Glasshouse - Charles Stross [149]
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I think someone’s broken our operational security,” says Sanni. I shudder and stare at the muggers. “Yes,” he says, seeing the direction of my gaze. “I said we don’t have long. A group drawn from several of our operational rivals have infiltrated the Strategic Amnesia Commissariat of the Invisible Republic and taken over the funding and operational control of the glasshouse. They discharged all the current inmates, and we no longer know what’s going on inside. The glasshouse is under new management.”
“I’m the wrong person, and in the wrong place. Can’t you send Magnus? Or the Synthesist? Do an uplevel callback to descendant coordination and the veterans’ association and see if anybody—”
“I don’t exist anymore,” Sanni says calmly. “After my delta went in and didn’t report back, the bad guys came after my primary and killed me repeatedly until I was almost entirely dead. This”—he taps his skinny chest—“is just a partial. I’m a ghost, Robin.”
“But.” I lick my lips, my heart pounding with shock. “Won’t they simply kill me, too?”
“Not if you’re identity-dead first.” Sanni-ghost grins at me. “Here’s what you’re going to have to do . . .”
18
Connections
I am me. Joints creak, heart pumps. It’s warm and dark, and I’m sleepy. It slowly comes to me that I’m squatting with my arms wrapped around my knees and my chin—oh. So I’m not passing as Fiore? Right. That’s satisfying to know. One more fact to add to the pile. Roll the dice, see what comes up on top.
I’ve been in two places at once for most of the past two weeks. I’ve been in hospital, recovering at home. Talking to Dr. Hanta, being horrified in the bell tower, trying to tell the Reverend about Janis. And another me has been living in the library, sleeping in the staff room, cautiously exploring off-limits sections of the habitat, and latterly conspiring with Janis. Sanni. A doubled moment of eternal jarring shock—meeting her head-on up the stairs with a gun in her hand, just as startled as a week ago, stumbling across her in the basement with a knife. She broke down and cried, then, when she realized she wasn’t the only one anymore. I wouldn’t have credited it if I hadn’t been there myself. Hard-as-diamonds Sanni, reduced to this? Isolation does strange things to people . . .
“Come on, Reeve. Talk to me! Please. Are you all right in there?” There’s a note of desperation in her voice. “Say something!” She leans over me anxiously. “How does it feel?”
“Let’s see.” I blink some more then unwrap my arms and push myself upright. I’m Reeve again. Damn, but I feel so light! After being tied down by the centripetal chains fastened to Fiore’s flesh for more than a tenday, it’s an amazing sensation. I could drift away on a light breeze. I find myself grinning with delight, then I look up at her and my face freezes. “I—she—nearly shopped you to Fiore.”
Janis blanches. “When?”
“After we disposed of Mick. Let me think.” I close my eyes. I need to get rid of the sudden storm surge of adrenaline. “Low risk. I—she—was uncertain, and she misjudged her timing. She didn’t know who you are, she just thought you were up to no good, so she tried to shop you for your own protection. Fiore was preoccupied and told her to get lost. As long as nothing reminds him, you’re clear.”
“Shit.” Janis takes a step back, and I see that she’s still holding the stunner, but she’s got it pointed at the floor. She’s swaying slightly, with relief or shock. “That was close.”
I take a deep breath. “I’ve never been brainwashed before.” A little part of me still thinks Dr. Hanta is a sympathetic and friendly practitioner who only means the best for me, but it’s outvoted by the much larger part of me that is eager to use her intestines as a skipping rope. “I am”—breathing too fast, slow down—“not amused.”
“Let’s try a ping test.” Janis hesitates for a moment. “Do you love me?”
“I love you.” My heart speeds up again. “Hey, I heard