"Yes."
Janis swears, quietly. "How bad was it?"
I debate how much to tell her. "It's about as bad as it can get. If he finds her again, I'm afraid he'll kill her." I stare at her. "Janis, Fiore knew. He had to! And he didn't do anything. I'm half-expecting him to nail us all for a ton of points next Sunday for intervening."
She nods thoughtfully. "So what do you want me to do?"
I switch the kettle off. "Take today off sick, like you have for the past few days. Go to the hospital, visit Cass. If they've wired her jaw, she might be able to talk. We can't be with her all the time, but I think she'll need someone around. And someone who'll be there to call the police if Mick shows up. I don't know if the hospital zombies will do that."
"Forget the coffee, I'm out of here." As she stands up she looks at me oddly. "Good luck with whatever you're planning for Fiore," she says. "I hope it's painful." Then she heads for the door.
AFTER Janis leaves, I go and wait behind the front desk. Fiore shows up around midmorning and pointedly ignores me. I offer him a coffee and get a fish-eye stare instead of a "yes"he seems suspicious. I wonder if it's because of what happened last night? But he's here alone, with no police and no tame congregation of score whores to back him up, so he pretends he didn't see me at all, and I pretend I don't know anything's wrong. He heads for the locked door in the reference section, and I manage to hold back the explosive gulp of air my lungs are straining for until he's gone.
My hands keep tensing and kneading the handles of my bag as if they belong to someone else. There's a carving knife in the bag, and I've sharpened the blade. It's not much of a dagger, but I'm betting that Fiore isn't much of a knife fighter. With any luck he won't notice anything, or he'll assume Yourdon is the author of my little modification to the cellar and, therefore, leave it alone. The knife is for the worst case, if I think Fiore has realized what I'm up to. It's piss poor compared to the kit I used to work with, but it's better than nothing. So I sit behind this desk like a prim and proper librarian, entertaining mad fantasies about sawing off the Priest's head with a carving knife while I wait for him to emerge from the repository.
Sweat trickles down the small of my back as I look out across the forecourt toward the highway, watching the pattern of light and shade cast by the leaves of the cherry trees on either side of the path shift and recombine on the concrete paving stones. My head hurts as I run through my fragmentary information again. Are my intermittent disconnects hiding things from me that I need to know?
Riddle me this: Why would three missing renegade psyops specialists from the chaos that followed the fall of the Republic of Is surface inside an experiment re-enacting an historical period about which we know virtually nothing? And why would the filing cupboard at the library contain what looks like a copy of the bytecode to Curious Yellow, printed on paper? Why can't I hear the spoken words "I love you," and why am I suffering from intermittent memory blackouts? Why is there a stand-alone A-gate in the basement, and what is Fiore doing with it? And why does Yourdon want us to have lots and lots of babies?
I don't know. But there's one thing I'm absolutely clear about: These scumsuckers used to work for Curious Yellow or one of the cognitive dictatorships, and this is all something to do with the aftermath of the censorship war. I'm here because old-me, the Machiavellian guy with the pen whittled from his own thighbone, harbored deep suspicions along these very lines. But in order to get me in through the YFH firewalls he had to erase the chunks of his memories that would give him awayand those are the very pieces of me that I need in order to understand the situation!
It's frustrating. It's also immensely worrying because there's more at risk here than simple personal dangerwhether from the experimenters or the other victims. I have a faint inkling of the pain and suffering Curious Yellow caused the first time it got out, and of the terrible struggle it took to chop up the worm's Chord-type network and sterilize every single assembler. It ruptured what was once an integrated interstellar civilization, smashing it into a mess of diamond-shard polities. How did we stop it... ?
Footsteps. It's Fiore, looking curiously self-satisfied as he heads toward the library doors.
"Finished, Father?" I call.
"Yes, that is all for today." He inclines his head toward me, a gesture that's evidently intended to be gracious but that comes over as a pompous bob. Then his eyebrows furrow in a frown. "Ah yes, Reeve. You were involved in the business last night, I believe?"
My left hand tightens on the knife handle inside my bag. "Yes." I stare him down. "Do you know what Mick was doing to Cass?"
"I know that"something seems to occur to him, and he changes direction in midsentence"it is a most serious thing indeed to interfere in the holy relation between husband and wife. But in some circumstances it may be justifiable." He stares at me owlishly. "She was pregnant, you know."
"And?"
He must think my expression is one of puzzlement, because he explains, "If you hadn't intervened, she might have lost the child." He glances at his watch. "Now, you must excuse meI have an appointment. Good day." And he's off through the door again like a shot, leaving me watching him from behind, mouth agape with disbelief.
Why is Fiore concerned with the health of a fetus, but not about its mother being assaulted, repeatedly raped, held prisoner for weeks, maimed in such a way that she may never walk again? Why? He's got all the human empathy of a zombie. What's wrong with him? And why did he suddenly change his tune? I'd swear he was about to denounce what we did last night, but then he moderated his line. Fear of what the Bishop might say if he incited another near riot over the way we rescued Cass, or something else?
They want us to have lots of children. But why is that important to them? Is it something to do with Curious Yellow?
I grind my teeth until Fiore is out of sight, then I hop down from my stool, hang up the CLOSED sign, and head for the lock-up. The secret basement downstairs is as I left it except for the assembler, which is chugging to itself and gurgling as it loads feedstock or coolant or something through pipes in the floor. I guess Fiore's set it running some kind of long batch job. But checking up on it isn't why I'm down here right nowI'm here to retrieve the video cartridge from the camcorder I left running on the equipment shelf.
The camcorder is a small metal box with a lens on one side and a screen covering the other. I don't know what's going on inside it. It certainly isn't an original dark ages artifactI've seen pictures of them in the library booksbut it does the same job. Along with all the other tech artifacts in this polity, some set designer probably slaved over it for hours trying to figure out how to give it the right functionality without adding too much. They got it wrong, but not too wrong. The original machines used things called "tapes" or "disks," but this one just writes everything it sees onto a memory diamond the size of a sand grain that's good for a gigasec of events.
I go sit down on the sofa to play with the 'corder. Putting my bag down next to me, I poke at the display until I've zapped back an hour or three. Then I fast-forward through darkness until the light comes on and Fiore comes in. At triple normal speed I watch as he goes over to the bookshelves and leafs through a couple of folders. I pause and zoom in to see what he was reading: POLICY ON SEXCRIME, followed by a glance at FAMILIAL STABILITY INDEX, whatever that is. Next, he trots over to the A-gate and chatters to it, gesturing at the terminal. I don't see any sign of biometric authentication, no retinal scan or anything, but he may have used a password. The gate cylinder rotates around its long axis, and he steps inside. Fast-forward and about a kilosecond later he steps out again, blinking. So he's just backed himself up, has he?