K Jeter - Noir

“I’ll tell you,” said Harrisch. “It’s the catalog information for the modifications that were made on the prowler, before it was delivered to Travelt. Modifications I didn’t order.”

“What were they?”

“ That … I don’t know.” A spark of anger flared up in the exec’s voice again. “The numbers don’t correspond to anything in the regular SM catalog. Or the secret one, which they don’t even keep under the counter. The one they make available to just their top corporate customers.”

“Like you.”

“Like me,” said Harrisch.

What the connect could it’ve been? wondered McNihil. Hard to imagine; the commercial clomes at the Snake Medicine™ clinics, the owner-operators fronting the business establishments, made a point of advertising their full range of services. That was their shtick, why they were all surgically altered into the idealized sleazy image from some old semiforgotten book, the doctor with the knife sharp enough to deliver whatever the customer wanted, sex-wise. From a simple stay-in-one-place tattoo, all the way to a Full Prince Charles job; you made the appointment with whatever Adder clome had set up shop in a low-rent storefront in your zone of the Gloss, and as long as you had the money for it, you could have your own little doorway into the Wedge carved into your body. The Snake Medicine™ clinics were even more legally tolerated than prowler usage, though the Adder clomes always tried to make it seem that they were operating right on the edge of the law, at least in part. McNihil had always figured that was just the usual faux rebellious ad spin on the clinics’ regulated, safe-’n’-sane merchandise and services.

“Why not call them up?” McNihil lowered the sheets of paper in his hand. “Talk to the clome in charge. Ask him what these modifications were. If you’re paying the bill, you’ve got a right to know.”

“No can do.” On the cross, Harrisch shook his head. “This item was paid for out of a corporate slush fund. If I initiate a billing-error inquiry, all hell breaks loose in the accounting department. Believe me, it’s easier to go outside the loop, have somebody like you poke into the matter. Besides-I don’t need to know exactly how this particular mess was created. I just need it cleaned up.”

“Your lost property?”

“Exactly. The sooner it’s back in my hands, the happier I’ll be.” Harrisch’s ugly smile reappeared. “And when I’m happy… I make sure everybody else gets happy, too.”

I’d be happy , thought McNihil, if you’d get off my ass . “You still haven’t told me what this inside part of Travelt is, that you’ve lost.”

“Travelt… knew things.” Harrisch nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. “He’d have to have, he’d worked himself up in the corporation pretty well. He really knew the TIAC project inside and out. Close to being my right-hand man on it. As a matter of fact…” The exec shifted uncomfortably on the cross. “There were some things only Travelt was completely knowledgeable about.”

“For somebody who wound up dead,” remarked McNihil, “he sounds pretty smart. There’s nothing like making yourself indispensable.”

“True. He wasn’t an idiot. As it turned out… neither was the prowler I gave him.”

McNihil tilted his head, trying to catch an angle into the other man’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Something happened,” said Harrisch. “Between Travelt and the prowler. That we weren’t expecting. It’s always a very… tight relationship between a user and his prowler; intimate, you might say. And the one between Travelt and his prowler became more than tight; it apparently started to overlap. Big time. Instead of an essential separation between the two, a unity started to form. Transference occurred.”

“That’s what’s supposed to happen.” Something was hidden in the exec’s gaze, that McNihil wasn’t yet able to make out. “That’s what a prowler is designed to do. It goes out and gets a certain kind of information and transfers it to the user in the form of memory.”

“Sure-but that’s a one-way street. The information goes from the prowler to the user. Not the other way around.” Harrisch’s voice went up a notch. “Something else happened with Travelt and his prowler. That’s what the unauthorized modification must’ve been about. Something to make the overlap possible, to change the one-way street into a two-way. The information went the other direction -something from Travelt wound up inside the prowler’s head.”

Now McNihil got it. “The TIAC information. Whatever it was.” The exec hadn’t told him the details. “It transferred over into the prowler. Right?”

“Exactly.”

“Along with what else?”

“That’s… hard to say.” Harrisch’s shoulders lifted, then fell. “It may be safer just to assume that everything crossed over, from Travelt’s head to the prowler’s. The whole personality structure, memories, ideas, information… the whole gestalt of Travelt got downed into the prowler.”

“How do you know?”

“There’ve been… indications. Little bits and pieces showing up. Details about the TIAC project, personal things-all sorts of stuff. Stuff that shouldn’t be turning up at all, especially if the person who had them in his head is deceased now. It’s a leakage phenomenon. When other prowlers go into the Wedge, and they bring back things for their users to enjoy…” Harrisch inhaled deeply, then breathed out. “That’s how I know. Because the other execs, the ones who also have prowlers, report these things to me. He’s out there, all right.”

“You mean,” said McNihil, “the prowler is.”

“It’s the same thing.” A fierce possessiveness tinged Harrisch’s words. “The prowler I gave him has gone missing, and it’s got Travelt inside. Or enough of him, at any rate. And enough of him is my property. DynaZauber property. Every detail about the TIAC project-that’s ours. And I want it back.”

McNihil looked away from the angry figure on the cross. He didn’t know how much of Harrisch’s story to believe. And I don’t care , he thought. “Maybe you should climb down from there.” He glanced back over to the elevated Harrisch. “And go looking for it yourself. Because I’m not going to.”

Before Harrisch, face darkening, could say anything, one of the first-aid techs, in a green scrub uniform, showed up at the foot of the circle-enclosed cross. “Sorry to interrupt.” The tech stripped latex gloves from his hands. “But I figured you’d want a report on that woman. The one from the crash, that you were having us take care of.”

Harrisch’s annoyance was visible in his furious expression. “What about her?”

“She’s fine. Bruised and banged up, but nothing more than that.” The first-aid tech wadded up the gloves and held them in one hand. “As a matter of fact, she’s so fine she’s gone.”

“What’re you talking about?”

The tech shrugged. “She took a powder. Got off the stretcher, unhooked the monitors, and went for a walk. Guess she didn’t want to hang around.” The tech started to head back toward the rail line. “Like I said, just thought you should know.”

“That’s how it is for me, too.” McNihil looked up at the exec. “If the train’s ready to roll, so am I.”

“What about the job?” Harrisch looked like he was about to decrucify himself, to jump down from the apparatus and go face-to-face with the asp-head. “Now you know all about it. So you’re ready to take it on, right?”

McNihil shook his head. “Sorry. The answer’s the same as before. Not interested.” He turned away and headed toward the train, set right once more on its tracks. The repair crews were wrapping up the last details.