The New Weird - Ann VanderMeer [76]
"Christmas is in three days, now," said the flawed clone, cracking a toothless smile. "Will you come see me? We can listen to the radio together. Play cards. I'll make you tea."
Jones glanced past Edgar into the miniature house. Could the two of them both fit in there? It seemed claustrophobic. And too intimate a scene for his taste. Still, he felt flattered, and couldn't bring himself to flat-out refuse. Instead, he said, "I may not be around here that day.but if I am.we'll see."
"You have never been inside...why not come in now? I can." "I can't now, I'm sorry; I have...some business." The globe of a head blurred, halted abruptly, the smile shaken into a frown. "That Moodring friend of yours will lead you to your death." "He isn't my friend," Jones said, and started away. "Don't forget Christmas!" the creature croaked. Jones nodded over his shoulder but kept on walking, feeling strangely guilty for not just stepping inside for one cup of tea. After all, he was quite early for his appointment.
"Ever been in a car before?" Parr asked, smiling, as he pulled from the curb into the glittering dark current of night traffic. "Taxi," Jones murmured, stiff as a mannequin. "Mayda lives at Hanging Gardens; it's a few blocks short of Beau-monde Square. He's not starving like the folks he works up; he has a nice apartment to go home to. It's that syndy money." "Mm."
"Hey," Parr looked over at him, "don't be nervous. Just keep thinking about your lines. You're going to be a vid star, my man.a celebrity."
3. The Carven Warrior
Parr let Jones off, and the hovercar disappeared around the corner. Jones cut across a snow-caked courtyard as instructed, his boots squeaking as if he tramped across styrofoam. He slipped between apartment units, climbed a set of stairs to another, and found a door propped open for him. Parr motioned him inside, then let the door fall back in place. Jones heard it lock. He didn't ask Parr how he had got inside the vestibule.
Together they padded down a gloomy corridor across a carpet of peach and purple diamonds. The walls and doors that flanked the men were pristine white. This place reminded Jones of the cleaner regions of the Plant; primarily, the seldom seen administration levels. He listened to the moving creak of Parr's faux leather jacket. Both of them wore gloves, and Jones still had on his ski hat and a scarf wound around his neck against the hellish cold he could never get used to.
A lift took them to the sixth floor. Then, side by side, they made their way down the hall to the door at its very end. Quite easily, Parr knocked, and then beamed at his companion.
Jones pulled off his ski hat at last, and pushed it into his pocket. In the dim light, his hairless pate gleamed softly, the fiery halo pricked into his skin burning darkly. He hid both hands behind his back.
"Who is it?" asked a voice over an intercom. Above the door, a tiny camera eye, small as an ant's feeler, must now be watching them.
"Enforcer, sir," said Parr, his voice uncharacteristically serious. And he did look the part in his black uniform; leather jacket, beetle-like helmet, holstered weapons. He had cut his hair to a butch and shaved to a neat goatee. He held one of Jones's elbows. "May I have a word?"
"What's going on?"
"Your neighbor down the hall reported a suspicious person, and we found this culture lurking around. He claims he's not an escapee, but was purchased by an Ephraim Mayda."
"Mr. Mayda doesn't own any cultures."
"May I please speak with Mr. Mayda himself?" Parr sighed irritably.
A new voice came on. "I know that scab!" it rumbled. "He escaped from the Plant, murdered two human beings!"
"What? Are you sure of this?"
"Yes! He was from the Ovens department. It was on the news!"
"May I speak with you in person, Mr. Mayda?"
"I don't want that killer freak in my house!"
"I have him manacled, sir. Look, I need to take down a report on this.your recognizing him is valuable."
"Whatever. But you'd better have him under control."