In the Blood Read online

  Neil shook his head. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you would. It’s not general Net sort of information. It’s really a transplant. They take part of the brain of your stasis clone. All new modifications have to have an unmodified clone held in stasis; it’s a part of the regulations. So if the modification fails, the relevant part can be changed back. In our case just a few cubic millimetres of frontal lobe.’

  ‘No wonder you refused,’ said Neil. ‘You’d feel you were never really you again.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But if you have kids, won’t they be Forest too?’

  ‘Only if I have kids by another Forest.’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘You mean if he gave me a quickie impregnation in his office while you blinked and missed it? I imagine Michael probably offered to have a vasectomy. Any kids of his will be from his norm clone.’

  I got up and brushed the sand off my uniskirt. ‘Come on. Time we were going.’

  The waves laughed and whispered behind as the floater’s door shut. I wondered if the seabirds knew what they were saying.

  Chapter 27

  We found Nearer to Heaven’s Cannabis magnifica microflora field about a klom from the community proper, on a broad stretch of sandy creek flat so densely surrounded by skinny black-barked wattle trees that we had to leave the floater at the foot of the headland and follow the path through the trees on foot.

  The twigs cracked under our feet like cornflakes; the sky steamed an unbelievably clear blue above. The air seemed glued together with too much moisture. I felt hot, clammy from so much salt in the air, and began to realise what Neil had meant by too much light.

  The cannabis patch was about four hectares, the plants knee high, in long straight rows. Three bent figures chipped at weeds between the rows. Two looked up as we approached.

  ‘Hi,’ said the tallest casually. She was a few years younger than Neil and me, with long, blond hair pulled into a dusty plait and the pale blue sheen to her skin of temporary UV blockage instead of bioengineering. ‘You looking for work?’

  The boy in the next row sniggered. ‘You’ve come to the right place then.’

  The third figure said nothing, just stayed bent over his hoe. The metal edge clicked against the sandy soil, chip, chip chip.

  I looked at him more closely.

  ‘Don’t expect Samson to say anything. He’s a ModPlod.’

  I stared. ‘I thought they’d been banned thirty years ago.’

  The boy shrugged. ‘Someone must be still making them. Or maybe he’s an old one. Hey Samson, what lab did they make you in?’

  Samson kept on chipping, his broad-chinned face staring at the soil. The boy looked over at the girl, evidently hoping for some sign of admiration at this tiny cruelty, but she ignored him.

  ‘He’ll be like that till Brother Perry signals him off,’ said the girl. ‘I feel like strangling whoever made him sometimes.’ She held out her hand, slightly grubby. ‘I’m Anita, and this is Tam.’

  ‘You’re devotees?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’ Anita giggled. ‘Oh, that’s what they call us. Tam and I are just wanderers. I thought I’d pick up some credit here before moving on. Where are you from?’

  ‘Faith Hope and Charity,’ said Neil.

  The girl’s forehead wrinkled. ‘That’s inland, isn’t it? Orchards and stuff? I’m from Wilgunya. That’s up north. I’ve been sticking pretty much to the coast.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked.

  ‘Too long,’ said the girl, looking at Neil with frank interest. ‘About three months.’

  ‘How about you?’ I ask Tam.

  Tam shrugged. He had one of those infinitely nondescript faces shiny with self-importance because no one else had ever granted him any. ‘A couple of days. Stupid people. I won’t stay much longer.’

  ‘At least they pay well,’ said Anita, stretching her strong brown arms. ‘Oh, I hate this hoeing!’

  Which meant there was no point in asking them if they had known Doris. ‘How about Samson?’

  ‘He was here when we came,’ said Tam contemptuously. ‘Hey, Samson, how long you been here, hey?’

  The ModPlod raised mindless eyes to mine. For a moment I thought I saw a hint of a question there, a hint of hope. Then he bent back to his work.

  ‘Doesn’t say anything,’ said Tam carelessly. ‘I don’t think he can.’

