Free Reality 36 by Guy Haley Page B

have gone. Pouff!" She opened her fingers swiftly. "Dandelion clocks in the wind." The breeze brought in a sudden cloud of downy seeds. "Promise you'll come and see me before I am gone, too," she pleaded.
      "We'll see about that," said Richards, spitting fluff. "There's nothing to worry about."
      "See you around, Richards." Her expression cleared, clouds uncovering the sun.
      "See you around, Pro." He planted a kiss on her burning cheek. "I'll come back and see the second half, I promise."
      "You know you won't and I know you won't. Stop pretending, Richards, I don't like disappointment."
      "You told me that I should try lying! What's a man to do?" He grinned apologetically.
      He was back in the bar. The whole exchange had taken less than ten seconds. Promethea's sheath had carried on chatting to her public, Richards' mechanically fidgeting.
    Where have you been? said Genie . He's getting away!
    I've been talking to an old friend. It's all under control. Get back to the office, keep tabs on his dealings while I chase him down.
    OK. Be careful. Genie's mind withdrew from his.
      Richards drained his glass again. He pushed through the crowd to the door.
      On his way out, he snagged an uncorked bottle of champagne. The hunt was on.

Chapter 5
    Launcey
     
    The weather outside the Wellington Arcology, centre of operations for Richards & Klein, Inc, Security Consultants, was as muggy and grey as befitted the season. The days would continue to get hotter and stickier for some weeks, drizzling blood-warm water, until the sky broke and sheeting rain announced the start of the rainy season. Why they called it that, Otto often wondered, because rain fell all year round in England. Optimism, he supposed. If one season is called rainy, then another, by implication, is not. The only real difference was in the ferocity of the deluge.
      The opening salvoes of the heavier rain would be welcomed by both sets of Londoners as a relief from the morbid days of summer, only to be cursed as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months of unrelenting autumn downpours. Mosquitoes, flooding of the old city and disease would accompany it. As far as Otto was concerned, none of the seasons in the British Isles had much to recommend them; only for a brief while did their turning offer novelty, and something for the natives to talk about.
      Although Otto loved the Londons, he missed the baking heat of an honest German summer, and the fact that it went mostly unremarked upon by those enjoying it.
      Since he was neither British nor outside, the day's weather was irrelevant to Otto. He made his way through the carefully controlled climate of the Wellington Arcology to the 372ndfloor garage where their office had its parking bays. He followed the gentle curve of the internal street from their offices, one side of it open to the deep atrium at the heart of the arco, where, far below, were situated the largest of the building's multi-level parks. After half a kilometre he reached one of the express lifts, for the use of which Richards and Klein paid a substantial monthly fee. Otto's thumbprint opened the door. The lift's near-I tasted the air as he entered, verifying his identity.
      "Good morning, Herr Klein," said the lift in German. "To where may I bear you today?"
      "Car park," said Otto tersely. He disliked these demi-conversations he was obliged to hold with the lift, the vending machines, luggage trolleys… Pleasantries with things too hollow to understand what they said. There was too much near-I in the environment, and they barely had enough processing power to pass the Turing test between them. "Now."
      "As you wish," said the lift, setting off at speed, first horizontally, then vertically, up to the parking garage one hundred floors above the office.
      Otto stepped out on to shelf three of the garage. He walked along the glass-walled gallery, past docking ports until he reached one of the two