rent-a-spy satellites had passed across Harrisch’s desk. Sand and airborne rust drifted through the withered Afghani and Southeast Asian opium fields, the dry poppy stalks victims of Sahara-like desertification and market-demand shifts profounder than any changes in global weather patterns. “You’ll have to update your habits, if that’s what you’re into.”
“I’ve found a new kick.” Rainwater dripped from the bottom of McNihil’s coat; a few clear drops clung to his waxy face. “Over at that little establishment you sent me to.”
“Ah.” Harrisch nodded, a degree of satisfaction cutting the unease the hospital evoked in him. “You’ve been talking to the good doctor. You must have found him to be… helpful.”
“Very.”
Harrisch leaned forward, examining the other man’s face more closely. “You know,” he said after a moment, “I was hoping for rather better results than this. I can still see you. I mean… if I look away from you…” He shifted his gaze to the corridor wall as if to demonstrate, then looked back toward McNihil. “Then I’ve still got a clear picture of you in my mind. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
“We’re not done yet.” McNihil rubbed the side of his face; he looked like somebody just risen from the dentist’s chair, flesh numbed by Novocain. Harrisch wondered if the guy was feeling any pain at all, or whether that had been all talk for sympathy. “Your doctor just got started,” said McNihil. “There’s a time gap between the first setup and the final stages. Just enough time, actually, for me to take care of a little business. Like coming over here to talk to you.”
“What’s there to talk about? You know what your job is.”
“True enough.” McNihil gave a slight nod. “But maybe we need to talk about payment.”
“No need to worry,” said Harrisch. “You’ll be taken care of.”
He didn’t expect a smile from McNihil, and he didn’t get one. “Let’s go in here and talk.” McNihil pushed open the door to one of the burn ward’s intensive-care chambers.
“You know… I don’t find this a good working atmosphere.” Harrisch had let himself be shepherded into the cramped space, as though the other man’s suggestion had held some inarguable force. As the door sealed shut behind them, he’d started to find it hard to breathe the filtered air, his lungs binding from some deep atavistic dread. “Maybe we could find someplace else… like down in the cafeteria or something…”
“Don’t let it get to you.” In the room’s semidarkness, McNihil stood right behind him, voice whispering almost directly into his ear. “Somebody getting traumatically connected-up is just a natural part of life. It’s no big deal.”
“Easy for you to say.” Harrisch felt nausea moving around in his guts like a wet rat. The sonuvabitch probably wasn’t even aware of the burn-ward chamber, experiencing it, in anything close to its dismal reality. In that other world inside McNihil’s eyes, the whole hospital probably looked like some benign and comforting environment, with white-suited doctors with stethoscopes dangling around their necks, nurses with air-pillow shoes and wing-starched hats, all trotting around dispensing their healing mercies.
And what did he see on the other side of the transparent infection barrier? Some old-fashioned hospital bed, probably, with a crank at the footboard and a paper chart with a hand-drawn red line, a jagged little mountain range, hanging from a hook. And in the bed, something else from those crappy old movies that nobody watched anymore, a human form wrapped up head-to-toe in white bandages like a mummy, de-sexed, depersonalized, even somewhat funny-looking, a joke thing…
“This her?” McNihil nodded toward whatever it was he did see.
Involuntarily, as though his own head were fastened to a gently tugged wire, Harrisch looked at the living and mechanical aggregate on the other side of the barrier. Just enough of the human part’s charred flesh showed, glistening with an antiseptic nurturant gel, to start Harrisch’s stomach climbing into his throat.
“You know something?” He turned toward McNihil standing beside him. “You’re a sick puppy. In your own unique way. You don’t even know this stupid broad-not really-and this is where you want to have a little meeting.” Harrisch shook his head. “Why? Is this the kind of thing you enjoy? Maybe you just like making people uncomfortable.”
“I know her well enough,” said McNihil, in a voice as emotionless as his in-progress face. “Or let’s say I know enough about her. She told me her name was November; I suppose she picked that out herself. Something she probably thought suited her image. That’s all I really needed to know. The rest I could figure out.”
“Like what?” From the corner of his eye, Harrisch could still see the breathing human form inside the machines. “What did you figure out?”
“That she was your backup system. In case I didn’t work out.” With his thumb, McNihil pointed to the unconscious figure. “She would’ve taken on your little job, the Travelt thing, if you hadn’t been able to push me into doing it.”
“But I did.” Harrisch didn’t feel like smiling, but dredged one up, regardless. “Or let’s say you did. You saw reason. An offer like the one I made to you isn’t anything to sneer at, these days.” The smile became genuine as he regarded the other man’s stiffened features. “Now you’re just about ready to go. So I don’t really need a backup anymore, do I?”
“Guess not.” McNihil glanced toward the narcotized woman. “So this one’s expendable.”
“Expendable enough. It’s not like there’s a shortage of fast-forwards. We keep a list over at DZ, of people like her on call, for various little jobs that come up. It’s a short list, with names falling off it all the time-let’s face it, hers is just about to be scratched.” Harrisch tilted his head toward the transparent barrier, still trying to avoid the sight beyond it. “Too bad, because she was right at the top. She’d worked her way up. First to be tapped. But we get new names. New volunteers. Wanna-be freelancers. It must be an attractive type of business. There’s the basic fast-forward rush that comes with drawing on your future-I’ve never tried it-plus you get to run around and do violent things.”
McNihil nodded. “That’s a kick right there.”
“Maybe.” McNihil glanced over at him. “But I don’t think she’s enjoying that part right now.”
“Nobody ever does. Suicide is one of the best drugs, from a mercantile standpoint. All the pleasure is in the anticipation, and none in the realization. Regret and payment are simultaneous, but by then it’s already too late.”
“You’ve put some thinking into this.” McNihil raised an eyebrow, slowly, as though mechanically cranking it into place. “Business philosophy, over there at DZ headquarters?” An equally stiff smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “The essence of TIAC-right?”
“Very good. You’ve been doing your research,” said Harrisch approvingly. “I was hoping you would. Maybe it’ll improve your chances.”
“I doubt it.”
“So who were you talking to about TIAC?”
“Come on,” said McNihil. “You sent me there to talk to the guy. Over at the Snake Medicine™ clinic. Your pet Adder clome. He’s kind of a chatty guy, when you get to know him.”
“Good.” Harrisch gave a single nod. “I figured the two of you would hit it off. You both… have some things in common.” He let his own smile widen. “Don’t you think?”
“Connect you.” McNihil’s voice grated deep in his throat. “Even if we did… I’d rather be twins with somebody like that, then have to admit being in the same species with you and the rest of your DZ exec crowd. He told me all about TIAC. More than you’d probably care for me to know.”
