The security a.s.shole was short, shorter than Sobieski, but even more outrageously muscled. The gun in his hand was overkill, too; a Steyr machine-pistol, probably 10mm, with a laser sight projecting a little red cross over my chest. "I don't know you," he said. "What're you doing in here?"

For the life of me-and that seemed to be the stakes we were playing for-I couldn't think of a good lie for several seconds, or even a safe version of the truth. "A friend of mine is in here," I said, eventually. "I need to see her."It wasn't very good, and I'd obviously hesitated too long for him to believe anything I said. "Yeah?

And who're you?"

"My name's Norman," I replied. "Look, I paid the guy at the gate for the uniform. He said there wouldn't be any problem."

He sneered. "How much you got left?"

"A few hundred, US dollars. I don't know exactly."

The sneer didn't get any more friendly. "What do you want?"

"You have a woman staying here; I want to talk to her."

The sneer became an equally hideous leer. "Talk?"

"Yes. She's young, pretty, blonde, one leg." I repeated that in Spanish; it was a phrase I'd memorized.

He blinked. "I know the one," he said.

I drew a deep breath. "I only need to see her for a few minutes," I said. "I'll give you $200."

"Or I can shoot you and take it."

s.h.i.t. "Then all you get is the cash I have on me, and I don't come back tomorrow with more."

He seemed to consider this, then nodded. "Okay." Obviously a gambler. "Upstairs. Slow."

I walked up the stairs, and he stayed three to four metres behind me. His thighs weren't so bulked up that he waddled, but I knew I could outrun him if it came to that. I had a faint chance of surprising him on the landing, getting out of sight for long enough to draw my pistol out of my ankle holster, but that would just have meant that we'd be armed and whoever was least reluctant to shoot the other would do so. I wasn't confident of killing or disabling him with a snap shot from a .380, even at point blank range, while his Steyr was probably set to burst fire. He directed me to a mezzanine floor with a low ceiling, then down a poorly-lit corridor, then to a door. "She's in there," he said. "Drop your cash on the floor now, and go in. I'll tell you when you're out of time."

I took four fifties out of my pocket. "$200, fifteen minutes?"

"Five, unless you got more."

"Not on me. I'll bring more tomorrow. $250 for ten minutes, every day until Wednesday. That's a thousand."

He hesitated, then nodded.

I opened the door, and looked in, and stood there stunned.

The woman lying on the bed was blonde, true, and had only one leg-but it was her right leg, and she was probably closer to thirty than nineteen. She was naked but for one black grip-top stocking. Her eyes were open, but she wasn't seeing me; in fact, I doubted she was seeing anything in the room. A thin black cable ran from the back of her skull to a small control box, and another cable ran from there to the power socket in the wall. Apart from the bed, and a small cabinet beside it, the only item of furniture in the room was a folding wheelchair. I was still staring when the security a.s.shole opened the door and walked in. "Disconnect the gadget if you want," he said, magnanimously. "Her battery should be fully charged; more than enough for ten minutes."

"Can I switch it off?"

"Interrupt the program? Yeah, there's a shut-off, but she won't thank you for using it. Bringing her down slowly takes about half an hour before she can make sense."

I stared at her face; it looked vaguely familiar, and I suddenly remembered why. Her picture had been on some of the websites I'd seen; she'd done several videos under the name Lorelei. "This way, she stays happy whatever happens," said the a.s.shole. "She responds, too; f.u.c.k her, and she'll come on like you're Mr. Universe. s.h.i.t, they won't even need to drug her when they cut her leg off. Better hurry, your time's wasting."

"When are they-" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Tomorrow, I think." He glanced at his watch. "Look, what're you waiting for? You want to talk to her, talk!"

"Some privacy would be nice," I said, sourly. He shrugged, then turned away. I flicked the stunstick out of my sleeve as quickly as I could, but he must have heard the sound because he turned on his heeland brought the gun up. I hit him across the wrist of his gun hand, hoping it wouldn't cause him to spasm.

It didn't knock him out, either-a peripheral blow rarely does-but it temporarily killed his right arm from fingertip to elbow.

