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This evening it was all going to be about The Victor. It was about Queenie and her missing artwork, that hideous cephalopodic creation; it was about getting to the bottom of the case I’d promised to solve.
It was about goddamned time I got a goddamned break.
Regan’s dealings with the Church of the Third Encounter were on hold, for now. We couldn’t progress much further with it until Gary Emmerson’s actions had dissipated their security. In the meantime, all I had was the lead provided by Graves.
The face change.
I had no choice but to trust Emmerson’s integrity, and with Regan tagging along, we headed to the hospital in Sector Eight, hacked memory cards entrusted to my jacket pocket. It was only recently I was here, meeting his mother, amongst other things. It didn’t feel like I’d been away. Old wounds hurt, both the physical and psychological. And the fate of Graves’ daughter weighed heavily on my mind.
“We’re going in through the front door?” said Regan.
I shook off my fugue and nodded in response. “It’s late evening; it would be far more suspicious for us to try and sneak in at this time.” I’d applied some make-up to try and hide the visible injuries on my face. My black eye and busted nose weren’t completely hidden but they were covered enough to deter questions. “Better to approach this head on.” My battered face would only be noticeable in bright light and close up. “At least for now.”
“We should have come here in the middle of the night.”
“This is Sector Eight. You know what sort of place this is; you’ve been undercover here. It isn’t well off. People aren’t in hospital for falling off a ladder while trimming the petunias. Nope. About half the people admitted are here because of crime, domestic or otherwise. Stab wounds, gunshots, broken bones, you name it, it’s here. The other half are here from being injured while on the job. Cops,” I said as I pointed to an officer who just so happened to be standing near the entrance, smoking, “hang around here nearly all the time, more so the later it gets.”
“More crime happens at night?”
“No,” I said. The automatic doors slid open as we entered the emergency department. “Most crime happens in the daytime in the places you’re accustomed too. It’s just most of the violent stuff happens when there’s drink or drugs involved. At least, that’s what’s true of Sector Eight.”
“I’m guessing that jab about daytime is aimed at my mother?”
“It’s the damned truth is what it is.” I led Regan through the bloodied and injured veterans of the evening and to a corridor to the right of the main reception desk; the waiting room stank of sweat and urine and I could almost taste the metallic flavour of blood on my tongue. A pretty, but exhausted and bedraggled, nurse eyed us as we passed. “White collar crime.”
“I can’t argue with you.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled. We were outside the escalator. “I mean, you know first-hand what my mother is like.”
I pushed the button to call our metal carriage. “Only too well.”
“You...er... didn’t...?”
“What?” The lift doors opened, and we entered the small space.
“You know?”
“No!” The doors swished shut and I pressed for the highest floor, swiping my chipped SmartBoy to gain access. “I can’t believe you’d think that.” The top floor was where the data servers were and a floor or two above where I’d had my meeting with Ms Bex. “There’s no chance in damned hell that would ever happen! Me... and your mother?! Ergh!”
“I really wish I hadn’t brought it up,” he muttered. “At least that means that you... and I...”
I laughed. “Don’t forget I’m seeing someone.” The doors opened and I gestured for Regan to exit first, admittedly this was so I could peek at his behind. I think he knew it too; he left the elevator with a coy grin, a raised eyebrow and a swish on his hips.
It was quiet on this floor, dark too, until the automatic lights flickered to life, but even they were dim. Most admin was carried out in the daytime and there was no need for anyone to be up here at this time. Not that people came up here often anyway.
“Spooky,” whispered Regan. He moved a little closer to me and I put my arm around his shoulder. I could feel him shivering; I was cold too. There was a time when computers and terminals gave off a lot of heat. These days, it was quite the opposite, and I welcomed his warmth despite the invasion of my personal space.
“Keep an eye out for any security robots; the access memory cards I acquired aren’t likely to affect them, they’re a little too stupid, and they can be an absolute pain to deal with. There’s likely only one. Budget cuts. Be vigilant, I might be wrong.”
“Understood.”