  Samson looked well fed, healthy…I tore my mind away from thoughts of shoving him in the floater and taking him somewhere he could be free to think, to feel, to speak. But of course he never would, never could, no matter what I did.

  ‘If you want work, you’d better ask them up at the main buildings,’ Anita was saying. ‘They’d probably be delighted to have you.’ It was obvious from the way she eyed Neil’s physique what she meant. ‘Brother Cydore was saying the main building needed painting too.’

  ‘We’ll do that,’ said Neil. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Might see you later then,’ said Tam, looking at Neil resentfully.

  Anita grinned. ‘Be good to have some decent conversation at dinner again,’ she said, and Tam flinched.

  We left them to it.

  Chapter 28

  This time there was no need for Sister Karen to struggle in with a tray. The initiates were already feeding, munching their way through an afternoon tea of small fruit tarts and apple strudel made with thin, soft pastry. I thought of Black Stump’s struggle with the cornmeal. Evidently Nearer To Heaven had no problems with flour supplies.

  ‘An Outland’s Clinic,’ exclaimed Sister Louise around a mouthful of raspberries and pastry. She was tall and stringy and broad fingered. Brother Perry had introduced her as ‘our darling ceramicist’. She glanced at Sister Karen, then back at me. ‘Why would you think we’d know anything about such a thing.’

  Because you’re all obviously rejuvenated, I thought. And because, given the rate you’re stuffing those pastries down your neck, you have undoubtedly had metabolism enhancement too. And you’ve got a ModPlod down in your paddock.

  But I said nothing. The last thing we needed to do was antagonise them.

  ‘We follow the human norm, dear child,’ said Brother Perry earnestly. ‘We would never have dealings with a place like that.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘You told us yesterday. But I just hoped…’ I glanced at Neil.

  ‘We thought that given your commitment to the norm, you’d find it in your hearts to help us,’ Neil said smoothly. I looked at him in admiration.

  ‘You see,’ I added. ‘We think it’s likely that the person who killed Sister Doris was modified, that it was a side effect of the modification that led them to do it. So if we can find a clinic that does modifications, then we might be able to find her killer.’

  Brother Cydore gave a slight cough. ‘It’s all very admirable,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid we are just simple artists here, in search of the Light that is in all of us. We can’t help you.’ He inspected a banana cream, then tucked into an apricot jelly instead.

  I bit my lip. They had fraudulent behaviour so deeply ingrained I wondered if half the time they really believed themselves. I decided to play our one trump card.

  I stood up. ‘That’s such a pity,’ I said gently. ‘I hate to have to report back to Michael that we’ve failed.’

  ‘Michael?’ asked Brother Perry.

  I nodded. ‘He’s special assistant to the City Mayor,’ I said carelessly. ‘We’re old friends. He’s the one who arranged for us to have the floater.’

  All of which was true. I sighed. ‘He’ll be so disappointed we don’t have any leads to Sister Doris’s death. But I’m sure he’ll be interested in everything else we have to tell him. Like your crop down on the creek flat. Cannabis magnifica microflora was Proclaimed about thirty years ago, wasn’t it? Or was it more? Where was it you said you sold it to?’

  No one spoke. Sister Karen looked at Brother Cydore. He shrugged. ‘Grid reference
WW-six-four-three, PO-seven-two-one.’

  ‘I’m sure your floater will find it,’ said Sister Karen, also rising to her feet. ‘And if you mention our names in any way in connection with it…well, we do have some contacts in the City.’

  I bet you have, I thought. I smiled at them instead. ‘I’m sure Sister Doris will smile on you from the Light.’

  ‘Sister Doris was a lazy little tart who got everything she deserved,’ said Sister Karen sweetly. ‘And she wouldn’t know the Light if it shone a torch up her arse. Let me show you the way out.’

  Chapter 29

  Ihad expected the clinic to be disguised as chook sheds or an ordinary house, something that didn’t flagrantly yell, Here is an illegal medical facility.

  It wasn’t like that at all.

