2163

Sigmund could not look in the direction of his bed. If he did, he would see his nemesis mocking him, and he had better things to do than endure that. Consequently, he was looking out the fifty-third-story window despite his newly-discovered fear of heights and checking in with Yuchen for the third time today.

"—orders that Artifex placed should be fulfilled on time."

"Great. Congratulate Philippe and his team for me, I know they had to push hard."

"I will." He could hear Yuchen murmur something to someone nearby.

"Sorry, I'm holding you up. Thanks for the updates."

"Of course, Doctor." She was already picking up another conversation as she hung up. He felt guilty; if he believed her reports—and he had no reason not to—the general mood in the firm was excitement. His employees felt they shared his success even though he had left them in the lurch at perhaps the most critical moment in his firm's history and signed on with the same Tanganyika Group they so often trash-talked in the office. Yuchen had no doubt sacrificed sanity and sleep to come up with a way of packaging events just so to help the others along, and Sigmund couldn't shake the feeling he'd been allowed to slip justice.

Perhaps his nemesis was the tip of an iceberg of comeuppance.

Knock, knock.

"Just a moment," he said, setting down the telephone. On the other side of the door stood Eusebio in a trim navy suit, his head shaven down to the scalp. He was seized by mania and it propelled him into Sigmund's room, sucking a similarly navy-suited but far more withdrawn X along in its wake. Sigmund wanted a moment to decide what to comment on first.

"What, not dressed yet? Desmond called to say the car will be along in ten minutes," Eusebio said, clapping his hands together and walking to the bed. He reached down tapped the lapels of that thing.

Sigmund groaned, finally forced to look at it. Really, it was a beautiful suit, a charcoal three-piece expertly tailored and likely flattering as hell.

"What's the problem? Isn't charcoal your color?"

"I understand that this is a big occasion and decorum is called for—"

"So just put it on."

"—but I haven't let somebody tell me what to wear since I graduated from the Academy. You of all people know this is them testing us, right? They want to see if we go along with little requirements like this before—"

"Sure, we both know it. They know that we know it. But we've already spent a few days in bugged hotel rooms to humor them." Eusebio looked up at the ceiling. "By the way, good afternoon, fellas. Anyway, dress code isn't the hill to die on, Sig. We want them to know we're ready to play along."

"All right, all right." Sigmund grabbed the suit and walked into his suite's bathroom, changing with the door slightly ajar. "I was meaning to ask, how is Marty doing?"

"She seems well," X said, stepping closer to the door. "Her operation is set for this evening and I'm hoping I can meet her afterward. Do you think this meeting will last long?"

"If it does, it does," Eusebio said, unusually stern. "We're all excited to have Marty up and about, but we need you to focus up on this right now."

"I understand, Doctor."

Now what did the flattening of X's tone mean just then?

Probably nothing more than that he's about as excited for this meeting as you are, Sigmund thought. Eusebio and X had a brief, quiet exchange as Sigmund finished dressing himself; he hated to admit that it was the best-looking suit he'd ever worn. The three of them checked themselves in the mirror one last time, then boarded the elevator. As they descended, Eusebio unconsciously reached up and rubbed his bare scalp.

True to Desmond's word, a car was waiting in front of the lobby to whisk them off to the Tanganyika Group's main campus further to the north side of town. They were only ten minutes on the road when enough of Lusaka was behind them to see TG Tower thrust up against the sky. Setting quite aside his feelings about the corporation, the building was loathsome. The founding CEO of the firm was a known narcissist and had specifically commissioned a building to 'reflect his grandeur.' Its helical ostentation was all the more risible for being surrounded by squat, utilitarian blocks where actual work happened.

The view from the foot of the tower was no more flattering. Mercifully, Desmond was there to greet them.

"Gentlemen." Sigmund thought he detected the faintest hint of curiosity as he noticed Eusebio's head. "They're waiting for you in the gardens."

"And they are . . .?" Eusebio asked.

"In addition to Miss Mkapa, you'll be meeting with Isaiah Ally, the Director of Dar Es Salaam City Corporation; Kelvin Mwale, Greater Lusaka's own Governor; Joyce Chirwa, Chief Engineer of our robotics department; and Iskander Nyirenda, head of European Operations."

Sigmund's ears perked up—European Operations? Were they already looking to cut his firm, his people out of the project? Or was this just another test, to see what he'd draw from it?

Settle, Sigmund. Leave the paranoia to Eusebio, he's much better at it than you.

He opted to study X's face on the elevator ride up to the roof. They were in the heart of world-leading affluence, of absolute technological superiority in the Post-Cataclysm world, and yet he registered no curiosity, no interest in anything but people. X was himself studying faces; Eusebio's and Desmond's. Briefly, he met Sigmund straight-on. It was impossible not to wonder how they seemed to that mind which, for all its seeming humanity, was still a machine.

Elevator doors opened onto a jungle. Sand-colored brick traced two-man wide paths through the green, up two terraces, and the whole way one fragrance giving way to another. Jovial voices, the laughter of children, a clearing with a rough-hewn wooden table. The bodyguards flanking the table took their measure; a young girl chased a younger boy around the table, and the five seated adults were dressed for an afternoon party.

The three were interlopers.

The children responded to the familiar voice of Akilah Mkapa, who knelt whispering to them, hugging them, and sending them off with one of the bodyguards. Sigmund swallowed hard as she stood; this was a woman rumored to be descended from Doctor Wily himself, and had the cunning to back it up. Did it show?

She smiled, all mother, at the children as they left.

"Sorry about that; my oldest turns twelve today, and she insisted on having a 'grown up lunch' for her present." She shrugged helplessly. "It's a pleasure to meet the three of you face-to-face."

"The pleasure is ours," Eusebio said, bowing his head slightly. Sigmund followed suit, side-eying his old friend; not that it wasn't expedient, but a deferential Eusebio Cain seemed off.

"Isaiah Ally, Joyce Chirwa, Kelvin Mwale, and Iskander Nyirenda," X said suddenly, pointing clockwise to each of the other four at the table. Neither they nor the bodyguards seemed to know what to make of it. Sigmund, for his part, felt cold sweat on his lower back, knew he looked mortified. The man X identified as Ally burst into laughter. Chirwa and Nyirenda echoed him weakly; Mwale scowled and looked to Mkapa for help.

"That saves me the introductions. Thank you, X," Mkapa said arching a brow.

"Sorry about that," Eusebio said, "He's a bit nervous."

You sly so-and-so, Sigmund thought. You coached him to break the mood, didn't you? And to sell it, of course you couldn't let me in on the plan.

"No need to be nervous, X," Mkapa said. "This little meeting is just to get acquainted with you before the work begins. You don't have to prove anything to me. If you're sentient as Doctor Cain and Doctor Doppler claim, I'm sure that will out in time."

Oh dear, Sigmund thought. This is trouble.

"Beg your pardon," Eusebio said, voice frosting over ever so slightly at the edges, shadows at the edge of his smile. "What do you mean 'if'?"