Architects of Emortality - Brian Stableford [72]
“The police can break in on us if they want to, Walter,” said Oscar gently.
“They showed the Celosia gentemplate to me too. I came to one conclusion that you apparently failed to reach.” “And what was that?” Czastka asked sharply. Charlotte knew that Hal Watson wouldn’t want Wilde putting ideas into Czastka’s head, but she was powerless to prevent it.
“It seemed obvious to me that Rappaccini had designed them,” said Oscar. “Do you remember Rappaccini?” “Of course I remember him,” snapped Czastka. “I’m not senile, you know.
Specialized in funeral wreaths—a silly affectation, I always thought. Haven’t heard of him in years, though—I thought he’d retired on the proceeds. I daresay you know him much better than I do. You were birds of a feather, I always thought. It was your Celosia, wasn’t it? What makes you think that Rappaccini had anything to do with it?” Charlotte didn’t need to make a mental note of the fact that Czastka considered Wilde and Rappaccini to be birds of a feather.
“How’s your ecosphere coming along, Walter?” asked Oscar softly. Charlotte frowned at the change of subject Czastka didn’t answer the question. “What do you want, Oscar?” he asked rudely.
“I’m busy. If you want to slander Rappaccini to the UN police, go ahead, but don’t involve me. I told them all I know—about the plant, about everything. I just want to be left alone. If this is going to carry on, I’m going to disconnect permanently. If anyone wants to talk to me, they can get the boat from Kauai.” Charlotte wondered when Czastka had last been rejuvenated. He looked as if his second rejuvenation had somehow failed to take—as if he were degenerating rapidly. He looked as if he couldn’t possibly have long to live, and he looked as if he knew it.
“I’m sorry, Walter,” said Oscar soothingly, “but I do need to talk to you. We have a problem here, and it affects us both. It affects us generally, and specifically. Genetic art may have come a long way since the protests at the Great Exhibition, but there’s still a lot of latent animosity to the kind of work we do, and the Green Zealots won’t need much encouragement to put us back on their hate list. Neither of us wants to go back to the days when we had to argue about our licenses, and had petty officials demanding to look over our shoulders while we worked. When the police release the full details of this case there’s going to be a lot of adverse publicity, and it’s going to hurt us.
That’s the general issue. More specifically, there’s a great deal of confusion about who planned these murders and why. I’m in a car with Sergeant Charlotte Holmes of the UN police and a man named Michael Lowenthal, who represents certain commercial interests. We all have our various theories about the affair, and I think you’re entitled to be copied in on them. To be brutally frank, I think Rappaccini is behind the murders, Charlotte thinks I’m behind them, and Michael thinks you’re the guilty party—so it really is in your interest to help us sort things out.” “Me!” said Czastka. If his outrage wasn’t genuine, it was the best imitation Charlotte had ever seen. She only wished that Michael Lowenthal could see it “Why on earth would I want to kill Gabriel King or Michi Urashima?” “And Paul Kwiatek,” Wilde added. “Maybe Magnus Teidemann too. Nobody knows, Walter—but if this goes on, you might soon be the only survivor of that select band of