has taken a personal interest in resurrection. Something about their search for Nirvana, some quest for a higher rung on the caste-system ladder—”
“Why does this always come back to religion? Why do you One-Timers always have to make this an argument about God?”
Russ held his own for several minutes, arguing with Aditya Khan, the guy with the unfortunate job of overseeing our business in the Middle East and Asia, where the lion-tiger-and-elephant share of our problems was currently taking place. Then Russ glanced over his shoulder and realized that I had walked into his VR conference call.
“Well, look who decided to get his little hands dirty and pay us a visit.” He paused, then turned back to the board members. “We’ll continue this later.” Aditya started to protest, but Russ ignored him. He hit the DISCONNECT button on his wristband and slipped out of his VR suit. Instantly the conference room vista, replete with rustic nineteenth-century woodland ambiance, sizzled and faded. We were back in the plant warehouse now: concrete floors, a buzz of activity in distant office cubicles, the clatter of hospital-grade carts rolling down hallways, and a vague sterile odor hanging over everything.
And somewhere behind us, Angelique was running through a battery of hand-eye coordination tests in a soundproof booth.
A fine layer of dust seemed to hang in the air. Like guilt.
“You really must be some sort of idiot,” Russ said, his dark-eyed gaze sifting through the dust. He seemed out of place, dressed in an evening suit, one of the latest designer-from-China things, the top buttons hanging open. There was a cut on his forehead and a few drops of blood stained his white collar. “What kind of game were you playing in that bar last night?”
As much as I had tried to be prepared, he still caught me off guard.
“Do you realize we could have a major lawsuit on our hands,” he continued, “if that brute you tangled with decides to press charges?”
“Trust me, there’s no way that Neanderthal’s gonna slam us with a lawsuit—”
“You didn’t identify yourself, bruh.” He sighed, then glanced over my shoulder at Angelique. “One of the mugs in the French Quarter sent me a VR report, minutes after you sauntered out of that club.”
I paused. Mentally re-enacted the events in the club last night. “I told that goon who I was,” I countered, but all of sudden I wasn’t sure.
“You showed him your tattoo, all right. After you blasted him with light. Look, I’m not in the mood to fight,” he said wearily. “I got yanked out of a dinner with the mayor last night by another board meeting, came in here and had to fight my way through a pro-death rally—”
“Is this one of your infamous ‘my job is tougher than yours’ speeches?” I glanced back at Angelique and noticed that she had stopped her tests. She was staring at Russ, a guarded expression on her face.
“—then I got in here,” he continued, “and found out that an e-bomb had crashed our computer system. We almost lost a Newbie in transit.”
“Okay, okay, you win. Your job really is tougher than mine.” I pulled the plastic bag with the marker out of my pocket and slammed it on the table in between us. “Just tell me one thing, what the hell is this?”
Russ looked at the bag, then back up at me. “It’s a marker. Apparently taken out of a Stringer, since there’s blood on it.” He shrugged.
“It’s not one of ours.”
I saw something flash in his eyes, something I couldn’t quite pinpoint. Anger, maybe. Or fear. His face seemed to shift in the descending dust, like he was changing into someone I didn’t know anymore.
Like the old Russell was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Angelique:
The tests looked easy at first. And they were. Then I glanced through the window and saw another man across the warehouse floor. He was talking to Chaz. I pretended not to notice him, but the back of my neck started to prickle. A strange feeling settled in my stomach, like I had a blender inside me and somebody turned it on real slow. Just fast enough to make me sick, but not fast enough to kill me.
All of a sudden I couldn’t figure out the answers, my hands wouldn’t do what I told them and my words wouldn’t come out right. I hovered there, alone inside the booth, somewhere between nausea and death, wondering what was wrong with me.