Theories of Flight

later, if you want.”

Madeleine took the bag and examined the knife inside. “Where did you get this?”

“The surgeon took it out of your husband’s chest, Sergeant.”

She scowled at Petrovitch, and handed the bagged knife back. “It’s a Ka-bar. American.”

“They make them in Taiwan,” said Petrovitch, putting his hand on the dressing over his heart. “Could have come from anywhere.”

“No, it couldn’t,” she said. “It could only have come from my fool of a husband, who in ten years’ time will have to have had everything important replaced with plastic and metal.”

She stood up, forcing the captain back, and resumed her hands-on-hips accusation of Petrovitch.

“Anything else you need to tell me? Lost an eye, a leg? Been fitted with a robotic spleen? Because they’ve already replaced your brain with a fifty-cent pocket calculator.”

“Depends,” said Petrovitch.

“On what?”

“On how much they told you.” He looked over the top of his glasses. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Then when? I don’t see you doing anything else important right now—unless you’ve arranged another press conference to hurl abuse at.”

“Perhaps I should come back later,” ventured Daniels.

“No, we’re done here. You’re supposed to tell me everything, Sam. Everything.”

She stormed out, leaving Petrovitch with his head in his hands.

“That went well,” he said. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

“I need to ask you some questions. Are you sure this is a good time?”

“Yeah. She’s right: I’m not doing anything else, so questions are fine. I’ll do what I can. Can I just ask you one first?”

Daniels pointed to the seat vacated by Madeleine, and Petrovitch nodded his assent. The captain sat down smartly, back ramrod straight.

“How much trouble am I in? If the guy I killed was just a regular citizen who liked dressing up as a ninja, I’m screwed.”

“If that was the case,” said Daniels, “you’d be under arrest by now.”

“I’m supposed to be smart. Everyone tells me so. I could’ve thrown it all away.” Petrovitch scrubbed at his scalp with his fingernails. “I think I have some apologies to make.”

Daniels’ face twitched. “He doesn’t appear on the Metrozone database. Most likely an Outie, judging from his appearance.”

“Good job I didn’t shoot him in the head, then.”

“Quite. You were suspicious?”

“I’m a street kid. I know how people behave when they’re scared, surprised, shocked. This man was too calm, like he knew what had happened, like he’d made it happen. It was just wrong.”

“You chased him.”

“And he ran. I looked like govno and I was carrying a pushka. I would’ve run from me, too, though I like to think I would have got away.” Petrovitch shifted in his chair. The pain was starting to seep through the haze of morphine.

“You didn’t think that someone who leaped from tall buildings was someone you should stay away from?”

“Yeah. Well. It was a little late for that. I was committed.”

Daniels kept his hands on his knees. He didn’t record any of Petrovitch’s answers, merely soaked them up like a sponge.

“You were with Major Chain at his request, yes?”

“Yeah. He called me. Said there were no tech guys around.”

“Is it something he did often?”

“No. No, he didn’t.”

“So why this time?”

Petrovitch shrugged. “Desperation. He was in a hurry. Couldn’t wait. That’s why he died in the explosion and I didn’t.”

“So how did you and the major know each other?”

It was time to start lying. He could do it, as natural as breathing, even to the urbane Captain Daniels.

“I was a witness, one of his old cases from back when he was plain old Detective Inspector Chain. Nothing ever came of it, but we’d talk every couple of weeks.” Petrovitch pushed his glasses toward the bridge of his nose. “He was checking up on me, I suppose.”

“You obviously made a big impression on him,” said Daniels.

Petrovitch gave a momentary frown. “Why d’you say that?”

“He made you his next of kin.” Daniels lost his composure for the first time, and sounded genuinely surprised. “Didn’t you know?”

“No. No, I didn’t. Why didn’t the old kozel say anything?” Petrovitch inspected his bandaged palms. “What does that mean, next of kin?”

“It means he nominated you to receive any outstanding pay, in-service benefits. That sort of thing. Human Resources will tell you more.” Daniels reclaimed his self-control. “There should be enough to pay for a funeral, at least.”

“Hah,” said Petrovitch mirthlessly. “So that’s what he was after: mourners. You see, Captain, there’s no one else. No one to mark the passing of Harry Chain but me. No friends, no family. That’s what a lifetime of pissing people off leads to.”

He levered himself to his feet, the sudden surge of blood to his extremities making everything tingle. His face was frozen, his shoulder one big bruise, his hands and knees scrubbed raw and clean with only a layer of vat skin beneath the bandages. There was a hole in his chest that went all the way down to a notch on the surface of his heart, and that meant yet another scar on the road-map that was his ribcage.

He paced the floor, working the life back into himself.

“Do you know what it was he wanted you to look at?” asked Daniels.

“Don’t you lot talk to each other?”

“Of course. I wanted to know if the major had told you.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“Did you believe him?”

Petrovitch was flushing out the drugs from his system, feeling sharper by the minute. “No, of course not. I was going along to prove to him all he had were a couple of windscreen wiper motors and a bent aerial. Then some govnosos Outie takes out half the district and Chain goes to his grave thinking he was right.”

“So you don’t buy the CIA story?”

“No,” said Petrovitch. “Do you?”

“I couldn’t possibly say. Classified.” Daniels was nowhere near as good at lying as Petrovitch. “You also need to remember that Major Chain was in breach of protocol when he talked to you.”

“Yeah. Not a word.”

“Thank you for your time, Doctor Petrovitch.” Daniels adjusted his cuffs and stood, remembering to pick up the bagged knife as he did so. “I expect I’ll see you again when you come to collect Major Chain’s personal effects. Or we can courier them to you, whichever you prefer.”

Petrovitch affected a moment’s thought. “I’ll come and get them. The least I can do, I guess.”

Daniels extended his hand, and Petrovitch shook it gingerly. “Get well soon, Doctor.”

“Thanks for not arresting me.”

“These are difficult times for us all. If only everyone was as civic-minded as you.”

Petrovitch suppressed his snort of derision until he was alone. Daniels didn’t fool him, and he wondered if he fooled anyone. The uniform might work on some people, but not him: he’d had nothing but trouble from men— always men—strutting around as if they were on parade.

The man he’d killed wasn’t an Outie. No chance whatsoever, even discounting the satellite gear and the