his stretch tank? In front of City Hall.”
Gwen and Artie, without slowing down, looked at each other and nodded. Suddenly Marlowe found himself upside down, his head not so gently bobbing against the marble steps.
“What was that, Marlowe? Did you say something you thought was funny?”
“Ew know, a ‘uvernor dinnit say anyhing about Marwo being conchus.”
“I’m sorry, Gwen, I couldn’t quite make that out from this angle.”
“She said,” Artie interjected, dropping Marlowe on his head with each syllable for emphasis, “that the Governor didn’t say anything about you being conscious when we brought you in.”
“But he did. To me. Didn’t he tell you why I’m here? Doesn’t he trust you enough to keep you in the loop?”
And suddenly Marlowe was upright again. They had cleared the steps and now had him pressed up against the marble facade, where a stone facsimile of his brother’s nose dug into his right shoulder blade. Gwen held him down as Artie pounded him in the gut a couple of times, and then they traded places and Gwen took a turn pounding him. Marlowe had gauged correctly – they were in a good mood and receptive to the playful banter. Had he misread them, he’d be getting new teeth while in the Governor’s waiting room. They had a dentist on hand at City Hall for just such occasions. A session with her invariably meant a trip to a private dentist afterwards to undo the damage. But Artie and Gwen, despite her aborted dental visit, were feeling OK today and just roughed him up moderately. His plasma-resistant armor absorbed most of the impact anyway.
The rest of the journey through City Hall to the Governor’s office was a blur. Maybe because Gwen had socked Marlowe once in each eye before they resumed their trip. But as the eyes watered and the nano probes restored them to their spherical shape, Marlowe was alarmed to discover that he hadn’t been dumped in the Governor’s waiting room to cool his heels for a couple of hours, but had been deposited directly into the Governor’s office. And not the official one, with all the hidden cameras and microphones. This was the private office, the office he’d been called to as a kid when father was angry.
As offices went, it was actually pretty tasteful. Modestly sized, with a brushed aluminum desk, dark wood paneling, and a shimmering purple heather rug that rippled in the simulated breeze. Some tasteful watercolors adorned the walls, and a large bay Virtu-window opened out onto a green pasture where a herd of cows quietly nibbled on grass and chewed their cuds. Marlowe recognized the view – channel eighty six on satellite. A very expensive channel; Marlowe couldn’t afford it at home and had to pirate it.
Gwen and Artie dumped Marlowe into a pastel yellow leather sofa resting against the wall across from the desk. Marlowe sank into its depths, literally hugged by the cushions. The embrace had the disconcerting effect of preventing him from standing.
“You know, a word from me and that sofa will crush you like a cockroach.”
Behind the brushed aluminum desk, in a matching pastel yellow leather-upholstered throne, sat Marlowe’s brother, His Most Honorable Governor of the City. Marlowe could hear the hum of the magic massage fingers emanating from the plush, majestic chair. The Governor was a tall man, a regal man, a man who couldn’t grow a beard to save his life. Not that this fact stopped him from trying. He had a splotchy, threadbare-in-places rug of a beard that made Marlowe cringe just to look at it. Or maybe that was a residual effect of the beating from Gwen and Artie.
His brother had tried implants to fill out the beard, but his immune system had rejected them. The nano probes could counter this rejection, but they had to work so hard at it he needed to completely replace the probes every two weeks. That was too costly and invasive. He tried
Gwen and Artie, without slowing down, looked at each other and nodded. Suddenly Marlowe found himself upside down, his head not so gently bobbing against the marble steps.
“What was that, Marlowe? Did you say something you thought was funny?”
“Ew know, a ‘uvernor dinnit say anyhing about Marwo being conchus.”
“I’m sorry, Gwen, I couldn’t quite make that out from this angle.”
“She said,” Artie interjected, dropping Marlowe on his head with each syllable for emphasis, “that the Governor didn’t say anything about you being conscious when we brought you in.”
“But he did. To me. Didn’t he tell you why I’m here? Doesn’t he trust you enough to keep you in the loop?”
And suddenly Marlowe was upright again. They had cleared the steps and now had him pressed up against the marble facade, where a stone facsimile of his brother’s nose dug into his right shoulder blade. Gwen held him down as Artie pounded him in the gut a couple of times, and then they traded places and Gwen took a turn pounding him. Marlowe had gauged correctly – they were in a good mood and receptive to the playful banter. Had he misread them, he’d be getting new teeth while in the Governor’s waiting room. They had a dentist on hand at City Hall for just such occasions. A session with her invariably meant a trip to a private dentist afterwards to undo the damage. But Artie and Gwen, despite her aborted dental visit, were feeling OK today and just roughed him up moderately. His plasma-resistant armor absorbed most of the impact anyway.
The rest of the journey through City Hall to the Governor’s office was a blur. Maybe because Gwen had socked Marlowe once in each eye before they resumed their trip. But as the eyes watered and the nano probes restored them to their spherical shape, Marlowe was alarmed to discover that he hadn’t been dumped in the Governor’s waiting room to cool his heels for a couple of hours, but had been deposited directly into the Governor’s office. And not the official one, with all the hidden cameras and microphones. This was the private office, the office he’d been called to as a kid when father was angry.
As offices went, it was actually pretty tasteful. Modestly sized, with a brushed aluminum desk, dark wood paneling, and a shimmering purple heather rug that rippled in the simulated breeze. Some tasteful watercolors adorned the walls, and a large bay Virtu-window opened out onto a green pasture where a herd of cows quietly nibbled on grass and chewed their cuds. Marlowe recognized the view – channel eighty six on satellite. A very expensive channel; Marlowe couldn’t afford it at home and had to pirate it.
Gwen and Artie dumped Marlowe into a pastel yellow leather sofa resting against the wall across from the desk. Marlowe sank into its depths, literally hugged by the cushions. The embrace had the disconcerting effect of preventing him from standing.
“You know, a word from me and that sofa will crush you like a cockroach.”
Behind the brushed aluminum desk, in a matching pastel yellow leather-upholstered throne, sat Marlowe’s brother, His Most Honorable Governor of the City. Marlowe could hear the hum of the magic massage fingers emanating from the plush, majestic chair. The Governor was a tall man, a regal man, a man who couldn’t grow a beard to save his life. Not that this fact stopped him from trying. He had a splotchy, threadbare-in-places rug of a beard that made Marlowe cringe just to look at it. Or maybe that was a residual effect of the beating from Gwen and Artie.
His brother had tried implants to fill out the beard, but his immune system had rejected them. The nano probes could counter this rejection, but they had to work so hard at it he needed to completely replace the probes every two weeks. That was too costly and invasive. He tried
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