He smiled weakly at his brother’s eroded face. ‘I’m close, Bik,’ he promised. ‘Really close now, yeah? I’m going to find out where Nikolaj is hiding, and when I do you’ll be sorted. Trust me, whatever it takes. I’ll make that bitch grow you back to what you was, see? Then you can go and do parkour again, as much as you want.’
Every time, he hoped to see something, some tiny twitch of flesh, just a sign that Bik had heard him. People in comas know what’s going on around them, right? But now, as always, what was left of Bik remained motionless.
‘See you soon, bro.’
Lolo was waiting back in the curtained-off section of the industrial shed, switching on the lanterns. Sie gave him a contented smile. ‘Are they okay?’
‘Sure, yeah.’ He jerked his thumb back towards the kilns. ‘Did you smell anything back there?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Thought I could smell smoke. One of the doors must be out of alignment.’
‘More likely the ducts.’
‘I’ll check it over tomorrow.’
‘I can do that. I’m not freeloading here, you know.’
‘Thanks.’ He watched appreciatively as Lolo stood on the bed and stretched up to close the skylight blind above it. Sie was wearing a T-shirt that rode up to show off plenty of toned abdomen. ‘Nice.’
Lolo gave him a cheeky grin and stepped down. ‘Thank you.’
A kiss, with their arms around each other. Easy and undemanding, a promise of intimacy later. Knowing he was going to be having sex lifted Ollie’s mood out of the melancholia elicited by visiting the cocoons.
‘I have to knead my dough first,’ Lolo said, and walked over to the marble-topped table sie used for cooking.
‘Is that what you call it?’
‘You can be so basic. I’m experimenting with flake pastry. It’s difficult to do properly by hand.’
The disapproving tone didn’t fool Ollie for an instant. He started taking off his clothes, and, yes, put them in the laundry basket like they were fucking married or something. At least the kilns meant they had enough electricity to power the washing machine; hand cleaning stuff would’ve been just unbearable.
With the sound of Lolo pounding and rolling the dough, Ollie settled back on the bed and accessed the files that had been streamed from the surveillance gear he’d planted around the Icona that morning. He told Tye to pull an image of every person who went in or out of the building. There weren’t many. It didn’t surprise him. Despite everything, London these days had a decent vibe about it, a sense of pulling together that even a cynic like him couldn’t escape. Neighbourhoods had cohesion. People looked out for each other. Everyone was level. But not Docklands. It was probably the lurking presence of the green zone, with its multitude of cocoons, that made it subtly disaffecting. If you lived there, it was because you had no choice.
In the fourteen hours since his visit, eight people had gone through the Icona’s doors. Ollie started reviewing them. National files still existed; it was just getting to them that was the problem. The lownet had gone, blown away by security agency G8Turings in a vicious darkware war as the Olyix sabotage began. What was left of solnet was a much simplified version, which made monitoring straightforward for the authorities. So he had to set up convoluted routes using every trick Gareth had ever taught him.
He was disappointed that Larson himself hadn’t used the Icona’s doors, but then Brandon Schumder had said the man never left his apartment. However, Tye did identify Cestus Odgers, who had gone in at twelve-thirty carrying a hessian tote bag and then out again at one twenty-five, sans bag. The files Tye extracted from London’s business register showed Odgers was a memorabilia trader, with several commercial ventures down the years. He even co-owned a trade convention that had put on a couple of shows back in 2195.
‘Got one,’ Ollie cried.
Lolo looked around. ‘One what?’
‘A way in to Larson. Bloke called Cestus Odgers. He deals in all that crap Larson likes. He’s still dealing, by the look of it, and I’ve got an address on him.’
‘Oh.’
‘Come on, we’ve spent two years pursuing Nikolaj. This is the best shot yet.’
‘I know.’ Lolo put the dough down with a sigh and came over to the bed. Sie slipped through a gap in the white veils and lay beside him. ‘It’s just . . . Nikolaj is different. If you’re right, she’s working for the Olyix.’
‘If I’m right?’
‘Ollie.’ Sie cuddled up and kissed him urgently. ‘I need you to be careful. Promise me.’
‘Hey, I’m not going to blow this now. I’ve got too much riding on it. Bik and Gran are depending on me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Wow, the enthusiasm.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s just . . .’ Sie stroked Ollie’s cheek, then slid a finger down to the slim black insurance collar. ‘Why do you need this?’
‘You know why, because you just said it. Nikolaj works for the Olyix, so there’s no telling what she’s got protecting her. I need to get physically close.’
‘I’m frightened. For you. It’s not just Bik and your grandmother that need you. I do, too – especially now. There’s got to be someone else who can do this. Can’t you just . . . grass them?’
Ollie chuckled at how foreign Lolo sounded right then. ‘If I thought it would do any good, I would send every file I have to Special Branch. But you’ve met them, remember? Was that a happy time?’
‘No.’
‘So, that’s settled then.’
London
11th December 2206
Cestus Odgers was easier than expected. Ollie turned up at his house, playing the desperate innocent routine, saying how eager he was to sell the Nightstar model for a cryptoken full of watts. Odgers wouldn’t buy it for himself. ‘It’s a small piss-poor market these days, fella. And I don’t have that kind of money any more. But I know someone that does.’
The finder’s fee was a half-charged quantum battery. Ollie didn’t try to haggle. An easy mark. So the call