  For a start it looked absurdly clinic-like, a series of three modtech domes in a semi-circle, solar painted to provide their power. There was even a plasticrete parking space out the front and lolly-pink flowers on either side of the pathway to the front door.

  We parked obediently in the parking space and stepped out. The air smelt of hot gravel and even more strongly of flowers.

  ‘Engineered,’ said Neil, looking at them.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘The petunias. They’ve been engineered. Norm petunias don’t have a scent. Not as strong as that anyway. They’re not that colour pink either.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  We walked up the path. Neil politely opened the door for me, then followed me in.

  It might have been a City waiting room. It was even furnished in a relatively current City fashion: a shimmer of holo sand beneath our feet, an endless sea of flowers on every wall. No Reality component though. I itched to add the scent of hot quartz, the almost subliminal hum of bees, and all the scents would change as you walked through the room. Only the desk was RealLife, and it was modcom, a floater zone of com panels and convenience trays.

  A girl sat behind it, knitting bright wool and watching a City vid telecast on a shimmer screen above the desk. The girl fitted the decor—young and even-featured, with thick hair shorn to a high tuft at the back, and wide clear eyes, as though to assure customers that they too might look as eternally young and fresh with only the application of credit and skill.

  The shimmer screen flashed off. The girl smiled at us professionally. A genuinely fresh smile—I doubted she was even within a decade of her first rejuve—then did a double take and looked at me again. Her eyes widened in obvious recognition.

  When she spoke, however, there was nothing to indicate she’d ever seen me on a newscast. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.

  ‘We’d like to see the doctor,’ said Neil.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But I hoped…’ I hesitated. He? She? I wish I’d thought to ask if the doctor we were supposed to see was male or female. ‘We hoped it would be possible anyway,’ I amended.

  ‘We’ve come a long way,’ added Neil. I glanced at him, surprised. I hadn’t thought him capable of such a deliberately charming smile.

  The girl smiled back. Her eyes flickered as she briefly Linked, then she focused back at us. ‘Doctor’s busy for about the next twenty minutes. But he can see you then. Would you like to sit down? Can I get you anything? Tea? Polar? Stim? Coffee?’

  ‘Coffee,’ said Neil. ‘Our floater seems to have run out for some reason.’

  ‘Coffee for me too please,’ I said. I looked back at the flowers just as the seats appeared—RealLife, cushioned and comfortable. The shimmer screen appeared in front of us as we sat.

  ‘There are manual controls for the vid if you’d like to watch it,’ the girl said. ‘Wait a sec.’ She rummaged in the desk drawer, then handed me the remote. ‘I knew I had it somewhere. I’ll just get your coffee.’

  ‘She knows who you are,’ said Neil, as she went out through what was either a corridor or a door hidden in the flowers.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said noncommittally. ‘What do you want to watch? Newsvid?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Neil flatly. ‘Shut it off.’

  I obeyed. Neil looked around. ‘It’s too…too obvious,’ he said at last.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘I mean, half a dozen satellite surveillance systems must pick this up every day! Solar paint; even the parking lot, for fekkit’s sake.’

  ‘I know,’ I repeated.

  The girl came back in, carrying a floater tray. She was dressed conventionally much as I was, in uniskirt and stocking sox, not in a uniform. She set the tray in front of us and went back to her desk. The coffee was in its own heat tank. There was milk and sugar and matching NewChina cups and separate flasks of chinnotto, plum or mulberry flavouring, plus a plate of three-layered fruit torte and a small bowl of sugar beetles.

  Neil nudged me. ‘Do we eat those?’ He pointed to the beetles.

  ‘Yes. Didn’t they have them when you were in the City?’

  ‘No.’ He picked one up. ‘They’re still alive,’ he whispered.

  ‘They’re not supposed to have any consciousness. The wriggle as you crunch them is supposed to be half the fun.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No. It’s no sillier than coagulated rotten milk.’

  ‘You mean cheese? Cheese doesn’t wriggle.’

