Sequela (50 page)

'What do you need?' he asked, eventually, lifting his head.

She looked at him for a long time, as if gauging his loyalty and his readiness. Then she looked up at his design board.

'I need a virus.'

Cherry left Dempsey's and headed straight down to the Thames. She climbed up the steps to the east Hungerford Footbridge and looked down the river. When she reached the old skyline plaque she stopped and swung her backpack down. She took out her new Book and searched for Lady's number. It was easy to find, the Hospital being such a large attraction. The minute it started ringing, Cherry felt closer, connected again.

'Hello?'

'Lady, it's Cherry.'

There was a long silence.

'Cherry. They told me you weren't coming back. I'd guessed it from the way things were going. Seems like you got them what they wanted. I'm surprised they didn't want to keep you in their pockets, but fair enough. I guess it's too risky to keep on trying the same tricks. They've stopped paying me of course, but don't worry, I extracted compensation when I found out you were staying. We saw you in the run-up to the show. Marlene and Tim bullied me into getting the big screen out in the runkroom. Looks like it's quite a change from the Hospital.'

'In some ways. I just wanted to let you know myself. I wanted to thank you, I suppose.'

'Don't thank me, Cherry.'

'Nobody wants to be thanked. Good luck then, I suppose. You'll have heard about the new screens.'

'Of course.' Lady's words became clipped. 'What with those and the designer viruses there'll be no business left for us soon. Except for the original business.'

'I know.' Cherry wasn't sure what to say to this. It would be no different if she were there, if she had never left. 'Will you pass on a message to Marlene and Tim for me?'

'Cherry, I'm not your personal answering service,' Lady said, then paused for a moment.

Cherry imagined her smoothing back her hair, stroking her skirt flat down the length of her thigh, her conscience struggling with her image.

'Call back at three-thirty,' Lady said, as if she were ordering Cherry in to her office. 'I have to see them both about something anyway. You can tell them whatever it is yourself.'

'Thank you. I can thank you this time, can't I?'

'You're welcome, Cherry.'

'Take care –'

'We'll speak later,' Lady said and put the phone down.

Cherry shook her head and tucked her Book away. Reaching into her bag, she brought out an almost empty gin miniature and a lighter. If the alcohol didn't do for the virus, then fire would. She carefully took the top off the bottle, tipped it so that the liquid reached its lip, lit the liquid and placed it quickly back down on the plaque. Her actions caused several passers-by to perform a shambolic stagger-and-duck
manoeuvre
. Presumably they had expected it to explode. When it proved to be just burning, they fell back into their normal gaits with alarming ease, carrying on across the bridge as if they had defective memories. Cherry watched the plastic melt and buckle, holes gaping it in like panicked mouths. When the flames died down she took off her shoe and knocked the remains of the bottle into the river, leaving a small round scorch mark on the plaque.

Cherry took her Book out again. Her mother's picture smiled from the display, looking past her, somewhere over her left shoulder. She was meeting Gerald for dinner at nine, which gave her plenty of time to start on her next project. The fiscal records building with its forms and queues was the place to start. If her mother was still in the City, imprisoned or not, alive or not, that was where she would find out. She tapped the destination into her Book, held it up against the north Embankment vista to see her route mapped out for her, then tucked it away and started to walk.

-o-

Jesus had a particularly stern look on his face today. His wounds were not bothering him, or if they were, they were a mere irritation against the pain that Blotch had clearly caused him. Blotch knelt in front of his office altar, tracing the sequence of events, explaining,
apologising
and stopping to curse V in short bursts. Things had turned out a little more complicated than he had hoped. The blasted company had taken Lowe back into their dirty nest and had managed to make themselves look like the good guys in the process. The girl had done her bit, so things might have been recovered, but there had been a stampede at the fashion show, seemingly unrelated – bad luck really.

He could have done with a hand on that front. It was the best chance of getting back into the City that the Real Church had been afforded in years and they'd blown it. Rumours of a viral attack had damaged business at the Pigs for a few days, though, and that had to be worth something. This wouldn't happen next time, he assured the Christ. Next time they would nail it.

'Your forgiveness, my
Saviour
.' Blotch crossed himself and bowed his head to the altar. 'Unfortunate turn of phrase.'

There went his promotion, just like that. He felt queasy, hot and cold. This had been it; he had been so sure. And he still had one boss to
apologise
to. He cast a pleading glance at Jesus. Just then there was a knock at the door and it opened a sliver. A small grey head popped in, accompanied by the flash of what Blotch thought was a knitting needle.

'Minister.' Nan's voice went straight through him. 'Ah, you're talking to himself. You'll thank him for the transfer while you're down there will you? It was just the thing.'

Nan pushed in through the door, indicating her new cardigan proudly. Blotch looked back at Jesus, closed his eyes and was silent for a moment, then got up and squeezed round behind his desk.

'Nan,' he said, smiling over gritted teeth.

'I've got a little titbit the two of you might be interested in.' She settled herself opposite him, glancing over her shoulder at the altar with a fond nose wrinkle.

-o-

Alexis turned right then left in front of her mirror and then looked straight at herself. On the dark grey wall behind her, opposite the open doorway to her bathroom, hung Kester's gift. She smiled. The fiery circle around London was reflected just behind her head, giving her a flaming halo. As she stared, the light bulbs at the mirror's edge fuzzed and melted into a luminous frame.

