Glasshouse - Charles Stross [14]
“That’s awful.” Kay rests a slim hand atop each of mine and peers at me across the wreckage of a remarkably good aubergine-and-garlic casserole.
“But that’s not all.” I glance at her wineglass, sitting empty beside the carafe. “Another refill?”
“My pleasure.” She refills my glass and raises it to my lips while taking a sip from her own without releasing my hands. I smile as I swallow, and she smiles back. Maybe there’s something to be said for her hexapedal body plan, although I’d be nervous about doing it to myself—she must have had some pretty extensive spinal modifications to coordinate all those limbs with such unconscious grace. “Go on?”
“There are hints.” I swallow. “Pretty blatant ones. He warned me to be on my guard against old enemies—the kind who wouldn’t be content with a simple duel to the death.”
“What are we talking about?” She looks concerned.
“Identity theft, backup corruption.” I shrug. “Or . . . I don’t know. I mean, I don’t remember. Either my old self was totally paranoid, or he was involved in something extremely dirty and opted to take the radical retirement package. If it’s the latter, I could be in really deep trouble. I lost so much that I don’t know how the sort of people he was involved with behave, or why. I’ve been doing some reading, history and so on, but that’s not the same as being there.” I swallow again, my mouth dry, because at this point she might very well stand up and walk out on me and suddenly I realize that I’ve invested quite a lot of self-esteem in her continued good opinion of me. “I mean, I think he may have been a mercenary, working for one of the Powers.”
“That would be bad.” She lets go of my hands. “Robin?”
“Yes?”
“Is that why you haven’t had a backup since rehab? And why you’re always hanging out in public places with your back to the most solid walls?”
“Yes.” I’ve admitted it, and now I don’t know why I didn’t say it before. “I’m afraid of my past. I want it to stay dead.”
She stands up, leans across the table to take my hands and hold my face, then kisses me. After a moment I respond hungrily. Somehow we’re standing beside the table and hugging each other—that’s a lot of contact with Kay—and I’m laughing with relief as she rubs my back and holds me tight. “It’s all right,” she soothes, “it’s all right.” Well, no it isn’t—but she’s all right, and suddenly my horizons feel as if they’ve doubled in size. I’m not in solitary anymore, there’s someone I can talk to without feeling as if I might be facing a hostile interrogation. The sense of release is enormous, and far more significant than simple sex.
“Come on,” I say, “let’s go see Linn and Vhora.”
“Sure,” she says, partly letting go. “But Robin, isn’t it obvious what you need to do?”
“Huh?”
“About your problem.” She taps her toe impatiently. “Or haven’t the therapists been giving you the hard sell, too?”
“You mean the experiment?” I lead her back into the Green Maze, cueing my netlink for another firefly. “I was going to say no. It sounds crazy. Why would I want to live in a panopticon society for ten or fifty megs?”
“Think about it,” she says. “It’s a closed community running in a disconnected T-gate manifold. Nobody gets to go in or comes out after it starts running, not until the whole thing terminates. What’s more, it’s an experimental protocol. It’ll be anonymized and randomized, and the volunteers’ records will be protected by the Scholastium’s Experimental Ethics Service. So—”
Enlightenment dawns. “If anyone is after me, they won’t be able to get at me unless they’re inside it from the start! And while I’m in it I’ll be invisible.”
“I knew you’d get it.” She squeezes my hand. “Come on, let’s find these friends of yours. Do you know if they’ve been approached, too?”
WE find Linn and Vhora in a forest glade, enjoying an endless summer afternoon. It turns out that they’ve both been asked if they’re willing to participate in the Yourdon study. Linn is wearing an orthohuman female