CHAPTER ELEVEN

You like him, don’t you?”

It was an accusation, dealt face up in the low gleam from the muffled illuminum bar top. Music twanged, irritatingly sweet, from speakers not nearly high enough above our heads. Crouched at my elbow like a large comatose beetle, the personal space resonance scrambler that Mandrake had insisted we carry at all times showed a clear green functioning light, but apparently wasn’t up to screening out external noise. Pity.

“Like who?” I asked, turning to face Wardani.

“Don’t be obtuse, Kovacs. That slick streak of used coolant in a suit. You’re fucking bonding with him.”

I felt the corner of my mouth quirk. If Tanya Wardani’s archaeologue lectures had seeped into some of Schneider’s speech patterns during their previous association, it looked as if the pilot had given as good as he’d got.

“He’s our sponsor, Wardani. What do you want me to do? Spit at him every ten minutes to remind us all how morally superior we are?” I tugged significantly at the shoulder flash of the Wedge uniform I was wearing. “I’m a paid killer, Schneider here is a deserter and you, whatever your sins may or may not be, are encoded all the way with us in trading the greatest archaeological find of the millennium for a ticket offworld and a lifetime pass to all the ruling-elite fun-park venues in Latimer City.”

She flinched.

“He tried to have us killed.”

“Well, given the outcome, I’m inclined to forgive him that one. Deng’s goon squad are the ones who ought to be feeling aggrieved.”

Schneider laughed, then shut up as Wardani cut him a freezing stare.

“Yes, that’s right. He sent those men to their deaths, and now he’s cutting a deal with the man who killed them. He’s a piece of shit.”

“If the worst Hand ever scores is eight men sent to their deaths,” I said, more roughly than I’d intended, “then he’s a lot cleaner than me. Or anyone else with a rank that I’ve met recently.”

“You see. You’re defending him. You use your own self-hatred to let him slide off the scope and save yourself a moral judgement.”

I looked hard at her, then drained my shot glass and set it aside with exaggerated care.

“I appreciate,” I said evenly, “that you’ve been through a lot recently, Wardani. That’s why I’m cutting you some slack. But you’re not an expert on the inside of my head, so I’d prefer it if you’d keep your fucking amateur psychosurgeon bullshit to yourself. OK?”

Wardani’s mouth compressed to a thin line. “The fact remains—”

“Guys,” Schneider leaned across Wardani with the rum bottle and filled my glass. “Guys, this is supposed to be a celebration. If you want to fight, go north, where it’s popular. Right here, right now, I’m celebrating the fact I won’t ever have to get in a fight again, and you two are spoiling my run-up. Tanya, why don’t you—”

He tried to top up Wardani’s glass, but she pushed the neck of the bottle aside with the edge of one hand. She was looking at him with a contempt that made me wince.

“That’s all that matters to you, Jan, isn’t it,” she said in a low voice. “Sliding out from under with heavy credit. The quick-fix, short-cut, easy-solution route to some swimming-pool existence at the top of the pile. What happened to you, Jan? I mean, you were always shallow, but…”

She gestured helplessly.

“Thanks, Tanya.” Schneider knocked back his shot, and when I could see his face again, he was grinning fiercely. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be so selfish. I ought to have stuck with Kemp for a while longer. After all, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Don’t be childish.”

“No, really. I see it all so much more clearly now. Takeshi, let’s go tell Hand we’ve changed our minds. Let’s all go down fighting, it’s so much more significant.” He stabbed a finger at Wardani. “And you. You can go back to the camp we pulled you out of because I wouldn’t want you to miss out on any of this noble suffering.”

“You pulled me out of the camp because you needed me, Jan, so don’t pretend any different.”

Schneider’s open hand was well into the swing before I realised he intended to hit her. My neurachem-aided responses got me there in time to lock down the slap, but I had to lunge across Wardani to do it and my shoulder must have knocked her off the stool. I heard her yelp as she hit the floor. Her drink went over and spilled across the bar.

“That’s enough,” I told Schneider quietly. I had his forearm flattened to the bar under mine, and my other hand floating in a loose fist back at my left ear. My face was close enough to his to see the faint tear sheen on his eyes. “I thought you didn’t want to fight any more.”

“Yeah.” It came out strangled. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s right.”

I felt him relax, and unlocked on his arm. Turning, I saw Wardani picking her stool and herself up from the floor. Behind her, a few of the bar’s table occupants had come to their feet and were watching uncertainly. I met their eyes, and they seated themselves hurriedly. A graft-heavy tactical marine in one corner lasted longer than the rest, but in the end even she sat down, unwilling to tussle with the Wedge uniform. Behind me, I felt more than saw the bartender clearing up the spilled drink. I leaned back on the newly dried surface.

“I think we’d better all calm down, agreed?”

“Suits me.” The archaeologue set her stool back on its feet. “You’re the one that knocked me over. You and your wrestling partner.”

Schneider had hooked the bottle and was pouring himself another shot. He downed it and pointed at Wardani with the empty glass.

“You want to know what happened to me, Tanya? You—”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“—really want to know? I got to watch a six-year-old-girl. Fucking die of shrapnel. Fucking shrapnel wounds that I fucking inflicted because she was hiding in an automated bunker I rolled fucking grenades into.” He blinked and trickled more rum into his glass. “And I’m not going to fucking watch anything like that ever again. I’m out, whatever it takes. However shallow that makes me. For your fucking information.”

He looked back and forth between us for a couple of seconds, as if he couldn’t honestly remember who either of us were. Then he got off his stool and walked an almost straight line to the door and out. His last drink stood untouched on the muted glow of the bar top.

“Oh shit,” said Wardani, into the small silence left beside the drink. She was peering into her own empty glass as if there might be an escape hatch at the bottom.

“Yeah.” I wasn’t about to help her get off the hook with this one.

“You think I should go after him?”

“Not really, no.”

She put down the glass and fumbled for cigarettes. The Landfall Lights pack I’d noticed in the virtuality came out and she fed herself one mechanically. “I didn’t mean…”

“No, I thought you probably didn’t. So will he, once he sobers up. Don’t worry about it. He’s most likely been carrying that memory around in sealwrap since it happened. You just fed him enough catalyst to vomit it up. Probably better that way.”

She breathed the cigarette into life and glanced sideways at me through the smoke. “Does none of this touch you any more?” she asked. “How long does it take to get like that?”

“Thank the Envoys. It’s their speciality. How long is a meaningless question. It’s a system. Psychodynamic engineering.”

This time she turned on her stool and stayed facing me. “Doesn’t that ever make you angry? That you’ve been tampered with like that?”

I reached across for the bottle, and topped up both our drinks. She made no move to stop me. “When I was younger, I didn’t care. In fact, I thought it was great. A testosterone wet dream. See, before the Envoys, I served in the regular forces and I’d already used a lot of quickplant jack-in software. This just seemed like a super-ramped version of the same thing. Body armour for the soul. And by the time I got old enough to think any differently, the conditioning was in to stay.”