  ‘So eat the torte.’ To be honest I’d never taken to the beetles. Despite the name they were tasteless, except for a bitter afterburn on the tongue. I suspected they’d become fashionable simply because they were new. I glanced up at the receptionist. She was pretending she hadn’t heard us and trying not to smile.

  A gleam of gold shot through the control panel. ‘Doctor will see you now,’ she said and ushered us to the door.

  The door led to a corridor holoed on each side with another vista of lake and flowers, so it was impossible to tell what doors or monitors were hidden within. Even the way forward was holo, so we seemed to be walking through an endless park. Suddenly the park stopped and there was a door instead.

  It was a conventional and very effective security door, opaque and handleless, evidently screened for inner control, not pressure sensitive at our approach. There was a slight pause, then it slid open silently.

  The room within was small and white and carpeted. There was a desk, old fashioned, large and solid; a Terminal screen, similarly massive and old fashioned; two chunky chairs; no windows, thick carpet, and a Dog. Or perhaps it was a dog, with no human genes at all, for it lay at the man’s feet with its head on its paws. But its size and the sense of alertness on its face showed evidence of engineering.

  The man rose. He was dressed like a doctor, in grey demicoat and grey leggings, and he had the perfectly engineered look of a doctor too, just as dentists must always have perfect teeth. He smiled at us professionally, then suddenly the smile faded. He looked at me closely, then sat down and waved us to the chairs.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he said. He spoke directly to me, ignoring Neil. ‘Perhaps I can save us all a lot of time by simply saying “no”.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I said.

  He sighed. ‘I know who you are. I know what you want. And the answer is no, I won’t do it.’ He stood up again. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

  Neil frowned. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

  I did. I understood perfectly. ‘I think you’ve misunderstood,’ I said. ‘I haven’t come here to have the plate removed. This is something quite different. We’re simply after information.’

  The doctor sat down again. He raised an eyebrow. The dog—or was it Dog?—growled something at his feet. The doctor bent and scratched the long furry ears absentmindedly. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘A girl was murdered a few days ago at a community called Faith Hope and Charity. There were cuts to her neck and left wrist, but those weren’t what killed her. Someone sucked her blood.’ I watched him for a reaction, but none came. Either bloodsucking was a familiar cause of death to him, or he had learned to school his
face.

  ‘Go on,’ he repeated.

  ‘The City authorities gave us her name and a little information about her, but she was an Outlander and they are neither able nor willing to help us further.’

  ‘Help you? I presume you mean, find who killed her.’

  ‘Yes. I…I suspect that her killer may have been modified.’

  ‘Ah,’ he interrupted. He smiled for the first time. ‘The infamous vampire side effect. The Tuin Case.’

  ‘You know of it?’

  ‘Of course. I imagine everyone in my field does.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t realised.’

  ‘I presume you used your…ability…to gain access to the reference? Or to someone who had? Even you wouldn’t have had access to Level B Medical or Genetic. Neither of those was your area, were they? Very well. Yes, I know of the case. No, I have never heard of a similar incident. And, no, I certainly haven’t created any new modification. My work is simple regenerations, with or without cosmetic, plus some standard bioengineering. And let me make it quite clear, in case it isn’t already: I would do nothing—nothing—that might antagonise the City authorities and prompt them to stop my work.’

  ‘They know of you?’ asked Neil.

  A wider smile this time. ‘Of course. Where do you think I get most of my equipment? I’m a useful safety valve. I supply services to those Outlanders who can pay and for one reason or another don’t have access to City facilities. But I am very, very careful not to overstep the boundaries. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. Badger will see you out.’

  The Dog—it was a Dog—stared at us. ‘Out,’ he growled obediently.

  ‘Is there any other Outlands clinic that might do modifications?’ I asked.

  The doctor hesitated. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘And even if there were…look, my dear, I’m telling you this for your own good. Leave this alone. If it is a side effect of a modification, which I very much doubt, then there’ll be more evidence of it.’

  ‘Another girl murdered?’ I asked.

  He ignored me. ‘When that happens I’m sure the City authorities will take action, far more effective action than you can take. What could you do anyway?’