office?”
“Yes.” The top lip was moistened again with the dexterity of a frog nailing a fly. Strachan’s tongue was quick, but not quick enough. The bright-red stains of betrayal along the inner lining of his mouth said ‘Redlets’ loud and clear. Gabriel gave no indication that he had noticed. It was interesting to note that the Assistant Director of Crematoria had a habit, but how unusual was that considering his job? Gabriel filed the fact anyway as Emmett continued, “I took the liberty of assuming that you might like to scan...um, read it.” He grimaced as though the effort had cost him something.”
“Did you?”
“I did, yes.” Another interpretation occurred to him. “That is, I read it. I didn’t scan it.”
This is a man who is dying to unburden himself, Gabriel thought. He looked at the diary, outwardly without much interest, inwardly he was superstitiously aware that it was the real reason why he had banished time and stayed for the extra coffee. Curious, he thought, this sympathetic-magic…designed as intricately as the delightful conundrum of déja vu, it was human as human could be. In his life and work, Gabriel enjoyed these primeval gifts.
His senses told him that that small, black diary had not only been read but scanned as well, despite this man’s claim. Emmett Strachan was smart enough to back himself up, it appeared. He also hadn’t dropped the diary into the Stream at one of the many public transcoding stations in the mall, sealing it as ‘Director Only’. No, he was here, sweating buckets and stinking of death. He was waiting for his reward.
“It’s the darndest thing, Mr. Kraft,” said Emmett slowly, another flash of red greasing his top lip.
“Yes?”
“In the diary…Gordon…writes about embryos…”
“…and?”
“…and…a little problem with them.” Emmett’s hand disappeared into a pocket and produced a handkerchief which he used to erase beads of sweat from his forehead.
Gabriel picked up the diary. He sat for several long minutes, turning the slim black object over and over in his hands as if weighing unspoken options. Then he raised his head and smiled at Emmett.
“Gordon Latimer,” said the Director of the Grief Team slowly, “was…unlucky…but you, Emmett, you are one of our leading citizens in the malls.” There was a smile which accompanied this, one which prophesized confidence and the prospect of good things to come.
“I…I…why, thank you,” said Emmet, an evident smile of relief washing over his features. He reached out impulsively and shook Gabriel’s hand, wringing it until its owner disengaged himself.
“This,” said Gabriel, nodding at the diary, “is a testament to your belief in Toronto Nation.”
“Yes, yes it is!” There was fervour in Strachan’s voice.
”I’m wondering if you’d mind if I upgraded your Rations listing?” Gabriel purred. “But you know I don’t think that’s an accurate measure of your worth...would you accept a new apartment on B Complex? It’s very comfortable there and the neighbours are very friendly.”
Emmett Strachan’s head bobbed vigorously. “I…it’s so generous of you…I didn’t expect…”
“Nonsense, man! It’s the least I can do to show my appreciation.” Gabriel rose and patted Strachan’s shoulder. “And let’s see more of you, Emmett. Come to Elias’ next gathering. Bring your wife...Ellen...”
“...Elise...”
“Elise! Of course. Bring her too!”
Moments later, Strachan floated out of Druxy’s, with a look on his face that bespoke pure bliss.
“Who was that asshole?” grumbled Sid, topping up Gabriel’s coffee. “Smelled like fuckin’ death.”
Gabriel palmed the diary neatly and dropped it into his pocket.
“That’s the smell of death all right,” he agreed.
“Human beings are deceptive little fuckers and you have to watch their collective ass every second. Their uncanny ability to deceive is rooted in early
“Yes.” The top lip was moistened again with the dexterity of a frog nailing a fly. Strachan’s tongue was quick, but not quick enough. The bright-red stains of betrayal along the inner lining of his mouth said ‘Redlets’ loud and clear. Gabriel gave no indication that he had noticed. It was interesting to note that the Assistant Director of Crematoria had a habit, but how unusual was that considering his job? Gabriel filed the fact anyway as Emmett continued, “I took the liberty of assuming that you might like to scan...um, read it.” He grimaced as though the effort had cost him something.”
“Did you?”
“I did, yes.” Another interpretation occurred to him. “That is, I read it. I didn’t scan it.”
This is a man who is dying to unburden himself, Gabriel thought. He looked at the diary, outwardly without much interest, inwardly he was superstitiously aware that it was the real reason why he had banished time and stayed for the extra coffee. Curious, he thought, this sympathetic-magic…designed as intricately as the delightful conundrum of déja vu, it was human as human could be. In his life and work, Gabriel enjoyed these primeval gifts.
His senses told him that that small, black diary had not only been read but scanned as well, despite this man’s claim. Emmett Strachan was smart enough to back himself up, it appeared. He also hadn’t dropped the diary into the Stream at one of the many public transcoding stations in the mall, sealing it as ‘Director Only’. No, he was here, sweating buckets and stinking of death. He was waiting for his reward.
“It’s the darndest thing, Mr. Kraft,” said Emmett slowly, another flash of red greasing his top lip.
“Yes?”
“In the diary…Gordon…writes about embryos…”
“…and?”
“…and…a little problem with them.” Emmett’s hand disappeared into a pocket and produced a handkerchief which he used to erase beads of sweat from his forehead.
Gabriel picked up the diary. He sat for several long minutes, turning the slim black object over and over in his hands as if weighing unspoken options. Then he raised his head and smiled at Emmett.
“Gordon Latimer,” said the Director of the Grief Team slowly, “was…unlucky…but you, Emmett, you are one of our leading citizens in the malls.” There was a smile which accompanied this, one which prophesized confidence and the prospect of good things to come.
“I…I…why, thank you,” said Emmet, an evident smile of relief washing over his features. He reached out impulsively and shook Gabriel’s hand, wringing it until its owner disengaged himself.
“This,” said Gabriel, nodding at the diary, “is a testament to your belief in Toronto Nation.”
“Yes, yes it is!” There was fervour in Strachan’s voice.
”I’m wondering if you’d mind if I upgraded your Rations listing?” Gabriel purred. “But you know I don’t think that’s an accurate measure of your worth...would you accept a new apartment on B Complex? It’s very comfortable there and the neighbours are very friendly.”
Emmett Strachan’s head bobbed vigorously. “I…it’s so generous of you…I didn’t expect…”
“Nonsense, man! It’s the least I can do to show my appreciation.” Gabriel rose and patted Strachan’s shoulder. “And let’s see more of you, Emmett. Come to Elias’ next gathering. Bring your wife...Ellen...”
“...Elise...”
“Elise! Of course. Bring her too!”
Moments later, Strachan floated out of Druxy’s, with a look on his face that bespoke pure bliss.
“Who was that asshole?” grumbled Sid, topping up Gabriel’s coffee. “Smelled like fuckin’ death.”
Gabriel palmed the diary neatly and dropped it into his pocket.
“That’s the smell of death all right,” he agreed.
“Human beings are deceptive little fuckers and you have to watch their collective ass every second. Their uncanny ability to deceive is rooted in early
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