Holy Fire - Bruce Sterling [133]
“I put it in the boot with all the clothes and tools.”
“Get it out for me.”
Therese searched through Bruno’s case with frantic eagerness. She came up with a long rectangular tray of gray metalglass alloy. She opened it.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, looking into it with awestruck joy. “I was sure he was going to cheat me.”
“I think he meant to kill you.”
“No, he didn’t. That was only a little bit of spray. He just wanted a woman to cry for him. I feel better now that I cried so much. I feel all right. I’ll never cry for him anymore ever again. Look, Maya, look what he gave me. Look at my wonderful heirloom from my dead old man.” She showed her the little hinged tray.
It was lined in black velvet and held two dozen little spotted seashells.
“Seashells?” Maya said.
“Cowries,” Therese said. “I’m rich!” She carefully shut the tray, then slammed the suitcase shut and kicked it into the boot. “Let’s go now,” she said, clutching the tray with both hands. “Let’s go get a drink. I cried so much, and I’m so thirsty. Oh, I can’t believe I’ve really done this.” She opened the door and climbed inside.
They drove away with a rattle and crunch of brush. Suddenly Therese gazed over her shoulder, and laughed. “I can’t believe it, but I won. I’m getting away with it. Now life will be so different for me.”
“A box of little seashells,” Maya mused. The car threaded its way through the darkened woodlands, heading for an autobahn.
“It’s something that’s not trash. The world is full of trash now,” Therese said, settling back into her seat. “Virtualities and fakes. We’ve turned everything into trash. Diamonds and jewels are cheap. Coins, anyone can forge coins now. Stamps, they’re so easy to forge, it’s a laugh. Money is nothing but ones and zeroes. But Maya—seashells! Nobody can forge seashells.”
“Maybe those are just cheap fake trashy seashells.”
Therese opened the tray again, stabbed with anxiety. Then she smiled. “No, no. Look at these growth marks, look at this mottling. Only years and years of organic process can create a real seashell. Cowries are much too complex to be faked. These are real. Extinct species! So very rare! There will never be any more, ever. They’re worth a fortune! So much—so much that I can do everything now.”
“So what are you going to do with them, exactly?”
“I’m going to grow up, of course! I can leave that little dump in the Viktualienmarkt. I can start a real store. In a real building, a high-rise! For real customers who will pay me real money. I’m very young to be a store owner, but with this in my hands, I can do it. I can get old people to work for me. I’ll hire my own accountant, and my own business lawyer. I’ll start over legally. Everything above-board. Real business books, and I’ll pay taxes!”
“Gosh, that sounds lovely.”
“It’s my dream come true. Real couture people will pay attention to me now. I’ll carry real lines of clothing from professional designers. No more of this kid stuff. Kid stuff, kid stuff, kid stuff, oh, truly I’m so, so sick of the vivid life.”
“I hope you’ll stay out of trouble with Bruno’s friends from now on.”
“Of course I will,” Therese said. “No matter what you think about the polity, well … they are making the world better. They really are! Bruno’s gangsters—well, the police have got them. It’s the medical thing, and the money, and the surveillance.… It’s working. The bad boys are dying from it. Every year, less and less of them. The criminal classes are dying. They’re very old and they were very strong for a long time but they are going away now, like a disease. There is something tragic there, but … but it’s a great political accomplishment.”
Maya sighed wearily. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stickered you with quite so many tranquilizers.”
“Don’t say that. It’s not true. Can’t you see how happy I am? You should be happy with me.” She looked into Maya’s face. “What changed you so much, Maya? Why aren’t you cheerful like you were in Munchen?”
“You’re having mood swings, darling. Try not to talk so much. Let’s get some rest. I’m very tired.”
Therese shrank