Ричард Морган: The SF Collection

I believe these terms to be generous but I should add that I am not a man to be trifled with. In the event that your investigation fails and I am killed, or that you attempt to in any way escape or evade the terms of your contract, the sleeve lease will be terminated immediately and you will be returned to storage to complete your sentence here on Earth. Any further legal penalties that you incur may be added to that sentence. Should you choose not to accept my contract from the outset, you will also be returned to storage immediately, though I cannot undertake to refreight you to Harlan’s World in this case.

I am hopeful that you will see this arrangement as an opportunity, and agree to work for me. In anticipation of this, I am sending a driver to collect you from the storage facility. His name is Curtis and he is one of my most trusted employees. He will be waiting for you in the release hall.

I look forward to meeting you at Suntouch House.

Suntouch House was aptly named. From Bay City we flew south down the coast for about half an hour before the change in engine pitch warned me that we were approaching our destination. By that time the light through the right side windows was turning warm gold with the sun’s decline towards the sea. I peered out as we started to descend and saw how the waves below were molten copper and the air above pure amber. It was like landing in a jar of honey.

The transport sideslipped and banked, giving me a view of the Bancroft estate. It edged in from the sea in neatly manicured tones of green and gravel around a sprawling tile-roofed mansion big enough to house a small army. The walls were white, the roofing coral and the army, if it existed, was out of sight. Any security systems Bancroft had installed were very low-key. As we came lower I made out the discreet haze of a power fence along one border of the grounds. Barely enough to distort the view from the house. Nice.

Less than a dozen metres up over one of the immaculate lawns the pilot kicked in the landing brake with what seemed like unnecessary violence. The transport shuddered from end to end and we came down hard amidst flying clods of turf.

I shot Ortega a reproachful look which she ignored. She threw open the hatch and climbed out. After a moment I joined her on the damaged lawn. Prodding at the torn grass with the toe of one shoe, I shouted over the sound of the turbines. ‘What was that all about? You guys pissed off with Bancroft just because he doesn’t buy his own suicide?’

‘No.’ Ortega surveyed the house in front of us as if she was thinking of moving in. ‘No, that’s not why we’re pissed off with Mr Bancroft.’

‘Care to tell me why?’

‘You’re the detective.’

A young woman appeared from the side of the house, tennis racket in hand, and came across the lawn towards us. When she was about twenty metres away, she stopped, tucked the racket under her arm and cupped her hands to her mouth.

‘Are you Kovacs?’

She was beautiful in a sun, sea and sand sort of way and the sports shorts and leotard she was wearing displayed the fact to maximal effect. Golden hair brushed her shoulders as she moved and the shout gave away a glimpse of milk white teeth. She wore sweat bands at forehead and wrists and from the dew on her brow they were not for show. There was finely toned muscle in her legs and a substantial bicep stood out when she lifted her arms. Exuberant breasts strained the fabric of the leotard. I wondered if the body was hers.

‘Yes,’ I called back. ‘Takeshi Kovacs. I was discharged this afternoon.’

‘You were supposed to be met at the storage facility.’ It was like an accusation. I spread my hands.

‘Well. I was.’

‘Not by the police.’ She stalked forward, eyes mostly on Ortega. ‘You. I know you.’

‘Lieutenant Ortega,’ said Ortega, as if she was at a garden party. ‘Bay City, Organic Damage Division.’

‘Yes. I remember now.’ The tone was distinctly hostile. ‘I assume it was you who arranged for our chauffeur to be pulled over on some trumped-up emissions charge.’

‘No, that would be Traffic Control, ma’am,’ said the detective politely. ‘I have no jurisdiction in that division.’

The woman in front of us sneered.

‘Oh, I’m sure you haven’t, lieutenant. And I’m sure none of your friends work there either.’ The voice turned patronising. ‘We’ll have him released before the sun goes down, you know.’

I glanced sideways to see Ortega’s reaction, but there was none. The hawk profile remained impassive. Most of me was preoccupied with the other woman’s sneer. It was an ugly expression, and one that belonged on an altogether older face.

Back up by the house there were two large men with automatic weapons slung over their shoulders. They had been standing under the eaves watching since we arrived, but now they ambled out of the shade and began to make their way in our direction. From the slight widening of the young woman’s eyes I guessed that she had summoned them on an internal mike. Slick. On Harlan’s World people are still a bit averse to sticking racks of hardware into themselves, but it looked as if Earth was going to be a different proposition.

‘You are not welcome here, lieutenant,’ said the young woman in a freezing voice.

‘Just leaving, ma’am,’ said Ortega heavily. She clapped me unexpectedly on the shoulder and headed back to the transport at an easy pace. Halfway there she suddenly stopped and turned back.

‘Here, Kovacs. Almost forgot. You’ll need these.’

She dug in her breast pocket and tossed me a small packet. I caught it reflexively and looked down. Cigarettes.

‘Be seeing you.’

She swung herself aboard the transport and slammed the hatch. Through the glass I saw her looking at me. The transport lifted on full repulse, pulverising the ground beneath and ripping a furrow across the lawn as it swung west towards the ocean. We watched it out of sight.

‘Charming,’ said the woman beside me, largely to herself.

‘Mrs Bancroft?’

She swung around. From the look on her face, I wasn’t much more welcome here than Ortega had been. She had seen the lieutenant’s gesture of camaraderie and her lips twitched with disapproval.

‘My husband sent a car for you, Mr Kovacs. Why didn’t you wait for it?’

I took out Bancroft’s letter. ‘It says here the car would be waiting for me. It wasn’t.’

She tried to take the letter from me and I lifted it out of her reach. She stood facing me, flushed, breasts rising and falling distractingly. When they stick a body in the tank, it goes on producing hormones pretty much the way it would if you were asleep. I became abruptly aware that I was swinging a hard-on like a filled fire hose.

‘You should have waited.’

Harlan’s World, I remembered from somewhere, has gravity at about 0.8g. I suddenly felt unreasonably heavy again. I pushed out a compressed breath.

‘Mrs Bancroft, if I’d waited, I’d still be there now. Can we go inside?’

Her eyes widened a little, and I suddenly saw in them how old she really was. Then she lowered her gaze and summoned composure. When she spoke again, her voice had softened.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Kovacs. I’ve forgotten my manners. The police, as you see, have not been sympathetic. It’s been very upsetting, and we all still feel a little on edge. If you can imagine—’

‘There’s no need to explain.’

‘But I am very sorry. I’m not usually like this. None of us are.’ She gestured around as if to say that the two armed guards behind her would ordinarily have been bearing garlands of flowers. ‘Please accept my apologies.’