The Body Scout: A Novel Page 13

  “We don’t have anything recent on Setek,” Dolores said. “Nada. If he was purchased by Monsanto, it wasn’t public. But after the Colossus disaster, he’s been radioactive. I guess if I was hiring him I’d do it off the books too.”

  We ate, dressed, and then took a taxi uptown, weaving through the skystabbers and dodging the retail blimps. The smog was thin that day and we could see the golden mouth sign glowing from blocks away. It enlarged, the twinkling lips growing until it swallowed us. We landed on the red-carpeted tongue.

  “Being rich doesn’t buy you any taste, does it?” Dolores said, looking at the ornate golden bats and baseballs on the wall of the marble lift.

  The doctor’s office was about fifty floors below the Mouth’s penthouse. I hoped he wasn’t monitoring the security feeds. I didn’t want to be called in for an impromptu case update.

  Dolores and I sat in the waiting room looking like an actual couple, like we could be going home that night, meal printing a few bento boxes, and watching holographic soap operas for hours until we started drooling and snoring on each other.

  “Do you think this Setek works personally for the Mouth? Or he’s on the Monsanto payroll?” Dolores asked.

  “Either way, Natasha said the Mets were covering the bill.”

  “Are you sure this woman’s a real Neanderthal? We’d heard rumors at Pyramid, but I assumed it was slander.”

  “She’s Neanderthal all right,” I said. “Or at least heavily upgraded to look like one.”

  “I’d love to get a look at that DNA.”

  “I’ll try to suck a little blood out next time I see her.”

  “If you’re serious, I’ll get you a syringe.”

  I laughed, a bit too loudly. Someone shushed us. There were only a few other people in the waiting room. Elderly people in fancy suits, skin starting to wrinkle despite the upgrades. They glared at us over their screens.

  “You hear rumors about the Mets. That Monsanto has unreported government contracts, and the upgrades they’re working on are being pumped right into the troops. Lot of the Sphinxes’ scientists think their ballplayers are using nanobots in the bloodstream and zootech parasites that secrete steroids as they feed. Stuff that should be illegal if President Newman wasn’t making the Department of Human Limits turn a blind eye.”

  “At the Yankees, we heard the same rumors. Of course, we heard them about the Sphinxes too.”

  Dolores was laughing when the doors swung open and Dr. Setek slithered out. His upper half was screwed into a cybernetic tail somewhere between a snake’s tail and a gigantic tongue. He bobbed up and down, moving toward us. His red hair erupted from his skull like a forest fire. His long green tie swayed back and forth as he licked his way across the plastic floor.

  Dolores looked between the doctor and me. Leaned over. Whispered, “You let this guy operate on you?”

  “He used to walk differently,” I said.

  As he got closer, I could see the tail was sealed with porous skin that leaked a trail of mucus on the floor.

  “Kobo, my boy, Natasha said you’d be coming.”

  I stood up and Setek went up on the tip of his tail to meet me eye to eye.

  “Surprised you remember me.”

  “Oh, I remember every patient.” He tapped the side of his head. “Sometimes gray matter is more powerful than a CPU.”

  He ushered us into the examination room. We followed, walking a bit to the side to avoid his lower half’s secretions.

  “Do you remember the man I visited with last time? Julio Julio Zunz?” I said, a little too sharply.

  “Certainly. One of my favorite patients. Such a tragedy.”

  “You remember anything about his charts that could explain what happened at the plate?”

  The doctor had been examining my arm, and dropped it. Looked at me seriously. “Zunz was a beautiful man. The most gorgeous genes I’ve ever analyzed. Very unique. His cells could absorb more upgrades than almost any other player. We used to call him the Henrietta Lacks of home runs!” He swiveled at the hip to face Dolores. Looked her over with a zigzag scan. “And who is this tantalizing specimen?”

  “Dolores Zamora,” she said, keeping her hand unextended. “Just here for moral support.”

  “Brilliant. We all need all the support we can get in this cruel, crazy world. Give me a second while I switch legs.”