He tried to squeeze the trigger, but when his fingers wouldn't obey, he didn't waste time; he swung the pistol at my head with as much power and accuracy as he could muster. Maybe he'd been stunsticked before, maybe he just guessed that a second blow to that arm wouldn't do any more damage either way, it was a smart move. I instinctively tried to parry, and the blow knocked the stunstick from my hand. He grinned, and jabbed his left fist at my face. I ducked underneath it and drove my own fist into his groin, one part of the body where all the weightlifting in the world won't build extra muscle. He gasped and took a step back; it wasn't much, but it gave me a chance to roll away and make a grab for the stunstick. If he'd been brighter, he might have thought to use his left hand to squeeze the trigger; fortunately, he wasn't, and didn't. I scrambled back to my feet, stunstick at the ready, and feinted at his left. He blocked with the gun, so I hit his left thigh instead, then sidestepped. He swung around and overbalanced, and I tapped his left shoulder on his way down. I backed away from his scything right leg, and squatted to draw the Grendel. "Okay," I said, pointing it at his crotch. "Normally I'd ask you to drop the gun, but I know you can't."

"What're you going to do?"

I shrugged. "I'm either going to have to stun you or kill you before you regain use of your hands, which will take about five minutes. So, if you answer some questions for me, I promise just to stun you.

Okay?"

The locator told me that the wheelchair was almost directly above me, so I walked quickly but quietly back to the staircase. I had the Steyr in one hand, having pried it from the security a.s.shole's fingers (not cold and dead, though I'd been tempted), and the locator in the other; not exactly inconspicuous, but the security a.s.shole had told me there was another heavily-armed security a.s.shole patrolling the building, and I wanted to be prepared. The next floor up had a higher ceiling, a marble floor, wider corridors and better lighting, and gave me a strong impression of having walked into soft cla.s.s from steerage. There was no one around, and the locator led me to a large door with a stained gla.s.s transom. I pocketed the locator and walked in without knocking. Tina was sitting up in bed in a translucent robe, a sheet pulled up to her waist; Jason sat on the far side of the bed, holding her hand.

Both looked around as I shut the door behind me, but froze when they saw the gun. "What the f.u.c.k are you doing here?" he asked.

I walked away from the door, standing in the far corner. "It took me half an hour to find the hole in your story," I said, slowly. "Of course, I wasn't looking very hard."

"What hole?" asked Tina, warily.

"Your clone," I said. "Have you ever seen it?"

There was a few seconds silence that would have turned a knife. "They advised against it," said Jason, quietly. "They said it would only upset us. It's not like a heart or a kidney, it's..."He shut his mouth so suddenly that I heard his teeth click together; he'd worked it out. I turned to Tina. "How long ago did you give them a cell sample for cloning?"

"April or May," she said, and turned to Jason. "Wasn't it?"

"End of April," he said, tersely.

"And it never occurred to either of you to wonder how they could grow an adult human body in less than a year- h.e.l.l, in nine months? With bones long and strong enough to carry an adult's weight, and that won't keep growing?"

"They grow kidneys in less..." said Jason, but his tone was hallow and his face was turning red. He seemed embarra.s.sed, but also furious at my interference. Maybe he believed he had an exclusive right to protect Tina. Maybe that was part of the attraction.

"Yes," I replied. "For people who still have one working kidney. The transplant keeps growing-but a small kidney is better than none. A cloned heart takes more than a year before it's large enough to be worth transplanting. Jesus, you're supposed to know something about physiology and anatomy; didn't itever occur to you that this was a little too easy? Don't you know what happens to the leg muscles of coma patients? Did you ever wonder how they could make a brainless clone exercise? Weren't you at least curious?"

"There isn't a clone?" asked Tina, uncertainly.

"I don't know," I replied. "There might be, but that's not where your leg is coming from. There's a woman on the floor below you; if you stay here, you'll be getting her right leg. It should be fairly strong; it's the only one she has. She lost the left a few years ago, in a factory accident. Since then, she's been making a living doing p.o.r.n for fetishists, under the name Lorelei." I glanced at Jason, noticed a faint twinge of recognition.

"Is she dying?"