Most of these rooms held servers, backed up and connected to the station-wide network. Other rooms, empty rooms. were used for data entry, desks with rarely used SmartBoy terminals. But, of course, anyone in the hospital could access the databases from the terminals on the other floors, as long as they had the proper credentials; it didn’t need to be up here. Gary had provided credentials to me, to us, however, to remain as untraceable as possible, I needed access from one the terminals in these desolate rooms. Direct access to the main servers of this hospital. Not only would it be away from prying eyes and cameras, but I also wouldn’t need to log in with any sort of username from up here.
We reached the end of the hall and I pulled us into a room off to the right. It should’ve been locked but wasn’t. This was Sector Eight after all.
Machinery hummed and a multitude of lights flickered and flashed as data moved along wires and circuits. Pinpoints of distant stars twinkling; who would’ve thought the night sky would be contained within a hospital in Sector Eight? This starry room was connected to everything medical, hard wired into the network connecting all the hospitals on Space Station Delta. There was even some connection to Solaris University. For research, apparently. I held no doubts that the information held within the medical databases was somehow being used to exploit or otherwise oppress those considered to be the lower classes, the poor and the marginalised groups. There was truly nothing I could do about it. Big business controlled every aspect of human life. And they damned made things were kept that way.
“It’s kinda romantic, don’t you think?” said Regan. He was stood behind me, but I could tell he was grinning. “It’s like there’s a hundred candles twinkling all around us.”
I agreed but stayed silent; I didn’t want to, couldn’t flirt with the other man.
“All we need now is some soft music and a delicious meal.”
I said nothing. I took a seat at a terminal near the back of the room.
“What do you say?”
I shrugged in reply as I connected my SmartBoy into the access slot; it seemed Regan was in a flirty mood. I wasn’t, or rather, I was, but there was Queenie to consider.
“Jack?” I felt his hands on my shoulders and I wanted them to stay; his touch was warm, comforting. “What are you hoping to find?”
“Someone died for this lead,” I said. “I need to know it was worth it.” I didn’t mention Graves’ daughter.
“I’m sorry, Jack.” He squeezed my shoulder as he sat in the chair to my right. “I didn’t know. When you told me about your injuries, you didn’t...?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it.” The blue screen flickered to life in the air in front of me, casting azure illumination in the room and corrupting the night sky of the servers. “One of my informants...” I took a deep breath and sighed; I didn’t want to feel like this, not now. “She...”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. His hand hadn’t left my shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it now. Or ever, if you don’t want to. I’m here. You can tell me about it when, if, you’re ready.”
I shook away his touch. “I need to find The Victor,” I said. “That’s the only way I can make amends.” I needed to wait a moment while Emmerson’s memory card did the work of accessing the database. I looked over to the other man and smiled. “But thank you, Regan.”
“Anytime.” He returned a warm smile. “Now,” he said, “we’re looking for a face change right?” He connected his own SmartBoy and started it up.
I nodded. A trill little cascade of beeps emanated from the SmartBoy as it joined the conversation; access was granted.
“A face change takes a good month to recover from.”
“Oh?” I started a search query for face change procedures from a year ago. “Had some work done, have we?”
“No, but it was popular amongst my mother’s friends when I was a kid.” His own SmartBoy sang out a little tune as it too gained access to the network. “Some of them used to get their faces done two or three times a year. They thought of themselves as pieces of artwork but more often than not they’d opt to look like minor celebrities they admired. It was a little cringe. Sycophantic. Thank goodness it was only a fad.”
“Rich people have far too much money and far too much time on their hands.”
“I can’t disagree,” said Regan. “Even though I’m one of those rich people.”
“Yeah, but you’re different.”
“Am I? Really?” He leaned in closer. “I know people call me a champagne socialist but it’s not true, right?”
“Does it really matter what people think?” I found the beautiful man distracting.
“I guess not.”
I turned back to my work, clearing my throat to make it clear that I needed to focus on the task in front of me. Regan lingered next to me for a moment, but since I ignored him and typed away at the screen, he soon understood the message. He turned back to his own SmartBoy. He probably didn’t know where to start looking; I’d tell him sometime, but not while I needed to concentrate.
Records scrolled on the screen. There wasn’t much here. Or rather, there wasn’t what I expected. Regan had been right about it being a fad; there were no face changes other than what I could see here. Within one week, nine months ago, there were three face change operations; Graves had told me that The Victor had undergone the procedure at around that time, so it was likely one of these records had what I was looking for. I was unable to see the patient names, not without clicking into each file; they were hidden behind patient ID numbers, however, it was noticeably clear who funded two of the face changes. A name I was too damned familiar with.
