“What happens now?”
We were back on the Pig. The box was on the chart table.
“We have a drink?”
I thought of the golden liquid I’d thrown in Milo’s face. The pink smears which had run down his cheeks. Shook my head.
“There’s a bottle open if you want some, nothing for me.”
“Caf?”
I let him make it.
The night wasn’t cold but I pulled a blanket round my shoulders and cupped the mug in both hands and breathed in its steam. Looked up at last to find him watching me.
“Well?”
“You still want to know what we do now?”
“It might help.”
“Morgan will have to tell the rest of the Family. The tekkie will probably disappear.”
That didn’t disturb me. “And Milo?”
A half-shrug. “They can’t cover it. Too many people know. Camille’s retina prints will confirm the ID exchange and the rest of the Family will fall over themselves to guarantee Milo’s custody. What they do then will be their problem.”
It tasted sour but what else had I expected? He was right about Morgan. I recalled his expression of sick horror, just before he’d left, when he’d looked back into the room at the man who’d been his charming and ineffectual little brother. He hadn’t been able to speak to him.
When I didn’t comment, Byron went on, “I doubt if Morgan will have any wish to cover things once he knows everything – which I assume you will eventually tell me.”
“How much do you already know?” I asked.
A wry expression touched his mouth. “Not as much as I should, obviously. When you claimed to recognise Jon, I thought you were wrong but refusing to admit it, despite the evidence.”
“You shouldn’t always believe what you see on the screen,” I told him with some satisfaction.
“Clearly. So when you began to produce more inconsistencies, I began to believe there really was something going on besides the sabotage. It had to be Family…
“Why?” It had taken me long enough to work that out.
“No one else really profited. And anyone else would have stopped once Family visited – the sort of security they carry around tends to discourage petty crime.”
“True enough. So what did you do?”
“Talked to Morgan.”
“Why him? If it was Family trouble he could have been behind it.”
He nodded. “Possibly. But, since he was the one who sent me down here to look into things originally, I thought it unlikely.”
“And what did Morgan have to tell you? I don’t imagine Family members are in any hurry to cast suspicion on each other. Not to outsiders, at least.” All my cynicism about Family had come back in the last few hours.
“As little as possible at first. What would you expect?” So I wasn’t the only cynic here. “I had to do some hard digging.” And he wasn’t used to that sort of labour.
“Like you did with Pete over on the spoil heaps?”
He grimaced. Didn’t ask how I’d known. “Easier on my shoes. I had to throw that pair out. I assume you got more from him than I did?”
“Perhaps.”
“You didn’t think it worth telling me?” He didn’t quite remind me that we’d had an agreement.
“You were out.” And then it became too personal. But I didn’t feel like defending myself. “So what else did you do?”
“Checked the records of the northshore apartments and discovered that not only had an unknown man been killed in the apartment registered to Jon, but that another Company employee had a room on the same floor. The one you emasculated tonight.”
The red light on the vid above the door opposite. The figure watching from a window. The man with the knife he’d lent Blue Eyes, knowing he could take it back any time without breaking sweat. The strength of Milo’s suspicions, the attack on me, made more sense. So did the tekkie’s growing hostility. It even explained where Jon’s furniture had gone and how someone had known Jon wouldn’t be coming back to use his room. Perhaps I should have talked with Byron earlier.
“You learn anything else?”
“I ran a few checks on his income. No surprise to find he had a second source. I was surprised when I found its size – and how difficult it was to trace.”
“But you managed.”
It wasn’t a question, but he still looked offended. “Of course. That was when I knew I had to talk to Morgan again. If Milo was paying off someone in the Port, he could be behind the sabotage and might be involved in something worse. And then there was the ID.”
“Which ID?” There were far too many around.
“The one I found in your drawer while I was waiting for you. Since you’d already shown me a lifebox, I was naturally interested. Morgan eventually admitted that his Family had Camille’s ID changed. Didn’t know how it had been done – didn’t want to know, I’d guess. But he agreed we needed to talk to Milo. We didn’t know you’d got there first.”
“Intuition works as fast as technology sometimes.” No reason to tell him I hadn’t known about Milo when I’d gone to his room.
“No wonder you and tech don’t get on. Your logic is irrational to most systems.”
And to him.
“I suppose you think in binary?”
“Near enough. But Daisy was right about you reading people. Look at the way you sorted the sabotage.”
“I didn’t do so well with Milo.” It wasn’t a misjudgement I’d easily forget.
“A slip. You won’t do it again.”
“Don’t rely on it. I’m not a machine. I go on making mistakes.”
“At least you solved the puzzle.” Was that what it had been to him: a puzzle to be solved? Not for me. It wasn’t a game of cards. He was watching me. Reading me. “Think of the lives you’ve saved.”
“The technology exists. How long before someone else works it out and the whole filthy business starts up again? How long before anyone notices?”
“It won’t happen quickly. Whatever his personality defects, Milo’s work was brilliant. But there’s no reason I can’t let a little gossip circulate as backup. Convenient deaths of prominent citizens won’t be accepted so easily in future.”
“How can anyone check?”
“The Families are devious enough. They’ll find a way. And it might be helpful to feed a little deterrent into the system by creating rumours that ID retuning has some nasty long-term side-effects.”
Families weren’t the only devious ones.
“So that’s it? Case closed?”
Anti-climax. Where was the shoot-out? Where was the retribution? Where was the justice? Jon was still dead and so were the others.
Byron’s mouth twisted. “That’s it. All you have to do is decide what reward you want from the Vincis.”
“Reward? For nearly getting killed by one of them?” For being tempted to feel something real for one of them?
“They’ll want to do something. They’ll probably insist. Families hate debts. Why not take whatever they offer? They can afford it.”
But could I afford to take it? Perhaps it was the only way to free myself completely from them. “I’ll think about it.”
I’d take enough to give Luna a safety net. Enough to restore my credit to what it had been when I’d done the deal with Tom Lee. No more. Except…
“They might offer you a job.”
I nearly laughed, and felt better. Yes, they would expect me to want a secure job, be grateful for one. I thought of the courtiers hovering round Morgan and shuddered.
“I’d rather sign on with the Flying Dutchman. But I’d take a permanent berth for the Pig if they offered it.” Gus would hate that. I was beginning to feel better.
“I’m sure it can be arranged.”
So was I. I straightened, shrugged off the blanket, asked what his plans were.
“Another talk with Morgan. Bed. Home.”
“Away from boats?”
“As far as I can get.”
Somewhere where all the corruption was in the matrix, where fights were cerebral, not physical.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” A pause. He stood then, reluctantly, added: “I owe you for what you did here.”
“Most of it wasn’t the sort of thing which shows up on screens.” The screens which had lied about Jon, about Camille, about the others.
“I suppose not. By the way, I’ve left a note on yours. You can call me if you find more trouble.”
“You expect me to?”
“As sparks fly upward.”
He was better educated than I’d guessed.
“Just don’t expect me to solve your problems again. I’m going to finish cleaning up the Pig and then go sailing. Or possibly just go sailing.”
I could see him trying not to look appalled. Grinned. Lifted a hand as he left, taking the inlaid box with him. For a ’crat he wasn’t as inhuman as I’d thought.
He’d left the marina before I checked the note on my monitor. He’d given me a contact number for him. I didn’t think I’d be using it. Then, as an afterthought, I called up the boat’s title record.
Vessel: The Flying Pig
L.o.a.: 20 metres
Built : 1985
Last Owner: Jack Fane. Deceased.
I was listed as the current owner. As from today’s date. It seemed Morgan wasn’t the only one who liked to pay his debts. I had no intention of asking how he’d done it.