Glasshouse - Charles Stross [94]
Sam is in the living room, watching TV. I tiptoe past him and head upstairs, badly in need of a shower. When I get to my room I shed my clothes, then go back to the bathroom and turn the water on, meaning to wash today’s stresses away.
Seconds after I get in I hear footsteps, then the bathroom door opening. “Reeve?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I call.
“Need to talk. Urgently.”
“After I finish,” I say, nettled. “Can’t it wait?”
“I suppose.”
Small torments add up; I’m now in a thoroughly bad mood. What’s life coming to, when I can’t even take a shower without interruption? I soap myself down methodically then wash my hair, taking care to rub the inefficient surfactant gel into my scalp. After a couple of minutes of rinsing, I turn off the water and open the door to reach for my towel, to be confronted by a surprised-looking Sam.
“Pass me the bath sheet,” I tell him, trying to make the best of things. He complies hastily. Months of living in this goldfish bowl society have done strange things to my body-sense, and I feel surprisingly awkward about being naked in front of him. I think he feels it, too. “What’s so important?” I step out of the shower as he holds the towel for me.
“Phone call,” he mumbles, trying to look away—his eyes keep drifting back toward me.
“Uh-huh. Who from?” He folds me in the towel as if I’m a delicate treasure he’s trying not to touch. I shiver and try to ignore it.
“From Fer. He and El, they’ve heard something bad from Mick, and they’re talking about sorting it out.”
“Bad.” I try to concentrate. The water on my skin is suddenly cold. “What kind of bad?”
“It’s Cass, I think.” I tense up inside. “Mick gave them some crazy story about hearing from Fiore. Said the Priest told him that one of the rules in here is, what was it, ‘be fruitful and exponentiate.’ That you can get a gigantic score bonus for having children.”
“That’s not good,” I say carefully, “but it might just be Mick acting in character.”
“Well, yes, that’s what Fer said, but then Mick told El he was going to get that bonus whether or not Cass wanted it.” He sounds apprehensive. “El wasn’t sure what that meant.”
My mind races. “Cass wasn’t at Church yesterday, Sam. Last time I saw her she wouldn’t talk—she seemed afraid.” I have a nasty feeling that I know what’s going on. I really don’t want it to be true.
“Yes, well, Fer called me when El told him Mick had made some kind of joke about stopping Cass trying to escape for good. He wasn’t sure just what it was but said it didn’t sound right. Reeve, what’s going on? What are we going to do if it turns out he’s been tying Cass up while he’s been at work, or using physical force, or something?”
For someone living in a dark ages sim, Sam can be heartbreakingly naive at times. “Sam, do you know what the word ‘rape’ means?”
“I’ve heard it,” he says guardedly. “I thought it had to involve strangers, and usually killing. Do you think—”
I turn round. “We’ve got to find out what’s going on, and we’ve got to get her out of there if it’s true. I don’t think we can count on the police zombies, or Fiore for that matter, to help. Fiore’s messed up in the head anyway, even Yourdon thinks so.” I pause. “This is very bad.”
The thought of what Cass might be going through horrifies me, especially as I can guess how some of our cohort will react if we try to rescue her. Before last Sunday I might have been more hopeful, but now I know better than to expect anything but gruesome savagery from our neighbors if they think their precious points are at risk. “I think Janis would help, but she’s ill. Alice, maybe. Angel is scared but will probably follow if we approach her right. Jen—I don’t want Jen around. What about you guys?”
“Fer agrees,” Sam says simply. “He doesn’t like the idea either. El, maybe not. I think if I ask, I can get Greg