“So, call Nick,” Mary said, gathering her things and coming to the door. “Any normal russ would.” Fred winced but continued to block her way, and she said, “I’m sorry to hear about your brothers and the rest. I really am, Fred. Now, move aside.”
Standing up straight, with his hands on his hips, Fred filled the door frame. He said, “You asked your caller if she was alive, but I didn’t hear the answer. Is Ellen alive?”
Mary was startled by the question.
“Oh, yes, I know your client, Mary. In fact, I once worked for the Starke family, so I should know what I’m talking about. That mentar who’s behind all of this does not have your best interest at heart, believe me.”
He reached into her tote and lifted the saucer hat. “You are just another tool for it to get what it wants. In this case, it wants the daughter.” He dropped the hat back into the tote and continued. “I assume that if she’s alive, she’s still unconscious. Don’t you find that a little bit suspicious? What does she need with companions right now? No offense to you and your sisters, but you’re no jennys.” Mary frowned, and Fred added, “I mean that in a nice way.”
“No, you don’t, Fred,” she said and went to sit on the bed, the smelly tote bag at her feet. “So, we freely discuss each other’s DCOs now? I just want to be sure I am understanding this conversation. We withhold vital information from Nicholas, right? That’s so unlike the both of us, don’t you think? We must have very good reasons. I know I do. Why don’t I tell you mine so you can see why I must go do this thing. But first I’d like to ask you a personal question. Would that be all right, dear?”
Oh, shit, Fred thought. He didn’t like the sound of that. He was tempted to reach up and block his ears with his hands like a child. Mary hopped off the bed and came to him on the soft carpet, watching him with birdlike intensity. “Or maybe we should skip the question for now,” she said. “How does that sound, Fred?” She placed her small hand on his chest and pushed, but he didn’t budge.
“Fine, have it your way,” she said and returned to the bed. “Let me first say in my own defense that I’m not totally stupid. I know there’s an element of danger in what I’m doing. But not as much danger as you seem to imagine. That clinic is highly secure.”
“Are you saying this from your wide experience in security matters?”
“Shut up, Fred, and listen. I’m telling you why I’m doing what I’m doing. I am aware of the risk involved, and let me state for the record that I accept it.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I probably don’t, Fred, but I do know one thing. I know that my sisters and I are not prospering. I mean my whole germline. There’s more of us heading for the subfloors every day. We seem to lack any practical skills, try as we might to acquire them, and it’s only a matter of time. You know it’s true, Fred.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Fred said.
“We’re to be kept women, then? And meanwhile, we drag you down. Did you know that russes married to ’leens are on average 4.6 years older than their brothers married to other types? And growing older every day. Ask your Marcus; he’ll give you the stats. And tell me this, Fred, how many juve treatments have you and I skipped in the past three years? When was the last vacation we took? The last furniture we bought? Face it, Fred, they’ve set the bar pretty high for us iterants. Couples must earn together, or they will slide together.”
“Mary, please—”
“I’m talking about oblivion, Fred. If you and all your brothers were facing oblivion, don’t you think you’d take extraordinary steps to turn it around? You can’t blame us, Fred. This opportunity fell into our laps. There are eight of us. We’ve been assigned to companion one of the most celebrated invalids on the planet, and in doing so, we are pioneering a new branch of companion work—companions to people undergoing deep body mechanics. Even people who are comatose need us. If we can do this, thousands of our sisters will have new duty opportunities. But only if our client survives and wakes up. That’s where I come in.” Mary got up and approached the doorway again. “Surely, Londenstane, you would not interfere with the destiny of an entire type?”
Fred shook his head. “No, only just you. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, Fred. You offer me no choice.” Mary seemed to sag. “Do we have to do this? If you love me, Londenstane, step aside, I beg you.”
“Don’t say that,” Fred said. “You know I love you.”
Mary began to pace, which for an evangeline was an especially bad sign. “You know this big Russ Centennial coming up in August?” she said. “Imagine that, the world’s oldest commercial germline turns one hundred. Congratulations, Fred.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
“And you, yourself, go back nearly to the beginning. You’re Batch 2B.”
Fred tracked her back and forth, from the bureau to the closet and back.
Mary said, “You confided in me the other day about your fears of catching clone fatigue.”
“Yes, I confided in you. Will you now use that as a weapon against me?”
That almost gave her pause, but she barged ahead and said, “You want the truth, don’t you, Fred? Even if it hurts? That’s what you’re always telling me. That’s why you told me all that stuff in the first place, isn’t it? Anyway, I was thinking about your Book of Russ.” He flinched at the name. “At first I thought that simply by creating it, you were out of type, but now I’m not so sure. I think it all depends on your urbrother Thomas A. Russ. What if he kept a private journal of his own, in which he recorded his most secret thoughts and feelings? And let’s say for the sake of argument that he had this journal set to self-delete if anything ever happened to him. So no one knew anything about it after he died. That’s possible, isn’t it, Fred? Thomas A. might have been a secret journal keeper. If he was, then your starting the Book of Russ might have been a normal response to a deep-seated russ need. You have to admit it’s possible, don’t you?”
Fred nodded, not knowing where she was going with this and afraid to ask.
“Good. I was thinking about this, Fred, and I came up with a question for you. Are you ready?”
Such a long windup. Fred was so tense the door frame creaked. Mary looked at him with pity and said, “Did Thomas Russ have something for little girls? Because, from what I witnessed in the park last night, mister, you sure do.”
THE NEXT THING Fred knew, he was sitting on the side of the bed, with his head hanging so low it nearly touched the floor. Mary was gone, escaped. She had knocked him down with a handful of words. Despite his shame, he was impressed. He got up and wandered around the apartment. She had nailed him, and still he couldn’t keep the thought of Kitty out of his head. Or Costa, for that matter, or the cute michelle he had just run into in the shop downstairs. What was happening to him? Whatever it was, it would have to wait. Mary was a dead clone if he didn’t do something fast. But what? His first impulse was to call Nicholas and turn her in. That was what a “normal” russ would do, and he didn’t have any better ideas. He was a russ in need of a plan, and a friend.
“WE WENT YESTERDAY,” Kitty said.
“I already told him that,” the chair replied, “but he doesn’t remember.” Kitty had caught the chair on the first floor, trying to sneak out of the house.
“Remind him that that’s because he slept through it.”
“He asked how Ellie looked, and I told him we were turned away at the gate.”
“Tell him again, but tell it to him on your way back to my room, and this time stay there.”