Slow River

Lore stayed silent. She needed Spanner, but she did not have to give her more ammunition.

Spanner shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it. Can you get any money from them?”

“No.” Lore hoped that sounded as final as she felt.

“Then I don’t see how you’re going to repay me. For the medic. For the care you look like you’re going to need for a while. Do you have any skills?”

Yes, Lore wanted to say, but then she saw once again the red scar on the hand wrapped around her teacup. How would she get a job designing remediation systems, how would she prove her experience, without an identity? “My identity…”

“That’s another question. You want to get a copy of your old PIDA?”

“No.” The pain was hot and round and tight. The infection must be spreading. Again, she thought of his blood mingling with hers.

“Then you’ll need a new one. That costs, too. And what do you want me to call you? I can’t go around calling you Frances Lorien van de Oest.”

“Lore. Call me Lore.”

“Well, Lore, if you want my help then you’ll have to pay for it. You’ll have to work for me.”

“Legally?”

Spanner laughed. “No. Not even remotely. But I’ve never been caught, and what I do is low down on the police list—victimless crime. Or nearly so.”

The only “victimless” crimes Lore could think of were prostitution and personal drug use.

Spanner stood up, went to her workbench, brought back a slate. “Here. Take a look.”

Lore, moving her arms slowly and carefully, turned it over, switched it on. Wrote on it, queried it, turned it off. She handed it back. “It’s an ordinary slate.”

“Exactly. A slate stuffed with information. What do you use your slate for?”

Lore thought about it. “Making memos. Sending messages. Net codes and addresses. Ordering specialty merchandise. Appointments. Receiving messages. Keeping a balance of accounts…” She began to see where this was leading. “But it’s all protected by my security code.”

“That’s what most people think. But it’s not difficult to break it. It just takes time and a good program. Nothing glamorous. This one…”

Spanner smiled. “Well, let’s see.”

She sat down at her bench, connected the slate to a couple of jacks, flipped some switches… “Can you see from down there?” Lore nodded. On a readout facing Spanner numbers began to flicker faster than Lore could read them.

“Depending on the complexity of the code, it takes anywhere from half a minute to an hour.” Lore watched, mesmerized. “I’ve yet to come across one that-” The numbers stopped. “Ah; An easy one.” She touched another button and the red Feed light on the slate lit up. “It’s downloading everything: account numbers, the net numbers of people called in the last few months, name, address, occupation, DNA codes of the owner… everything.” She was smiling to herself.

“What do you use it for?”

“Depends. Some slates are useless to us. We just ransom them back to their owners for a modest fee. No one gets hurt. Often we couch things in terms of a reward for the finder. No police involvement. Nothing to worry about.”

“And other times?”

Someone banged on the door, two short, two long taps.

“That’s the medic.” But Spanner did not get up to let him in. “Better make up your mind.”

“What?”

“Do you want to work with me or not? Even if I don’t let him in, there’ll be a small fee for call-out, nothing you couldn’t repay when you’re able. But if he comes in here and works on you, then you’ll owe me.”

The medic banged on the door again, faster this time.

“Sounds like he’s getting impatient.”

Lore had no clothes and no ID; she doubted she could stand. “I’ll do it.”

Spanner went to the door.

The medic was not what Lore had expected. He was middle-aged, well dressed and very gentle. And fast. He ran a scanner down her back. “Some infection, It’ll need cleaning.” He pulled out a wand-sized subcutaneous injector.

“No,” Lore said. “I’m allergic.”

“Patches, too?”

She nodded. He sighed. “Well, that’s an inconvenience.”

He rummaged in his bag. Lore heard a light hiss, felt a cool mist on her back, tasted a faint antiseptic tang. The pain disappeared in a vast numbness. She knew he was swabbing out her wound but all she felt was a vague tugging.

“Clean enough for now.”

This time he took a roll of some white material from his bag. She shuddered, remembering the plasthene. He paused a moment, then unwrapped a couple of feet and cut it. It glinted. Some kind of metallic threads.

“What’s that?”

“You’ve never seen this before?” Spanner asked.

Lore shook her head. The numbness was wearing off.

“Here.”

Spanner passed her a hand mirror.

“Watch. It’s interesting.”

The medic, who did not seem to resent being cast as entertainment, was smearing the edges of her wound with a cold jelly and carefully laying the light material over it.

Then he unwrapped a few feet of electrical wire, attached it with crocodile clips to the material.

“What-”

“Stretch as much as you can.”

“It hurts.

“Do the best you can. When this sets, it sets.”

She did.