"No. She sold her leg to have her pleasure center wired so that she no longer cares. And they've promised her cloned legs, too-as soon as they can grow them. They may even be telling the truth; someone has to be a guinea pig, right? In the meantime, she'll pay her way with a few more movies and some prost.i.tution." I shrugged. "You don't have to take my word for it. You can insist on seeing the clone-but don't be shocked if they say no. Me, I'm getting out of here. Have a nice life."

"Wait," said Tina, before I could move. "Can I see this- Lorelei?"

"Yes," I said. "But she's in a world of her own, unable to talk. The guard who told me most of this is unconscious too. I'll show you the way."

"That won't be necessary," she replied, sadly. "I just wanted to be sure you weren't lying. Can you get me out of here?"

I smiled. "It'd be my pleasure."

"Wait!" shouted Jason, then drew a deep breath. "Honey, look, you're turning down a chance at a leg. Even if this story isn't all bulls.h.i.t, which it probably is, this woman's already agreed, she's been paid, she thinks she'll be better off this way-"

"No!" snapped Tina. "His story makes sense, and no one's losing a leg for my sake." She reached for the handhold above her bed, and hauled herself up. "Are you coming with us?"

Jason hesitated. I knew he could still cause a s.h.i.tload of trouble by calling for security; he might be deluded enough to think that if he could prevent Tina escaping, he might change her mind...or maybe have her operated on without her consent, hoping that she'd be grateful later. Maybe if I could make him think of Lorelei as a human, not a collection of spare parts, it would save me having to stunstick him. He stared at me for what felt like much too long, then looked imploringly at Tina. She met his gaze levelly, and I realised that she was far, far stronger than him. "Okay," he said, then glanced down and saw the red cross of the laser sight blazing just above his right knee. I smiled, then pointed the Steyr at the floor as the blood drained away from his face. "Okay," I echoed. "Let's go. Tina, have you ever used a gun?"

"Yes." I reached for my ankle holster, handed her the Grendel. "But not in years, and not a pistol."

"I have," said Jason, his voice hollow but crisp.

I ignored him. "Take it anyway," I told her, "but keep it out of sight. Jason, carry the bags, and stay in front. I'll push the chair."

"Why me in front?"

"Because they won't dare shoot you; you're worth too much money. It also means I'm less visible from the front, and leaves me free to protect our rear." I turned away from Tina while she dressed, but kept an eye on him. "Whenever you're ready."

The clinic's security system was obviously designed to discourage intruders, not escapees, and we made it to the street without mishap. I was delighted to find I hadn't misjudged Raphael; he started driving towards us while we were halfway across the street. The small door opened again just before he reached us, and the barrel of a gun appeared. I fired a burst into the portale, sending chips flying, and the barrel withdrew hastily. "Okay, you push her! Dump the chair if you have to. I'll hold them off. Hurry, before they think to come around from the other side!"

Jason grabbed the handles of the chair and ran; he was faster than I would've expected, but then, I'd forgotten he was an athlete and barely half my age. I backed away from the door slowly, waiting for thegun to re-appear; I heard the Lada stop a few metres away, and the doors open. I walked towards the sound of the engine and their voices, not looking over my shoulder until I heard the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh. Raphael drove the car towards me, swerving at the last minute. "Need a cab, mon? This boy wanted to leave you behind, but I said I already had a fare." I looked in the rear view mirror as I climbed into the front seat. Jason's nose was bleeding, and there was the distinct shape of fingers across one cheek. "I didn't hit him," said Raphael, grinning. "Where to, mon?"

I turned to Jason and Tina. "Do you have your pa.s.sports? Your tickets?" Nods. "Didn't leave anything essential at the Eldorado? I don't mean expensive, I mean essential-any-thing they can't just ship back to you."

"No," Tina replied, before Jason could speak.

"Good. Straight to the airport." I gave Raphael the weapons as part of his tip and promised to show him around Perth if he was ever in the area, then Tina, Jason and I caught the first available flight to Miami. They stayed in the Park Central, I took a single at the Hostel International, and I didn't see Jason again until I visited him in his office in March.

There was a picture of Tina on his desk, the portrait he'd taken in May. She looked happy to see me. He didn't.