  The doctor slid to the corner on his bionic tail. He undid the clamping, freed his torso. Pushed himself up with his hands, and hand-walked across the table toward a set of motorized wheels. “God, it feels nice to get a good breeze down there.”

  He lowered his trunk into the new lower half. Screwed himself onto the base, swiveling around in a way that made me dizzy.

  “Lost the legs in the third Iraq war,” he said to Dolores. “Acid mites. Sneaky bastards had the whole area littered with pits of them. Must have bought them off the Russians. Lots of blood, lots of screaming. They had to amputate me right there on the dune. All better now though.” He rapped a little rhythm on the metal base. “I bring it up only because it puts some people on edge.”

  “Not a fan of normal bionic legs?” Dolores asked.

  The doc spun on the wheels to face me. “Nope nope nope. At least until I can put my brain in a fresh body, I’m going to embrace variety.” He took hold of my arm, tapped it gently up and down with one knuckle. “Haven’t you ever wanted a bear claw, a pincer, or, hell, a tentacle? No need to be stuck with the human shape you were born with.”

  “I get called enough names with this arm,” I said.

  “Your limb, your call. That’s my motto. Although that arm is so out of date it’s practically Paleolithic, in cybernetic terms.”

  “Are you offering a free replacement?”

  The doctor chuckled. “I’m afraid Natasha isn’t covering that. Although if you want to work out a layaway plan…” He nodded toward a display of limbs on the walls. Arms and legs of different shapes and materials ringed the room. Some were bionic, others faux flesh still attached to the feeding troughs. They were adorned with different protrusions. Talons, fingers, and claws. Others were original creations, utilizing bizarre geometry and strange joints. “Variety is the spice of life.”

  “Sorry, doc. I’ve got a case to solve.”

  “Okay, okay. I can take a hint.”

  “Speaking of that case,” Dolores said, interrupting. She was leaning against a blood filterer by the cabinets. “Do you have any theories on what could do that to Zunz?”

  “It’s surprising how fragile we are, isn’t it?” Setek said. “All our science and technology can’t stop that fundamental truth.”

  “Still. Any ideas?”

  Setek thought about it. He spoke a little slower than normal. “I’m more of a fix-’em-upper than a break-’em-downer. But I’d say that from how rapidly the symptoms spread, it was something slipped into his skin or his helmet that activated that day.”

  “Is there anything that stood out to you?” I said. “Anything that might help. He was my brother.”

  The doctor’s eyes widened at this, although he mumbled a perfunctory condolence. “Brother, I had no idea. I’d love to get a look at your DNA and compare. Let me get a sample.”

  He reached for the row of syringes on the wall.

  “I was adopted.”

  “Ah.” He put the needle back and ran his stethoscope along the curve of his chin. “Are you in contact with any living blood relatives? If we could compare a sample of a relative’s DNA to his, we might get an idea what happened.”

  Something clicked in my mind. I looked at his red hair. Squinted. “Have you visited our mother?”

  “Oh yes, yes,” Setek said. “Mrs. Zunz was quite forthcoming.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d lay off. She’s been through a lot.”

  “Not to worry. All finished. We did take a sample to analyze, but unfortunately it didn’t tell us as much as we’d hoped. She was missing a few of the key mutations. If only his
father was still alive.” He sighed. Then went to a drawer and pulled out a pair of instruments. “Now, let’s take a look at this hand.”

  Setek poked and prodded. Ran a scanner over my arm, then my other parts. He took a large blood sample and a sample of the fluid in my hand. Pulled out the swaps, ran the currents, knocked on different bones. The whole time he muttered, “Well, well, well.”

  I looked over at Dolores, whose face couldn’t decide if it wanted to giggle or peel back in disgust.

  “Well, this is doable, although I’d recommend you buy a new arm within the next two years,” he said. “I’ll have to rewire the palm. Add a new stabilizer and nerve module. But it’s doable. Take the next few days off for rest.”

  “Not an option.”

  “Well, don’t listen to me, I’m only the doctor.” He looked at Dolores. “What about those ears? I can see you’re using transcribers. I could rejigger your ear canal in an afternoon. You wouldn’t feel a thing.”

  “I’m happy with the senses I have.”

