable subterranean passage continued to stretch out before them. With no end in sight she hoped as much as felt that they were still heading north. Occasionally a man, woman, or Meld would wave or smile in their direction. While Whispr continued to ignore all such acknowledgments of their presence, Ingrid’s confidence grew each time she returned a casual greeting.

Maybe we
can
pull this off, she began to think. Given such crowded and busy surroundings it was starting to seem possible that anyone who managed to penetrate this deep into the complex might pass unchallenged. As they had surmised earlier, external security was so tight at Nerens that it might readily be assumed anyone present truly belonged there.

She had become so relaxed that by the time they paused at another far less crowded pedestrian intersection she failed to react to the curious stare of the young woman who was walking in their direction. At first she thought the woman, who could not have been out of her mid-twenties, was a Natural. Only when the tech came closer did Ingrid notice that each individual strand of the woman’s shoulder-length black hair was in fact a prehensile manip. The technician had been melded so that when operating over a work bench, in addition to her hands she would also have the use of hundreds of long, thin tentacles controllable by thought training alone. By themselves feeble, when braided together the Medusa melds would allow the woman to manipulate fine scientific apparatus with the utmost precision.

“Excuse me, miss, but where are you going? You’re a long way from the clinic.”

As Ingrid hesitated, taken aback for the first time since she and
her companion had exited the lift on this level, Whispr unobtrusively began to sidle to the woman’s left. If he could get behind her and get his hands around her neck before she divined his intent …

“Research.” Ingrid responded to the query with becoming swiftness. “We’re on our way to do some restricted research.”

Strands of her hair writhing like nematodes in Perrier, the younger woman frowned and gestured in the direction of Ingrid’s left breast. For a wild moment the doctor feared the tech had undergone some kind of bizarre X-ray meld that enabled her to locate the concealed capsule and the storage thread it held.

“I don’t see a clearance tag. Where’s your security glowp?”

Glowp … glow pin. Ingrid’s right hand reflexively reached toward her chest. Challenged thus a couple of months earlier she would have dissolved in panic. Time and experience had instructed as well as hardened her.

“Damn. Must’ve left it in my room.”

This wasn’t enough to satisfy her youthful interrogator. “Anyone cleared for Research is supposed to keep their security glowp fastened to their work apparel at all times … doctor.”

Queen to knight four
, Ingrid thought. What she said was, “I just had this cleaned. Can’t you tell it’s just back from the Laundry?”

The young tech leaned forward slightly, studying. There was no denying the freshness of the older woman’s apparel. Still …

Before she could pursue the matter further Ingrid added, “I don’t need it because I’m not going
inside
Research. There’s a junior worker who’s recovering from a recent bout of non-acid dyspepsia and since I’m headed that way anyhow I told him I’d stop by and see how the medication I prescribed for him is working. He’s supposed to meet me outside Security. But you’re right,” she concluded apologetically. “I should have switched my glowp over to my new outfit before getting dressed this morning.”

“I understand.” To Ingrid’s and Whispr’s immense relief, the
tech smiled. “I’d forget the obvious regularly if I didn’t make notes every night. This place is really conducive to daydreaming.” Then she did something so blessedly unexpected that Whispr was hard put to restrain himself. She nodded down the branching corridor. “After you’re done at Research you’d better go back to your quarters and pick up your tag or somebody else is sure to confront you, Dr.…?”

“MacGregor,” Ingrid told her without hesitating.

“Dr. MacGregor. Have a good day.” Leaning to one side she peered around Ingrid. “You too, sir.” Stepping past both of them she continued briskly on her way.

When speaking of Research, the tech had gestured toward the branching corridor. Inadvertently and unintentionally the guesswork had been removed from Ingrid and Whispr’s search. Moving with renewed energy they headed off in the indicated direction. Ingrid tried to hunch over slightly, wrinkling her physician’s coat so that the location of the nonexistent security tag would be less prominent. Because of her recent body maniping this proved difficult to do, but she tried nonetheless.

“So we know where we’re going.” Striding along beside her Whispr kept his voice down. “That still doesn’t get us inside.”

An increasingly confident Ingrid smiled sweetly at him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One bluff at a time.”

“Yeah. You did good back there. Real good. Ever think of working for a living by fronting for a riffler?”

“Like you, maybe?”

He raised both hands in mock alarm. “Hey, no chance! You’re too good for me.”
In more ways than one
, he thought dejectedly.

Pressure-relieving badinage was set aside and they lapsed into silence as they approached a doorway. It looked exactly like any number of similar portals they had passed on the long walk from the service lift. That is, Whispr mused appraisingly, if one disregarded
the subtle gray surface sheen that indicated the barrier was made of military-grade composite and the three reinforced eight-centimeter-thick bolt-hinges that fastened it to the interior wall. Not your average door.

In addition there was a live human guard sitting behind a desk placed off to one side of the passageway. Dressed in the uniform of Nerens Security he wore a holstered sidearm and a look of boredom that bordered on the bucolic. At present he was staring at a box screen. The absence of a projection visible to anyone but himself suggested that he was enjoying entertainment of a private nature. Probably pornography, Ingrid decided as she and Whispr approached the threshold. Good: his thoughts would be elsewhere.

Her companion tapped her on the shoulder and she looked back the way they had come. Conversing animatedly among themselves, three men clad in nearly identical tech garb were coming up fast behind them. Like the guard, two were Naturals. The third sported a reddish beard and a full lab meld right down to his fingers, half of which had been replaced with advanced techrap. From the fabric above the hearts of all three flashed a softly pulsing glowp. Nodding imperceptibly at Whispr, she slowed her pace and feigned conversation.

“Well
I
think you’ve got it all wrong!” the youngest of the three technicians was insisting loudly. “Interleaved suspension is
not
the best way to manage a volatile blend!”