"What do you want now?" he said, glowering as I leaned against his doorway. "Haven't you been paid?"

"Yes."

"Then you've already cost us enough," he snapped. "You know Tina's gone?"

"Her mother told me she was okay," I said. Her parents had separated as well, and the house in Dalkeith had been sold. "She said she had a flat not far from here, but she wouldn't tell me the address."

"She won't see me," said Jason, veering from anger to self-pity. "I phone her every day or two, but that's as close as she'll let me get. Have you seen her?"

I did my best to look innocent, even though it hardly ever works. "I don't even know her phone number," I said, which was true. "Look, I still have a few questions. Who told you about the clones, the hospital?"

"Get f.u.c.ked."

I shook my head. "It must've been someone you trusted. How did you pay?" He glared. "Okay, how did your father pay? Or did he leave it to someone like Norman?"

"I don't know," he said-sharply, but probably truthfully.

"And he didn't check this out? Your father doesn't have a reputation for being that trusting, especially when the procedure must have cost a small fortune." A scowl. "Do you know who owns that clinic?"

"No. Do you?"

"No, but I'm looking into it." With help from Ratcliffe and Teri, of course. "You see, it occurred to me that while it was an expensive procedure, Tina would have been very effective as a walking advertis.e.m.e.nt for the clinic, without her even having to know it. A beautiful young woman, escorted by one of the country's most eligible bachelors, a few pictures in the social pages and the supermarket tabloids, rumors on the web about an expensive and exclusive little surgery..."

He snorted. "Yeah, well, you're one h.e.l.l of a detective, aren't you? Jesus, you can't even find a girl's phone number!"

I shrugged. I had seen Tina recently, though neither in the flesh nor over the phone. Sometimes she walked into my dreams; sometimes she'd always been there, waiting for me. "I'll find it when I need it," I replied. "And she knows how to find me. Don't bother getting up; I can find my own way out."

He nodded and said, almost inaudibly, "I do love her, Mr. Horne." I didn't reply. The portrait watched me walk away. He didn't.

The Marriage ofSky and Sea

CHRIS BECKETT.

Chris Beckett is a writer and now a university lecturer in Cambridge, England (though not at Cambridge University but at the "possibly marginally less famous" Anglia Polytechnic University). Until a couple of years ago he was a social worker. He has published twelve SF stories to date, all in Interzone, since 1990. "More stories of mine should appear in Interzone this year," he says. "Admirable magazine! Great for people like me." Last year a story of Beckett's ("Valour") was included in this anthology, and this year he appears again.

His short fiction to date is of high quality, thoughtful, tending to present complex philosophical problems on a human scale. "Although I am interested in science, and am the son of scientists, science and the future per se has never been the princ.i.p.al focus of my stories. I am interested in human beings and their struggles. This story, for example, is as much about intimacy (and how we both long for it and fear it) as it is about anything else." This story is also about different kinds of knowledge.

"They say," mused Clancy, looking down on a planet enmeshed by strands of light, "that Cosmopolis is the city on which the sun never sets. It's true because the city encircles an entire planet. But in any case sunrise and sunset are an irrelevance in Cosmopolis because there is no one watching . The city's inhabitants live in absorbing worlds of their own construction and have no attention to spare for that rather bare s.p.a.ce under the sky which they call, dismissively, the surface ."

Here he paused.

"Have we finished dictation for now?" enquired Com.

"Wait," said Clancy.

Com waited. Having no limbs, Com had no choice. Its smooth yellow egg-shape fitted comfortably into Clancy's hand.

"I am a writer and a traveller," continued Clancy, reclining on cushions in a small dome-shaped room, its ceiling a hemisphere of stars. "I am a typical Cosmopolitan soul in many ways, restless, unable to settle, hungry for experience, hungry to feed the gap where love and meaning should be."

He considered.

"No. Delete that last sentence. And I've had a change of heart about our destination. Instruct Sphere to head for the Aristotle Complex. There are several worlds out there which I've been meaning to check out."

Com did as it was asked in a three-microsecond burst of ultrasound.

"Message received and implemented," said Sphere to Com, in the same high-speed code. "Shall I send standard notification?"