Altered Carbon

“It’s not about cost,” I said, and wondered if that was the truth of what brought people like Bancroft down to Licktown.

Ortega leaned her head against the window and looked out at the rain. She didn’t look at me. “You’re chasing leads, Kovacs. You went down to Jerry’s to follow up something Bancroft did there. Given time I can find out what that was, but it’d be easier if you just told me.”

“Why? You told me the Bancroft case was closed. What’s your interest?”

That brought her eyes back round to mine, and there was a light in them. “My interest is keeping the peace. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but every time we meet it’s to the sound of heavy-calibre gunfire.”

I spread my hands. “I’m unarmed. All I’m doing is asking questions. And speaking of questions … How come you were sitting on my shoulder when the fun started?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

I let that one go. Ortega was tailing me, that much was certain. And that in turn meant there had to be more to the Bancroft case than she was admitting.

“What’s going to happen to my car?” I asked.

“We’ll have it picked up. Notify the hire company. Someone can come and get it from the impound. Unless you want it.”

I shook my head.

“Tell me something, Kovacs. Why’d you hire a ground car? On what Bancroft’s paying you, you could have had one of these.” She slapped the bulkhead by her side.

“I like to go places on the ground,” I said. “You get a better sense of distance that way. And on Harlan’s World, we don’t go up in the air much.”

“Really?”

“Really. Listen, the guy who nearly torched you out of the sky back there—”

“Excuse me?” She cranked up one eyebrow in what by now I was begi

I gestured. “Whatever. He was waiting for me.”

“Waiting for you?” Whatever she really thought, Ortega’s face was disbelieving. “According to those Stiff dealers we loaded into the wagon, he was buying product. An old customer, they say.”

I shook my head. “He was waiting for me. I went to talk to him, he took off.”

“Maybe he didn’t like your face. One of the dealers, I think it was the one whose skull you cracked, said you were looking jacked up to kill someone.” She shrugged again. “They say you started it, and it certainly looks that way.”

“In that case, why aren’t you charging me?”

“Oh, with what?” She exhaled an imaginary plume of smoke. “Organic damage (surgery reparable) to a pair of Stiff peddlers? Endangering police property? Breach of the peace in Licktown. Give me a break, Kovacs. This sort of thing goes down every night outside Jerry’s. I’m too tired for the paperwork.”

The transport tipped and through the window I could see the dim form of the Hendrix’s tower. I’d accepted Ortega’s offer of a ride home in much the same spirit as I had the police lift out to Suntouch House—to see where it would take me. Envoy wisdom. Go with the flow, and see what it shows you. I’d no reason to suppose Ortega was lying to me about our destination, but still part of me was surprised to see that tower. Envoys aren’t big on trust.

After an initial wrangle with the Hendrix about landing permission, the pilot set us down on a grimy-looking drop pad atop the tower. I could feel the wind tugging at the transport’s lightweight body as we landed, and as the hatch unfolded upwards, the cold came battering aboard. I got up to go. Ortega stayed where she was, watching me go with a lopsided look that I still couldn’t work out. The charge I’d felt last night was back. I could feel the need to say something pressing on me like an impending sneeze.

“Hey, how’d the bust go down on Kadmin?”

She shifted in the seat and stuck out one long leg to rest her boot on the chair I had just vacated. A thin smile.

“Grinding through the machine,” she said. “We’ll get there.”

“Good.” I climbed out into the wind and rain, raising my voice. “Thanks for the lift.”

She nodded gravely, then tipped her head back to say something to the pilot behind her. The whine of the turbines built and I ducked hurriedly out from under the hatch as it began to close. As I stepped back, the transport unglued itself and lifted away, lights flashing. I caught a final glimpse of Ortega’s face through the rain-streaked cabin window, then the wind seemed to carry the little craft away like an autumn leaf, wheeling away and down towards the streets below. In seconds it was indistinguishable from the thousands of other flyers speckling the night sky. I turned and walked against the wind to the drop pad’s access staircase. My suit was sodden from the rain. What had possessed Bancroft to outfit me for summer with the scrambled weather systems that Bay City had so far exhibited was beyond me. On Harlan’s World, when it’s winter, it stays that way long enough for you to make decisions about your wardrobe.

The upper levels of the Hendrix were in darkness relieved only by the occasional glow of dying illuminum tiles, but the hotel obligingly lit my way with neon tubes that flickered on in my path and died out again behind me. It was a weird effect, making me feel as if I was carrying a candle or torch.

“You have a visitor,” the hotel said chattily as I got into the elevator and the doors whirred closed.

I slammed my hand against the emergency stop button, raw flesh stinging where I’d ski

“You have a visi—”

“Yeah, I heard.” It occurred to me, briefly, to wonder if the AI could take offence at my tone. “Who is it, and where are they?”

“She identifies herself as Miriam Bancroft. Subsequent search of the city archives has confirmed sleeve identity. I have allowed her to wait in your room, since she is unarmed and you left nothing of consequence there this morning. Aside from refreshment, she has touched nothing.”

Feeling my temper rising, I found focus on a small dent in the metal of the elevator door and made an attempt at calm.

“This is interesting. Do you make arbitrary decisions like this for all your guests?”

“Miriam Bancroft is the wife of Laurens Bancroft,” said the hotel reproachfully. “Who in turn is paying for your room. Under the circumstances, I thought it wise not to create u

I looked up at the ceiling of the elevator.

“You been checking up on me?”

“A background check is part of the contract I operate under. Any information retained is wholly confidential, unless subpoenaed under UN directive 231.4.”

“Yeah? So what else you know?”

“Lieutenant Takeshi Lev Kovacs,” said the hotel. “Also known as Mamba Lev, One Hand Rending, the Icepick, born Newpest, Harlan’s World 35th May 187, colonial reckoning. Recruited to UN Protectorate forces 11th September 204, selected for Envoy Corps enhancement 31st June 211 during routine screening—”

“All right.” Inwardly I was a little surprised at how deep the AI had got. Most people’s records dry up as soon as the trace goes offworld. Interstellar needlecasts are expensive. Unless the Hendrix had just broken into Warden Sullivan’s records, which was illegal. Ortega’s comment about the hotel’s previous charge sheet drifted back to me. What kind of crimes did an AI commit anyway?

“It also occurred to me that Mrs. Bancroft is probably here in co

I sighed, and unpi

“No, I bet she wasn’t.”

She was seated in the window, nursing a tall, ice-filled glass and watching the lights of the traffic below. The room was in darkness broken only by the soft glow of the service hatch and the tricoloured neon-frame drinks cabinet. Enough to see that she wore some kind of shawl over work trousers and a body-moulded leotard. She didn’t turn her head when I let myself in, so I advanced across the room into her field of vision.