Architects of Emortality - Brian Stableford [41]
Charlotte didn’t imagine for a moment that she understood all the implications of Lowenthal’s involvement in the investigation, but she was beginning to see some of them.
Perhaps it was the fact that politically motivated murders had become so very rare since the demise of the Robot Assassins that was causing the Natural’s employers to examine the possibility so carefully. If King’s murder turned out to be merely personal, there was no need for the MegaMall to be concerned about it, but if it was not—and now she came to think about it, Gabriel King might be exactly the kind of person that the ancient Eliminators might have regarded as “unworthy of immortality”—then the killing might be an early warning of far worse to come. The Decivilization movement’s front men were harmless enough, but every such movement had its lunatic fringe—and the encouragement that had been given to the movement’s official agenda might well have enthused those with more radical ideas.
The biohazard aspect of the case was especially worrying, if it was indeed the opening shot of some kind of campaign. The apparent use of an untraceable assassin, whose DNA print could not be matched to that of any living person, also seemed ominous. If someone else was already dead in San Francisco, awaiting discovery by Oscar Wilde, this affair was likely to escalate—and whether Rex Carnevon tipped anyone the wink or not, the newscasters would catch hold of it soon enough. If the assassin had gone to San Francisco immediately after killing King, she might already have left, continuing westward. If any more bodies were to turn up, she might soon qualify as a terrorist.
“I think we should send someone out to Walter Czastka’s island,“ she said, on a sudden impulse. “I’m worried about the fact that he never returned my call.” Hal turned to look at her. “Old men are often fiercely jealous of their privacy,” he said. “Creationists especially. Designing an entire self-enclosed ecosystem is an intricate business, and they’re all desperately secretive about it because they all feel that they’re involved in a competition. Every islet in those parts, natural or engineered, has been taken over by some semiretired engineer avid to turn it into his own little Garden of Eden. It’s a large-scale replay of the run-up to the Great Exhibition, when every genetic engineer in the world was paranoid about his best ideas being stolen. Anyway, it’s only been a matter of hours, and it’s still daylight in the Pacific. If Czastka hasn’t checked in by midnight, our time, I’ll ask the Hawaiian police to send out a drone.” Hal and Lowenthal turned again as Oscar Wilde reappeared, carefully maneuvering his massive frame through the narrow gap into which Hal had dispatched him. Hal frowned, obviously having expected his deliberations to take a lot longer.
“You can’t possibly have finished,” Hal said.
“Indeed not,” said Wilde. “But I have temporarily abandoned the detailed work to a trusted silver, who will report in due course on the precise capabilities of the murderous organism. In the meantime, given that it’s nearly nine o’clock, and that rejuvenation always sharpens my appetite, I wonder if I might give you my preliminary observations over dinner? I presume that even policemen have to eat.” He didn’t seem entirely certain of this conclusion; his inquiring expression implied that he might be wondering whether there were some kind of intravenous feeding mechanisms concealed in the back of Hal’s chair.
“There’s a restaurant upstairs,” said Charlotte. “We can eat there.” Oscar looked at her, raising his eyebrow just a fraction.
“Upstairs?” he queried. “I had thought of the Carnegie, or perhaps Gautier’s.
Quail en croute was my first inspiration, but if…” “The restaurant here is as good as any in the city,” she assured him. “We have a first-rate