  Dr. Setek clapped. “There’s sense in that! There’s sense in that, I say again. Sense in the senses. Yes, ma’am.”

  “Glad you understand.”

  He held up his hands, a couple syringes in one, a bottle of red oval pills in the other. “So, gas, shot, pills, or shock?”

  I opted for the gas, and he slipped on the mask. I let my mind sail off into the black.

  While Setek worked on my arm, I couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t think of anything either. Nothing except that I couldn’t think. No dreams or visions. When I was a child, my sleep was always fitful. My dreams filled with crumbling walls and screams. In the blackness, if I cried out, Zunz would reach over and hold my hand. But here, I couldn’t feel Setek touching me. The drugs carried me beautifully.

  Sometime later, I woke up on the warm metal table. The air was calm and quiet. My senses tiptoed back to me.

  “Hello, darling,” Dolores said. She helped me off the table. “You know you snore when you’re drugged?”

  The doctor was gone. I looked at my arm. It seemed healthy and strong, no holes that weren’t supposed to be there. I flexed. Tapped. Twisted. It was all in working order. Now I needed to make sure the Sassafras sisters didn’t try another gut renovation.

  “He went over you pretty good,” Dolores said. She nodded toward the monitor drone, which was an owl with comically large eyes. Dolores put a finger to her lip. “A thorough doctor. Let’s get out of here and get you something to eat.”

  We headed down to the street level. Walked a block or two before the air started making us cough.

  “No one else came in. Just the doctor mumbling to himself and me twiddling my thumbs in the corner.”

  “Good.”

  “But he did make a call while you were under. Walked into another room like he was worried I was recording. Rightly.” Dolores laughed. “My goggles could pick up some of the words. I didn’t get a full transcription. He definitely mentioned ‘unviable donor’ and Zunz.”

  “We should try to tail him,” I said.

  “From Mouth Tower? That might be hard,” Dolores said. “And I have other work to do. Paying work. But I do have an employee plus-one for the home games. We could go to game three tomorrow. Watch the teams hit some balls with a few dogs and beers. Plus, you’ll get a chance to snoop around.”

  “Last time I went to the Pyramid a player died.”

  “I could use a date. Shouldn’t you actually get in the field, dig your hands in the muck?”

  “I just got this hand cleaned.”

  “You talk smart, Kobo,” Dolores said, shaking her head. “You should work on thinking smart. Going to the stadium will be the best shot for you to sneak into Kang’s house. Head out in the fourth inning. The guards will be watching the game. I can give you the security code. Maybe there’s something the police missed.”

  I smiled, suddenly and stupidly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Right then I was feeling tired, still woozy from the surgery table. I told Dolores I’d think about the game and went home. Spent a while scouring the various internets for information on Edenists and their beliefs. They were a strange group, half in bed with the Grand New Party’s immigration crackdown and half with pious monks doing charity work between anti-upgrade sermons. I tried to search for the Janus Club, but the web was scrubbed of references.

  Then I spent the rest of the evening looking at my tuned-up arm. Testing it. Admiring its gleam. Checking the data that was stored up on my screen and spreading salve where the flesh met metal.

  I fell asleep thinking not of the case but of what I’d buy when I solved it. I was at a banquet table filled with parts of every type—petri dish organs, shining bionics, slick new wettech—and piled my plate all the way to the ceiling. Setek was there too, serving me new parts every time I chomped.

  I woke up, smiling, to a call. It was Okafor.

  “Morning, Sil.”

  “Kobo, that girl you were chasing? The little twig that was at Zunz’s house?”

  I sat up, cracked my neck.

  “Did you identify her?”

  “No,” Okafor said. “We arrested her.”

  23

  THE CAGED GIRL

  My arm felt fresh off the assembly line. The rest of me was in a state of ache and decay. Doctors never fixed everything at once. You could have an old, dull skull with state-of-the-art eyeballs, or a rotting gut housed in a new chrome stomach. Anyone could be made new, sure, but only one piece and one payment at a time. I suppose this made me feel a little sympathy for the Edenist girl. Maybe she’d seen what a racket upgrading a body could be and figured she’d roll the dice on mother nature. A gamble too, but cheaper.

