Re-Coil - J.T. Nicholas Page 0,48
anything in his files?
Her response came back almost immediately. Nothing that jumped out on the cursory search. Bit’s working his way through them, and I’ve got a few more advanced algorithms running. If there’s something to find, we’ll find it, but it will take time.
The car that Chan had summoned pulled to the curb, and we climbed into the vehicle. It was more of a pod than a car, really, fully automated, and without anything remotely resembling a traditional steering wheel or driver’s seat. The interior had a well-worn look about it and the many windows offered a panoramic view as we slipped into the upholstered chairs. A cheerful, slightly tinny voice said, “Where to?”
“The Martian Palms Hotel,” I replied, and sent along the GPS coordinates for good measure.
Without further word, the vehicle pulled back into traffic. Neither of us spoke—or texted—while the car was in motion. Chan might have been busily tearing apart Copeland’s files inside the privacy of her own mind, or maybe she was just tired. As for me, I was definitely tired, and I hurt. I relaxed into the soft comfort of the car’s seats and let the buzz of the engine lull me into a state of relaxation that I hadn’t felt for weeks.
The water streaming from the showerhead felt positively luxuriant as it bounced off my sore muscles. Like most human settlements, the Martian domes depended on ice comets for water, so the shower was a closed system, pumping and filtering the water from the drain before returning it to the showerhead. It resulted in very little waste, and had the added benefit of being more energy efficient, too. That, in turn, allowed me to stay beneath the steaming, pounding water for far longer than I probably should.
Blood mixed with that water as my nanites continued to work at the bullet wounds. It would take hours more, but each passing second pushed the slugs closer to the surface and closed off the wounds. Any major damage—to veins or nerves—would have been targeted first by swarms of the microscopic machines, taking the measures necessary to ensure preservation and viability of my coil. Now it was just a matter of enduring the pain.
I could have gone to a med center and had the bullets removed and the tissue repaired in even shorter order. But there would have been questions. And another record floating on the Net that could, maybe, be tracked back to us. Bad enough that the Pallah police force now had our Net IDs and knew where we were staying. There was no sense in spreading that information any farther than we had to—not if the cost could be measured in a few hours of discomfort.
Finally, skin sufficiently pruned by the steady flow of water, I sent a mental command to the shower, shutting off the stream. I stepped from the bay and stared for a moment at the VaccTech suit, hanging from the back of the bathroom door. It had its own nanites, and a much easier job to do than those working their magic on my wounds. The dirt and debris from the firefight was gone, scavenged and broken down to its basest components. Some of those had doubtless been used to provide the raw materials to fix the holes that had been punched into the suit. The rest would have either been stored against future need, or if the suit reserves were already full, discarded.
The fact that the suit was once more clean and whole, however, did not fill me with excitement at the thought of climbing back into it. Unfortunately, I was still without other clothing. The Palms, being an upscale establishment, had a number of services that could provide me with just about anything—from hand-tailored suits to nano-fabricated clothing in any style imaginable. But that would generate another hit against whatever identities Chan had forged to get us in here in the first place.
Shay was good enough that it probably wouldn’t matter, but I just couldn’t bring myself to take that risk, not with everything else that had happened. Maybe once the official heat on us had cooled down a bit. I also couldn’t bring myself to pull the vacc suit on and suffer through the indignity and discomfort of the plumbing connections. So, I opted for the hotel-provided bathrobe. Opening that sealed package would generate another charge against the phony accounts, but not until we checked out. The fabric was a synthetic, but it was soft and warm