Kaleidocide (18 page)

I found the light casing in the flower bed, and as I expected the keycard was still there. I pulled it out and walked around to the front door, and as I did the words I had heard in many conversations played in my head.
Our love nest is still there, waiting for you. Go there anytime, call me, and I'll be there as soon as I can. Even if I'm at work—I have plenty of vacation time saved up. You know where the key is …

Tara had even programmed the card so that my entry would not be registered on any security grid, and I didn't have to be afraid that someone would find out I was there. She wanted to make it easier for me to commit adultery with her, of course, but little did she know the much better purpose it would end up serving.
Not more enjoyable,
I thought to myself,
but better
. It struck me as ironic that I had always thought if I ever came back here, it would be for the purpose of renewing my relationship with her, but now a plan had already occurred to me how I could use this situation to finally put an end to it.

Not long after these thoughts about avoiding adultery were in my head, however, I found myself faced with the issue again. I carried in the girl's bags to the master bedroom, saying “Here you go,” and watched as she laid the boy down in the big bed and tucked him in under the covers. But then she followed me out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, and stood looking at me when I turned to face her in the foyer. It took me a few moments to realize what was happening, but then I started to understand, and she soon removed all doubt.

“I owe you everything,” she said nervously. “But I would feel a lot better about this if we were married.”

She was used to men wanting only one thing from her, and she was assuming it was included in my intentions for this arrangement. Her religion apparently limited sex to marriage, and she was obviously thinking that I was single. I had never worn a wedding ring, partly because of the nature of my initial work as a peacer, and she didn't use the net, so I realized that she could go on thinking that indefinitely unless I corrected her. I realized that this could serve my purposes well, and also give her a safe place to stay for a while. She would go on thinking a relationship with me was a possibility, and that would give her hope and string her along sufficiently until enough time had passed and she didn't need to be here anymore. If and when she found out the truth, I could honestly say that I had never confirmed her hopes. So I let her have them for now.

“I wouldn't ask that from you,” I said, “unless we were married.” I thought that would end the conversation, but she surprised me with her response.

“Thank you,” she said with relief, but then grew nervous again. “So … did you want to get married now?”

“I, um, I told you that I can't go anywhere for a while,” I said with a puzzled look on my face, “especially not to a courthouse or a church.”

“Peter and I said our vows by ourselves, and we were married right then.”

“Didn't your religion have a problem with that?”

“No, our church didn't believe in ceremonies, like with the government. 'Cause of the gays and besties getting married, and all that.”

It seemed that she wasn't only willing to do this, but actually desired it. And I didn't want to reject her too strongly, because I needed her for now and didn't want to send her out into the world just yet, while her pimp might still be looking for her.

“You're very beautiful, Angie, but—” Then I had a second thought. “Am I getting your name right? Is it Angie?”

“It's Angelee,” she said proudly. “Thanks to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time I became an escort, I was sixteen.” She started to choke up as she told the story. “One of my regular tricks was Peter, who became my husband. He had a lot of guilt being with me, because he was a Christian who had gotten into a bad habit, you know. So we ended up talking a lot, and he didn't want me to be with anyone else, so he took me home and took care of me. I didn't have to … give myself up anymore.” She was sobbing now. “Then he died and I had to take care of Chris. The only thing I have … they say I'm pretty … I took the place Simon gave me, and was going back to where I was before I met Peter. But then you came—that man you saw was my first customer. You saved me like Peter did, you're like him coming back to me. I belong to you now—all of me.”

“I'm glad I could help,” I said, and had to admit that it did feel good. “But what does that have to do with your name?”

“Oh, sorry,” she sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve. “My name was Lee, working name Lady Lee, when I met Peter. He changed it to Angelee when we were married, because he said I was a new person, like an angel. I was ready to change it back tonight, but then you came. So my name is Angelee. Unless
you
want to change it…”

“No, no. That's okay, I like Angelee. Listen, can we talk about this more later? Right now I have to set up some things in my room, because remember I'm hiding from some powerful people who want to kill me.”

“Won't they be able to find you here at your house?” she asked.

“No … this isn't my house. It belongs to a woman I know, a woman I work with. Her name's Tara.”

“You have a key to her house?” she asked. I ran through the options quickly in my mind and decided there was no reason to keep her in the dark about this.

“We were together a long time ago,” I explained. “She has a place in the city, where she works. But she bought this as a second home, so we could come here to get away. And she keeps telling me that she wants me to come back to her, to come back here.” I left out the part about needing a private rendezvous spot because I was married. “I knew she wouldn't be coming here anytime soon, because she hardly ever does, so this was a perfect place for me to disappear.”

“So you're not … with her?”

“No, not for years,” I said, again leaving out the part about marrying someone else. (Now she would be even more convinced that I was single.) “But I haven't really made a full break, if you know what I mean. I actually plan to do that really soon.” Angelee clearly didn't understand all this, but she brightened at the last statement. So I continued: “And to do that, I have to set up a net room. So why don't you get some sleep with your son. Chris, right? And I'll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, wiping at her face again, and then tiptoed back into the master bedroom.

I let out a long breath and proceeded to bring my things into the second bedroom, on the other side of the kitchen and living room. When I had everything inside, I locked the front door manually, stood next to it, and spoke into the air just loud enough that the Living House A.I. could hear me.

“Vera, are you there?” I said. A code word had to be spoken at the beginning of every sentence, because otherwise the house would always think you were talking to it. And since it spoke in a woman's voice, Tara and I had picked “Vera”—she liked it because of something in an old TV series, and I liked it because of something in a classic British rock album.

