Ninety-Nine wasn’t just drunk. He was far beyond that, possibly heading toward alcoholic poisoning. But he didn’t have the decency to pass out like any other drunk would have. He’d even out-drunk Lowry, who rested on the bar, snoring unmusically.
We were in the bar closest to Doc Lowry’s place, a shabby but comfortable dive with low lights, sofas and armchairs and big stools at the bar with padded seats and backs. It was late, and the only customers left were regular drunks and us.
Ninety-Nine refusing to fall down in a drunken stupor put me in a bind. If this had happened even a few weeks ago, I would have paid Ninety-Nine’s bill, slung him over my shoulder, and taken him home to sleep it off.
But now there was a complication. Well, two complications, counting Doc.
I pulled out my pad and connected with Ninety-Nine’s apartment terminal. It flashed for long minutes, making me wonder if I had guessed wrong.
Then the girl, Asia, formed over the screen. “Ptolemy Lane?” It was surprise that made it a question. Then, almost instantly; “Is Hyland alright?”
“He’s comprehensively sozzled,” I told her. “I didn’t want to just barge in with him…”
“That’s nice of you,” she said softly, her black eyes warm. “Where are you?”
I told her the name of the bar, then had to explain where it was, as the name wasn’t enough for her. Clearly, drinking in bars wasn’t a habit of hers.
“Ten minutes,” she promised and disconnected.
Ninety-Nine was watching me, his head pillowed on his crooked elbow. His sleeve was soaking up the dribbles and puddles he’d created. He wasn’t snoring. I’d hoped the few moments of no conversational stimulation would put him to sleep.
“Thing is…” Ninety-Nine slurred. “If our mothers are serials…what else on Earth is?”
“That’s a question for when you’re sober,” I told him. I caught the bar tender’s eye and signaled for just one drink. Mine.
“Don’t ge’ good ideas, shober,” Ninety-Nine said. His expression was wise, despite the sleepy eyes. “All that proper human upbringing gess in the way.”
“That’s pretty profound, given the state of your brain right now”
“Human unbringing,” he repeated to himself. “Only it wasn’t, was it?”
I sipped my brandy and responded when he spoke, but Ninety-Nine was on a circuit, going over the same ground; the betrayal of everything he had believed about his childhood.
I was relieved when Asia arrived. She slipped into the bar, a shapely but petite figure in black. She turned more than a few heads—those who were still sober enough to pay attention to what was happening around them.
Asia came up to the bar. She put her hand on Ninety-Nine’s shoulder. “Hey, Hyland,” she said softly. “Let’s go home.”
Then she looked at me. “What happened to make him think this was a good idea?”
“I was the one who thought it would be a good idea. Stress relief. He got bad news today. I’ll let him tell you about that.”
She didn’t protest or demand answers. Her eyes narrowed. Then she nodded. “Very well.” She patted Ninety-Nine’s shoulder again. “Come on, you.” She got a grip on his free arm.
“I can carry him, if you like.” It seemed the least I could do, as his state was my fault. But that would leave Doc alone and vulnerable at the bar.
Asia shook her head. “I can manage. You’d better look after Doc.” She glanced at the snoring man. “The news was bad for him, too?”
“Shocking, rather than bad.”
She looked at me, clearly puzzled. Then she shrugged it off, got a full grip on Ninety-Nine’s arm, and lifted him to his feet. She was small enough that she tucked under his arm without bending. In fact, she was the perfect height to prop him up.
“Ninety-Nine,” I said, lifting my voice to get his wandering attention.
“Yeah?”
“Walk home. Step after step. Then sleep. Don’t come in tomorrow, hear?”
“Yeah?”
I looked at Asia.
“I’ll keep him home.” Her face lit up in a smile that was almost dazzling. “Although I think the booze will do most of the work. He’s going to regret this tomorrow.” She nudged Ninety-Nine into a shambling walk, with her taking most of his weight.
I watched them leave, then drained my drink. I settled with the bartender and turned to Doc. Gently slapped his cheek until he roused enough to look at me through narrowed, bloodshot eyes. “Time to go home, Doc.”
“Yep.” He made pawing motions at the bar, trying to lift himself up.
I got a grip on his arm and hauled him to his feet. “If you pass out, I’m going to toss you over my shoulder like a bag,” I warned him.
“Yep.”
I got him to his feet and walking. His place was not too far away. I was glad I hadn’t taken them to one of my regular drinking spots. If I had, getting Doc home would be a marathon.
We moved through the warren, navigating bends and odd steps up or down. The walls of the warrens were plastered over, and the floors made of the raw dirt that had been left behind after excavations, only compressed by millions of feet into a rock-like surface. Down this deep, the walls were no longer white, but stained with handprints and bodies ceaselessly brushing past them. There was little graffiti, because I didn’t like the disrespect for authority that graffiti implied. When I caught taggers, I made them whitewash their work away.
For the same reason, there was little rubbish lying around. I had a thing about that, too. Other cities could disregard littering, but for me, it was just one more step toward the breakdown of civility.
It was getting late and traffic on the street was down to only a few nightlife lovers.
Doc Lowry suddenly spoke. “If serials c’n bear children…doz that mean they coul’ make ‘em?”
“Shut your mouth, Albert,” I told him curtly, while looking to see who was in ear shot. No one, at the moment.
“Jus’ think of it! DNA recom’inations, implan’ed…this is a whole new thing, Jove.”
“And we can talk about it tomorrow,” I promised him. “Right now, shut up.”
He shut up for three long minutes. We were within sight of his workshop door when he started up again. “Have to have factories, but babies, too. Give serials a reason to be.”
“We have a reason to live,” I told him, and propped him against the wall while I unlocked his door using my guest code. “The Vind. We keep them away.”
“The Vind…” Doc snorted. “They’re never coming back. We scared the crap o’ of ‘em.”
True.
I dropped him onto his narrow bed, put a bowl beside the bed, water on the table, and left a light on in the waiting room, so he could see where he was when he woke.
Then I went home to my own lonely bed, to think about things.
The next morning, I unlocked my office, which was usual. Ninety-Nine was always at the office before me. I fought with the lock, trying to be pleased that Ninety-Nine had obeyed me and stayed home.
I stepped into the front office.
From the visitor’s chair in the corner, a man at least two inches taller than me, with deep black skin and pale blue eyes, got to his feet. He wore a holster on his hip, big enough to carry one of the larger widowmakers, but it was empty. At least the officers controlling access to the dome from the landing field were doing their job.
I looked back at the door lock. It had been properly locked. I hadn’t had to unlock my own office door for a long time, but I hadn’t forgotten how.
So I stayed beside Ninety-Nine’s desk, which was the maximum distance I could put between me and him, and raised my brow. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, Mr. Lane, you can,” he replied, in a deep baritone. “I’ve come for my body.”