Architects of Emortality - Brian Stableford [10]
Charlotte, slightly numb with shock, turned around in order to plug her machine into the wall socket again. She summoned Hal’s image to the screen beside Gabriel King’s door.
“What’s this, Hal?” she said.
“Exactly what it says,” her superior replied rather brusquely. “The instruction came down from above, presumably from the very top. We’re to copy Mr. Lowenthal in on the progress of our investigation. Anything we get, he gets.” Charlotte knew that it would be as useless to express surprise as it would be to object. She had never known that such an instruction was possible, but she was uncomfortably aware that she had not been long in the job. She had only the vaguest idea of what and where the “very top” might be from which this remarkable command had apparently descended. She turned to stare at Michael Lowenthal as if he were some kind of legendary beast.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know what’s going on either. The serious investigation is being done by my superiors—Webwalkers working in close collaboration with Inspector Watson, and a pack of silver surfers to join forces with his. Like you, I’m just a… what’s the term? Legman—I'm just a legman.” “You’re a private investigator?” said Charlotte incredulously.
“Nothing so glamorous, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Merely a humble employee, like yourself.” She opened her mouth to say “Employee of what?” but was saved from the verbal infelicity by the opening of the apartment door. It slid back into its bed to reveal a shimmering plane, like the surface of a soap bubble. The first of the protectively clad forensic investigators was already stepping into the bubble.
She was carrying a camera in one hand and a bulky plastic bag in the other, but the bubble stretched to accommodate everything and folded around her, equipping her suit and her luggage with yet another monomolecular layer of protection.
Her three companions followed her one by one, each one stepping through the quarantine barrier in careful slow motion, as if fearful of puncturing the surface—although that would, of course, have been impossible.
The team leader looked at Michael Lowenthal with obvious apprehension, unwilling to say anything until the stranger’s presence was explained.
“It’s okay,” Charlotte told her. “This is Michael Lowenthal, special investigator. He’s been cleared. Mr. Lowenthal, this is Lieutenant Regina Chai” Lowenthal merely nodded, evidently as eager to hear what the lieutenant had to say as Charlotte was.
“We’ve stripped the place,” Chai reported in her usual businesslike manner. “You can lock the door now. The air’s been thoroughly cleaned, but until we get a fix on the agent, the apartment has to stay sealed. Given that the woman walked in and out without a care in the world—and given that you’ve been standing around out here for the past couple of hours—the surrounds must be safe, and if they aren’t it’s too damn late to do anything about it, so you can unseal the other apartments and free up the floor.
“We transmitted all the film back to Hal—he should have an edited version ready for briefing purposes in a couple of minutes. The skeleton is definitely King’s, but there’s nothing on the tapes to indicate how the agent was administered. The bedroom was privacy-sealed, just like the brochure says—classy building! All I can say for sure is that he looked happy enough when he came out. The card that came with the yellow flowers might have given him a clue, if he’d bothered to read it, but he didn’t. Died without