“Tribeca,” I muttered.
”Huh?”
“It’s Tribeca; they’ve funded these two... all around the same time as The Victor supposedly arrived on Space Station Delta. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“It might be. Look.” Regan pointed at my screen. “There’s one that wasn’t.”
“But it’s a little convenient, don’t you think?”
“Tribeca?”
I nodded. “Your mother has been up to some naughty things again.”
“Please don’t use the word ‘naughty’ when talking about my mother.”
“The point is that I should’ve known she was goddamned behind all this,” I said. “Now all I need is a motive, and we can begin to connect the dots. Why all the face swaps? What’s that got to do with a stolen statue?”
“Jack...”
“It doesn’t make any sense. Why were there two face changes?”
“Jack?” He placed his hand on my shoulder.
“We should start by looking at one of the patients.” I tapped one of the patient ID numbers and a file flung itself open. “Find out who they are and go from there.”
“Jack.” Regan grabbed me and turned me around in my seat.
“Shit.” I’d only caught a glimpse of the patient’s name, a familiar name. It was yet another piece of the jigsaw connecting everything together. Someone prominent. It was... damn it. There were more important, more immediate, things to worry about than the identities of the patients.
We were on the verge of being discovered.
Fortunately, the robot guard hadn’t seen us yet. Or heard us. Cheap shit. The cylindrical body chugged between the empty desks at the other end of the room. A laser scanner sprayed a horizontal line in front of its path as it searched for intruders and, in my personal experience, dead animals that it could accost and attack.
“Come on,” I said as I stood. I pulled my SmartBoy from the terminal, the blue light of its screen faded away, and slipped the device into my pocket. “We need to get out of here.” The connections between my case, Tribeca and the Church of the Third Encounter would have to wait.
I led Regen out of the room and into the corridor; the robot was following, although it still hadn’t detected us.
“Jack.” The other man nodded to the elevator where we’d entered the floor. There was another robot guard coming toward us.
“Goddammit.” I glanced back into the room; the other guard was approaching us too. I grabbed Regan’s arm. “I think there’s a stairwell this way.”
We ran, shuffled, away from the two robots to the other end of the hall; I dragged the other man along with me. Two robots. Damn it. This was Sector Eight! How in goddamned hell could they afford two guard robots, nevermind one?
I pushed through a door to meet stairs, metal rails with precarious footing and aimed at the roof.
“Up only,” said Regen.
“I can see that.” I looked back. Both robots seemed to have our scent, or at the very least they were coincidentally both headed our way, with the latter the more likely reason. “I guess the roof is where we’re headed.”
We darted up the creaking steps and out into the open, atop the roof of the hospital. It was dark, later than I’d thought, and the evening lights were dimmed for power conservation; I could barely see anything.
“One of them is coming up the stairs.”
“Damn.” I pulled him around the corner of the doorway, letting the door click shut, and to the back of the stairwell exit.
“Jack...”
“Keep quiet.” I drew him close and held my hand over his mouth; I needed to listen for the sound of the door opening, evidence of us being followed.
The hinges squeaked and I wondered for a moment how a wheeled cylinder had made it up the stairs; I’d need to ask Regan once we were free from its prying eyes and ears, its mechanical senses.
The light from the red laser scanned and lit up the gloomy rooftop, sweeping across the flat space before fading.
I heard the door squeal and slam shut.
Ha!
The robot guard hadn’t even looked around the corner where we hid safe in the shadows.
I let Regan go; I hadn’t realised I’d been holding him so tight. He stepped back, only a little, with a big grin on his face; it seemed he’d had the same thoughts about the decrepit robot.
“Wow,” he laughed. “That was a waste of time; we may as well have stayed where we were!”
I nodded.
There was a clunk, a door closing or something falling, distant and not on the rooftop where we hid, but it was enough to spook Regan; he almost jumped into my arms. We both laughed when he realised his mistake.
He didn’t move, stayed close to me. I could feel his chest against mine, moving up and down with each breath. He looked into my eyes with a soft expression. He smiled, and somehow became more handsome. I wondered what he was thinking.
Regan leaned in close and kissed me.
I didn’t stop him.