When she opened the box in her apartment, a tiny plush flamingo tottered out, and said, “I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry. We’ll do better next time.”
No name, as if none were needed. Veronika kicked the flamingo across her living room, and stomped on it before it could right itself.
28
Rob
Lorne was eating a pink onion pear, skin and all, while Rob scratched at an ancient gum stain on the arm of the barber chair. He’d always wondered why his dad had three barber chairs when he always cut hair in the same one—the one closer to the Wall of Fame. He was about to ask his dad about this when the front door squealed open and a man poked his head inside.
“You have time for a haircut?” He was lanky and loose-limbed, his hair a crazy, unkempt ball.
Lorne waved him toward a chair. “Always time for a haircut. I only need one hand to eat.”
The guy, who looked to be in his forties, took a seat. His system was impressive; it looked to be made of standing water that defied gravity. He was a stranger, and judging from the system, not from the area.
As Rob’s dad wrapped a cloak around him, the man said, “I’m Peter.”
They introduced themselves, then Peter and his dad had a brief discussion about how the haircut should go. Rob eased himself out of the chair. He would leave the guy to his haircut.
“So I understand you’re interested in the bridesicle program?” Peter said it so conversationally, it took a minute to register. His dad had stopped cutting.
“‘Interested’ isn’t the word,” Rob said when he’d recovered some of his composure. He eased back into the chair. “Can you help me?”
“That’s why I’m here.” He pointed at his head. “And to get a haircut, of course.”
“Of course,” Rob said, his lips slightly numb.
“From what I understand, you want to know about someone’s status? Someone who’s uninsured?”
Lorne resumed cutting Peter’s hair, as if the conversation was none of his business.
“That’s right,” Rob said, climbing out of the chair. “You can check her status?”
“I can’t check it directly, but the algorithm is fairly straightforward, so I can give you a ballpark. Assuming you know how many men have visited her, and how many times?”
“I’ve visited four times. I think there’ve been two others. Wait, three.” He’d almost forgotten Nathan.
Peter worked his system. “Give me her date of entry and attractiveness rating.”
Rob provided them.
Peter had a “This is not good” expression on his face that made Rob feel a little sick. “Last thing. Do you know if any of her other visitors are like you—people who definitely can’t afford to revive her?”
“At least one was. I don’t know about the other two.”
Peter nodded, subvocalizing as he entered information. He stopped all at once, spent a moment staring at a readout only he could see. “I hate to say this, but it may be as little as a few weeks.”
Ever so slowly, Rob put his hands over his face. The edges of his vision were going gray; he thought he might pass out. Do you want a second chance at life? It’ll be terrifying, and humiliating, but now that we’ve waked you and made you aware that you’re dead, how could you possibly say no? Rob dropped his hands. Weeks, he’d said. “How many weeks?”
Peter studied the output. “Two or three? Like I said, it’s an estimate.”
He’d be lucky to raise enough to see her once more before then. Then she’d be dead, for good and all, her death squarely on his shoulders with no way to make amends.
Peter was nodding sympathetically. “The thing is, if they leave your friend there when no one’s visiting her, some other young woman misses her chance to live again. There’s only so much space, after all.”
Rob lifted his head to look at Peter. “You work for Cryomed?”
Peter nodded.
“I thought you were on our side.”
Peter canted his head, smiled not unkindly. “I am on your side. I’m here, aren’t I?” Dad finished running the vacuum over Peter’s head to remove stray clippings, and Peter stood.
“So why are you here?” Rob asked.
Peter sighed, considered Rob. “Because I’m not a fan of how Cryomed runs the program. I’d like to see some of their policies changed. For personal reasons.”
From the look on Peter’s face, Rob imagined those personal reasons involved someone close to him.
“How can I save her?” Rob asked.
Peter put a big hand behind Rob’s head, drew their faces close. “Unless some rich guy takes a shine to her, you can’t. If you get her more visitors, you can nudge the termination date, but not much.” He squeezed Rob’s head, let it go.
Termination date. Rob had never heard such an awful phrase.
Peter tried to pay for the haircut, but Lorne waved the offer away. “Are you kidding me?” He grabbed Peter, gave him a half hug, and clapped him on the back.
Rob met Peter at the door, shook his hand. “Thank you for your help. At least we know what we’re dealing with.”
Peter dropped his chin. “I wish I had better news for you, Rob. I really do.”
The door clicked closed, and Rob and his dad stood, unmoving, for a long moment.
“What are we going to do now?” Dad asked.
“I don’t know. Something.” He had no idea what that something was. They had no money, no time, and they needed someone to step up and pay a fortune to revive her.
He sent a message to Veronika. Bad, bad news. Can we meet? It helped to talk to Veronika. Strange, but lately he felt more Veronika’s friend than Nathan’s.
29
Veronika
She resisted trying to find out what Lorelei thought of Nathan for an entire day, but as she stood on the sidewalk outside her apartment waiting for Nathan to pick her up, the anxiety of not knowing finally overtook the potential pain of finding out. Veronika searched for clips of Lorelei from the past twenty-two hours that included a mention of Nathan.
She had her choice of seventy-eight clips, mostly identical, gathered by Lorelei’s fans. Bracing herself, Veronika chose one of the shorter versions and activated it.
Lorelei was on the floor of her living room, doing yoga, wearing very little. An older woman who Veronika guessed was Lorelei’s yoga instructor was going through the same contortions beside her. They were talking about Nathan, or rather, Lorelei was, and the instructor was listening. Lorelei made reference to the obvious complications involved if she went out with Nathan (she said this with her head between her legs), but said he seemed fun and was kind of cute. Ultimately she decided that she couldn’t decide.
“I think I’ll leave this one in your hands,” she said, addressing the screens watching her yoga lesson. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet. What do you think, should I see him again?”
It was all so obviously staged that Veronika wanted to vomit, yet Lorelei’s fans lapped it up. Her eye count shot from three hundred to five hundred in a matter of seconds, and the votes registered in real time, in the air over Lorelei’s head.
The vote was sixty-three percent to thirty-seven percent in favor of Lorelei seeing Nathan again. The clip was oddly reassuring. If Lorelei was letting her fans decide, she was clearly going out with Nathan simply to boost her ratings. But that also meant she was likely going to break Nathan’s heart, and that pissed Veronika off.
Nathan pulled up in his brand-new Chameleon, the wheels tucked, the maglev drive engaged. He was beaming.