She interrogated her reflection, trying to see herself objectively, critically. Her skin was good. There was no youthful glow, but it was clear and smooth. Her makeup was simple and precise: black liquid-lined eyes, black clump-free lashes, red lips, tidy eyebrows. Her hair was parted exactly in the middle and drawn up in two tight rolls that started above her temples and swept back down to meet in a V at the nape of her neck. She wore simple V logo stud earrings. From the neck up everything was perfect; inhumanly perfect. She nodded, satisfied, and continued her appraisal.

Her simple silk top was a patchwork of logos, all tonally similar, creating a pattern effect on the fabric. It flattered her frame. She looked at where her breasts lifted the fabric in small peaks, then down to where it wafted free over her flat stomach. She moved from side to side and took pleasure in its small movements against her skin, a tropical breeze. Nice, but too feminine, she decided. She tried pinching it in with the waistband of her skirt but it was still too soft. Classy, but the order of the day was not classy – it was professional, sharp, intimidating. She picked up her Book and called Rita.

'Rita, I've got an interview at three. I need to look intimidating. Bring me up something angular, something androgynous.' She hung up without waiting for a reply.

This one she would reserve for meeting Kester afterwards, she decided. He would like it. There was plenty of room for his wandering hands to slide in underneath. Once this interview was out of the way things would be back to normal. She couldn't relax until she had taken her revenge, taken the driver's seat again. Passing a hand across her abdomen, she felt a small tug of rage, buried deep. She had never wanted to have children. Even if she did want to there was always POR. She had lost nothing, but it was the principle of the thing. As Gaunt had put it, it is little consolation to the man whose manhood you've cut off that it can be sewn back on. Campbell needed to see her at her best. She must be powerful, sexy, virulent; she must be indestructible, a perfect bronze of woman.
But she doesn't care about those things
, Kester would tell her.

'Bullshit, Kester,' she said to her reflection, 'everybody cares about those things.'

Dee would care and she would see how complete her failure was. And once she had seen how complete her failure was, Alexis would build her up and destroy her again. There was a tight ball of anticipation at Alexis' diaphragm. She picked up the hypodermic gun Kester had given her, recalled his warning, loaded it and tucked the second vial into her skirt pocket. She looked at herself in the mirror again, and pointed the hypodermic at her reflection like a hand gun.

'Bang,' she said, blew smoke from the needle, and tucked the gun into an imaginary holster at her hip. She had plenty time to visit Gaunt and Yule; a short six hours was all it needed.

A picture flashed up on Alexis' Book. An outfit suggestion from Rita. A clean-lined suit-fabric jumpsuit – sharply flared legs, a high collar balanced by a mid-depth V-neck, a neat line of close-set buttons sweeping down to either hip from the centre point of the V. Alexis flicked to see the back view. A waistcoat-shaped panel on the back was given over to a well-matched montage of logos. Perfect.

And perhaps Kester would like this too, in a different way. Not so easy access. She imagined the struggle he would have wrestling her out of it, could already feel the pull of his clumsy hands at the lines of buttons. Tonight would be perfect. He would be enlarged with ego, her greatest creation, Doctor Kester Lowe; she would be hot with the blood of her enemy. She smiled to herself. There would be buttons everywhere.

-o-

Kester swung his feet up on his desk and gave a happy sigh. The rescheduled fashion show had gone off without a hitch. Everything was new again. He felt safe, elated and confident that his world was under his control. This must be what Lex felt like all the time. He remembered his first days at V, his projects growing, the fervent activity. That was great, but this was better. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Welcome…John Boyd
,
said the doors.

'So, Boss, where do you want me to start?' John said.

Kester giggled. It was weird having John there. He felt like he had done something wrong, had got a friend in the back door, even though John was one of the most capable scientists he knew.

'Make us a cup of coffee,' Kester said, holding his face as straight as he could. He let John waver for a moment then laughed. 'Just kidding. I need you to go over my data from the initial torso tests. I want you to question the methodology, interrogate the data – just check I haven't cocked up anywhere along the way.'

'A nice no-pressure start then?'

'Yeah.' Kester expected John would go and start work, but he hung around at the door for a minute before coming back across.

'The booths – the exchange booths…'

'Yes?'

'Is it really OK? I mean is this a trap or something? You can just use them, right?'

'Right. Any time, with anyone. But try not to exchange below your grade too much – stick to the up-and-comers and your seniors if you can. You'll get used to it.'

'So her, over there.' John looked to the window and pointed out a girl with a sleek mousy ponytail a few benches into the room. 'Suppose I feel she's got potential…'

'Yes.'

'I could just go and say to her, "Hey doll, fancy a tumble in the booths?"'

Kester smirked. He'd had trouble getting to grips with the etiquette when he first started too.

'Best way is to use the exchange request on your profile. Just ping her – you can use name, station number, or just point your Book to identify her and a message will pop up. She'll
yes
or
no
you and a booth will light up to show it's free if she accepts your offer.'

'Cool. I meant it hypothetically of course.'

'Of course. And, hypothetically speaking, you won't have to walk back across the room like a tool with everyone watching if she says
no
.'

'Nice,' John said, meandering towards the door. 'Thanks Boss.'

Kester skipped over to his coffee machine and made himself a small cup. He sat down and looked up at his twin display; streams of data tumbled down the wall next to his static design board. Picking up his Book, he flipped through his appointments. There was a heady mix of science and celebrity: a meeting to set up the controlled in vivo trials of the screens, a guest feature on Take It, his first presentation to the Board, a photoshoot with his new team, the first planning session for the show's world tour.