  “You look chipper,” Okafor said, greeting me at the front desk. The station was large and surprisingly quiet. Most of the cops were lounging around sipping coffee or else strapped into holofeeds, reexamining evidence recordings. I’d always been nervous around cops. Zunz and I had spent half our childhood hiding from them. But Okafor was more friend than police to me. I smiled and looked them over. They seemed bulkier than I remembered. Sharp angles under the uniform.

  “New torso?”

  “New everything. Mandatory upgrades for the whole division.” They grabbed me, clapped me to their steel chest. “Shit, Kobo. Can you believe that jerk went and died on us without even asking permission?”

  “He never did like to give you a heads-up.”

  They laughed, still hugging me. “God, right? You’d get a text saying, ‘pickup game in the park, ten minutes’ and have to sprint right out the door. Fucker never was good at time management.”

  Okafor had known Zunz even longer than me. The Okafors had run daycare out of their home for neighbors like Mrs. Z who spent most of the day and some of the night plugged into remote gear. I’d always been jealous that Okafor had known Zunz since before he could walk.

  I let the hug last a few seconds, then pulled back. “Have you learned anything?”

  Okafor got back into a cop position, thumbs tucked into the belt near the guns. They shook their head. “Let’s not talk out here.”

  They led me to the break room—“the only place we don’t bug”—and poured us both cups of coffee in mugs that said To Protect (Our Asses) and Serve (Your Asses). “A security drone found the girl loitering around a Monsanto zootech depot. She’s a feisty one. Tried to bite my guy’s hand when he took her in. She was carrying this.”

  They held up a cage with a bright red newt inside. When I touched the glass, it leapt at my finger. Its skin was coated in a sticky yellow film.

  “A pet?”

  “A weapon. The saliva produces enough neurotoxin to leave an elephant brain-dead.” Okafor saw my face and quickly added, “No, it’s not what killed Zunz. It wouldn’t cause bleeding like that.”

  “Why would an Edenist go near a zootech depot?”

  “We’ve been building a dossier on an Edenist splinter cell calling themselves the Diseased
Eden. They’re less religion, more terrorist organization. Had a big split with the main branch over their ‘collaboration’ with politicians. You know how these extremists get. The Diseased Eden steal zootech. Liberate them, I guess they’d say. Remember last year when a cloud of nausea gnats was released in Old Times Square?”

  Old Times Square was a place I avoided. Historical preservation laws kept all the buildings in the area under fifty stories and hologram billboards were banned. It was all neon and LCD screens. A quaint tourist trap for nostalgia addicts. Still, that didn’t mean I approved of infecting masses of out-of-towners with weaponized flies.

  “The city was hosing it down for weeks. That was these Diseased Edenists?”

  “We think so. No one was ever prosecuted.”

  “And this girl is one of them?”

  “Who knows? Maybe she just likes red lizards.”

  Okafor couldn’t tell me much more about the girl. Her DNA didn’t register in the system. She wouldn’t give a name. No identity implants. Would only give her address as an Edenist center in Queens.

  “Listen. I said I’d do you this favor. Out of respect for Zunz. But you won’t have long. The Edenists are already sending lawyers down here with threats and briefcases. And she’s underage. We’ll have to set her free soon, and I need you gone before they get here.”

  “You’re going to release her when she’s carrying illegal zootech?”

  “It oughta be illegal, but these biopharm corps pump out new species a lot faster than the government can catalog them.”

  I tapped the side of the glass and watched the bright red creature scurry around. The right designer zootech could have killed Zunz. Smart to have a weapon that can crawl away.

  “Did the girl say anything about him?”

  Okafor shook their head as we walked to the interrogation chamber. “Maybe you’ll have better luck than me. I’ll wait outside. Like I said, ten minutes.”

  The interrogation room was a small concrete box with a table in the middle. The table’s top had screens displaying the captive’s heartbeat, vocal pitch, and other data. I walked by it, went up to the wall. Pulled out an eraser. “Send her around,” I said. The giant gears of the station’s holding cell system groaned. The cells spun until the girl was in front of me.