K Jeter - Noir

“Exactly.” McNihil gave a quick nod. “And when you’re reanimated because of outstanding debts, you’re automatically assigned to whatever ongoing job you might have that has the highest possibility of making enough money to pay off what you owe. I already had this gig with DynaZauber, so I was allowed to go ahead with it. Only the job I had been given was to find out what happened to Travelt and his prowler-and I did that. It’s not my problem if what these people really wanted was for me to infect the Wedge with their TOAW project. Because that didn’t happen; the vector modeling after a venereal disease was too close; it can only be transmitted from one living thing, a human or a prowler, to another. They forgot about the dead. But that’s all right.” This nod was slower, with obvious satisfaction. “I didn’t forget about them.”

“You didn’t do it for me at all.” November was amazed at how much clearer that made things. “You just needed to rack up the debt-and doing it at a hospital is the fastest way. Everybody knows that.”

“It’s nothing personal,” said McNihil. “And you got something out of it.”

“No, no-it’s okay. I don’t mind.” The thought struck her, that he’d already been dead, entering into the land of the dead and making it his own, when she’d been coming back from it. He must’ve done it , she thought, right after he finished talking with Harrisch at the hospital . When he’d been by himself again, up in that shabby little apartment of his. Just took out his gun and - did it . When they’d been putting her back together, fitting a new skin to her, he’d already had a hole drilled through his heart. A real one at last, to match the metaphorical one. “As long as… it’s what you wanted.”

“Connect this.” Harrisch’s snarling voice broke in. “I don’t care if you think you did the job we hired you for or not-you’re not getting paid. You’re not getting a penny from us. That debt you’re carrying around? It’s yours for good. If you think you’re headed for a quiet grave, that you’re not going to be indeadted forever-you’re really connected. Anybody connects around with us, gets a long time to regret it.”

“Maybe so.” McNihil’s voice softened. “I’ll have a long time, all right. All that skin didn’t come cheap; what I owe now, I can’t even generate the interest payments on. But I don’t know about regrets-”

His voice was drowned out. For a few moments, November had forgotten about the slow sea, the gel filled with soft bones and human neural tissue, surrounding the building, extending out farther than she could see. The rooftop of the End Zone Hotel had become a little world in itself, the place where the last words were being spoken, the final explanations given. As if they-or it-were listening, the poly-orgynism had quieted itself, the waves subsiding for a time. In that quiet, the clouds overhead had grown darker and heavier, another ceiling rolling nearly within reach. The next rain wouldn’t be fire, but ice and steam mingled together. The sound that swallowed up McNihil’s voice was like thunder and earthquake, the coming together of earth and sky.

The flat world tilted, the rooftop with its gaping holes and solid sections swiveling into a forty-five-degree angle as one entire side of the building collapsed. Falling, November heard the rumble of bricks and girders sliding in chaos onto the gel below. Her spine hit tar paper that flexed like a drumhead with her impact, the edges tearing loose from the surrounding material. She rolled onto her side, head downward, scrabbling desperately for anything to hold on to. Grabbing on to the broken end of a structural beam, jutting out from the collapsing depths of the hotel like the bowsprit of a foundering ship, November found herself shoulder-to-shoulder with McNihil. The dead asp-head’s fingers had clawed a purchase onto the sharp knife’s-edge of a ripped-open ventilation duct; with a kick of his legs, he got his chest up onto the corner of the thin metal.

“I think… she got tired of waiting…” There was no need anymore, for McNihil to gasp for breath. “She can get… impatient…”

“What?” November stared at him. “Who are you talking-”

She didn’t get to finish the question. She’d braced herself for the slam of another wave building up in the slow ocean beneath him, but was unprepared for the butt of a human hand striking her between the eyes. Her head rocked back, as her fingers gripped tighter on their own accord. Through a net of her own blood, November saw Harrisch above her, one of his hands grasping an insulated electrical cable like a mountain climber’s belaying rope. His thin, ugly smile showed as his other hand reached and fumbled inside November’s jacket.

“It’s been great talking to you.” Harrisch’s voice spat out the words, as his hand came up with the tight-cell phone. “But I’ve got another agenda to take care of.”

November heard the tiny beep of the phone’s send button being hit, as Harrisch clambered up the cable with furious agility. The far edge of the rooftop had reared up, a straight-line peak against the darkening clouds. Storm winds hit the DZ exec full-force, but he managed to let go of the cable and jump, clinging to the highest point; the phone, no longer needed, tumbled like a smooth stone down the roof’s skewed surface.

Beside her, McNihil tried to clamber farther onto the ventilation duct, but the flat aluminum was too slick for him to work his fingertips into. “Relax,” said November. She’d managed to get one bootsole onto the edge of the gap behind and below her; with that and the beam, she got herself back on the slanting roof. What was left of it shook beneath her hands and knees, as more of the shattered building fell away. “I’ll settle his account.”

Harrisch was too busy watching the skies, looking for the corporate jet that had brought him to the End Zone Hotel. He didn’t hear November’s clawing approach, masked by the gel’s rumbling impact, until it was too late. Using one of the smaller gaps as a handhold, she reached up and grabbed his ankle, jerking him back down from the rooftop’s edge.

Startled, he managed to hang on, sliding only a couple of feet down toward her. His kick caught her on the chin, loosening her grasp for a few seconds, letting him scramble back up, farther than he’d been before. Enough to push himself upright into the open air. Beyond him, November saw fiery sparks falling in the distance. The DynaZauber jet, surrounded by drones and swarming Noh -flies, banked into its approach run.

November made another grab for the exec’s ankle, but missed. Her handhold gave way, letting her slide painfully across the rooftop’s jagged surface before she could dig in and stop herself.

She looked up and saw Harrisch, out of her reach, climbing up onto the exposed crest of the roof’s highest angle. He took one hand away from the ridge, signaling frantically to the still-distant jet. That was enough; that, and the next wave that rose up and hit the building. Hot scraps of metal swept across the rooftop as it rolled with the impact. November flinched, shielding her face against one shoulder; she saw only a glimpse of Harrisch’s face as he lost balance and fell over the building’s side.

When she reached the edge, fingertips digging into the crumbling tar paper, November looked down and saw where the exec had hit. The gel of the soft, slow ocean had cushioned Harrisch’s impact; he was still alive and moving, legs and arms splayed out, dazed face looking up unfocused at the dark sky. Across the surface membrane were the scattered pieces of the network crews’ catwalks and equipment booms; none of the cameramen were in sight. You’re missing it , November told them inside her head.