“Yes, Michael,” the house responded, only through the walls in my proximity, so it wouldn't disturb any other guests. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Vera, it's me.”

“It's good to have you back, Michael.” Like Saul's ghost, this A.I. had the irritating habit of using names too often. But I supposed that was necessary for this kind of communication to work well, because others who were present would know to whom it was speaking. There was no other way to know, because it couldn't “look” at anyone.

“Thank you, Vera. Please make sure that your external security settings for the property are as high as they go, and please disconnect any possible communication with the outside world. Please terminate any net connections … I'll use my own. Oh wait, Vera, before you do that, I should ask: Are there any scheduled security or utility reports that would be missed by Tara or anyone else, if you shut them off?”

“Tara and the security company are only notified if an alarm goes off, Michael.”

“Good,” I said. “Vera, make sure any incoming calls will go directly to voicemail, so that no one here could pick one up by mistake.”

“Consider it done, Michael,” she said. “Would you like me to tell Tara that you're here?”

“No, Vera, please don't tell her. Don't tell anyone.”

“Very well, Michael. Would you like me to play a holo for you, that you and Tara filmed on one of your previous visits?”

“No thank you, Vera,” I said quickly. “You can shut down for now, after you set the temperature at seventy degrees Fahrenheit. And don't film anything on this visit, okay?”

“Okay, Michael.”

This all made me think of Lynn, not just because I wouldn't want her to know those holos existed, but because the Living House showed how different she and Tara were. Our home was equipped with this same technology, but Lynn never turned it on, because she always said, “When I talk, I like to talk to
people
.” Tara, on the other hand, loved it and played with it like a toy. And unlike her, Lynn hated being filmed by anyone in any situation, let alone private ones.

I stepped back into the second bedroom and pulled out the netkit that we had requisitioned from the castle. It was only the size of a large book but worth as much money as a large yacht, and contained everything I needed to communicate with Lynn, Terrey, and the protection team at any time, without any security risk. I pulled out the projector patches that would make the room into a net room and stuck them onto the wall at various places. Then I unrolled the three paper-thin monitor screens and pressed them to the wall above the desk, situated the keyboard scroll and airmouse patches on its top, and activated the system with my handprint, retinal scan, and voice identification.

“Live forever, man,” I said when Terrey's face appeared on one of the monitors.

“Never die young, mate,” he responded. “Hey, before anything else, let me get my
Trois
to test your equipment, make sure it's the bee's knees.”

According to the techs at BASS, this system was connected to the ultimate Fortress Cloud, which would filter any data so thoroughly that no one on the planet could scan it, hack it, or otherwise know that it even existed. Terrey was so concerned to keep me hidden that he was originally going to suggest I have no contact at all with anyone for the duration. But the triplets were very impressed with the capabilities of the BASS technology and convinced him that it would keep me safe, especially when combined with their own. Plus the ability I would have to “ride” with my double would make it so much easier for him to pass for me when he had to go into public places.

Apparently the netkit and Fortress system was as good as advertised, because Terrey soon gave me the thumbs-up and a report about what had happened in the few hours since I had left the vacation house in Sausalito.

“The triplets combed your property for every possible sabotage device or method, and installed sensors on the air system, electrical, water, you name it, so that if any foreign element is introduced, we should know about it.”

“Should?” I said.

“Well, mate, like everything in life, it's not perfect. That's why we'll have backups, like the cupbearer.”

“You found someone for that?”

“Yes, but in an unusual place. The two friends you suggested were not good enough friends to agree to risking their life for you. They said no.”

“Figures.”

“But we got someone better, someone who has had no prior contact with you at all, which is always the best in this situation, because of the traitor factor. And at the same time, I kid you not, we got the other two security types we needed. I keep saying it, but the way this has all worked out is really bizarre. It's like the hand of fate, or the stars are lined up, some weird shite like that. I still can't believe we got a double this good, in less than an hour of interviews.”

“Good except for the AIMS,” I said.

“You still worried about that? Like I told you, the only way someone can get it is by sleeping with him, and that's not going to happen. The incredibly minor risk of transmission by some other means is a wash, because the fact that he has the disease motivates him to follow through with what we need him for. He's hoping to survive and get treated with the money he makes, or be healed by the Makeover. I didn't even have to give him a self-destruct imp to threaten him and keep him in line, like the other times I've done this. He's committed, and he's a fast learner. He'll be awake by morning.”

Terrey's mention of an implant reminded me of a year before, and made me shudder.

“Speaking of imps,” I said, “tell me again how you didn't do anything to my head while I was out for that half hour.” The triplet who stayed at the house had anesthetized me briefly for a procedure before I left Sausalito to get Angelee.

“You're really uptight about that issue, aren't you? But you're the boss with the bikkies, so I'll tell you again. We just had to lift some paths from your brain and transfer them to the double's, so he can walk and talk like you.” The triplet had explained back at the house, in layman's terms, that much of what makes people appear the way they do, and even talk the way they do, is determined by the neuropaths in the brain.

“And when you say ‘lifted,'” I asked, “you mean copied, right? You didn't actually take anything away from me.”

“Do you still walk and talk like you did before?” Terrey asked rhetorically. “No worries, mate.”

“Okay, just one more thing,” I said apologetically. “On my drive after you did that to me—it all happened so fast—I looked up implants on the net. It said that some of them can be inserted quickly, like through the nose?” Terrey snorted and shook his head, but I pressed on: “Min was outside getting the netkit and other stuff from the peacers who came from the castle, so it was only you and the cyborg girl for a while when I was out, until Min came back in. I started to think … I know, it's paranoid—”