Free Vurt 2 - Pollen by Jeff Noon

used, again, telling me that Clegg really was out of his depth, reeling from the impact of Skinner’s digging.
    “And?”
    “Listen to this.” Zero plugs in a tape. A fruity voice responding from the speakers…
    “Report on floral sample 267/54, by Jay Ligule, Department of Botany, University of Manchester. May 2nd, 8.04 a.m. Initial findings: A variant of Amaranthus Caudatus. Petals of a deep red colour arranged in a spiral formation, making up long tassels. Nineteen inches at the apex. The flower responds eagerly to testing. Secondary findings, spreading the petals: triple stamen. Clusters of pollen on anther pod. Brightest yellow ever seen. 75 microns. Too large for the species. Should be in the range 20–40. Pollen clinging in groups of six. They seem to be moving. Tertiary findings: pollen grains respond to electric stimuli. They shift away from pain and death. Carbon molecules found there. Some kind of flesh-life? Unknown variant. Notes: is this a joke being played? Never seen anything like it. Request sample sent to Kirkpatrick, Professor of Cytology, University of Glasgow. Shit! Pollen grains have escaped the micro-slide! Where are they? Shit! Pollen is dancing. Other notes: cannot stop sneezing. This is one powerful flower. Never seen anything… shit! Unless my eyes are mistaken, pollen is moving towards me. Jesus! Why do I get all the shit jobs?”
    The track ended with the sound of violent sneezing.
    Skinner came up with his cameras full of tears and blood, and a sneeze in his metal throat. Even the robos were suffering. What kind of hayfever was this? And why wasn’t I suffering? Usually, every spring was a nightmare for me. But now, whilst Dog and Robo were suffering all around, here was this Shadow woman totally immune. Maybe it wasn’t the usual hayfever strain. And I couldn’t stop thinking about Boda, for some reason; a lost girl in the final dreams of a taxi-dog from the filthy streets. Think about me, Boda… sing that song one last time. Why was that final line calling out to me so strongly?
    “This is no Zombie killing, Clegg,” I said.
    “What is this, Justice for Zombies Society?” Zero had pulled in his nerves.
    “We need to let Kracker know,” I continued. “Because if this isn’t a Zombie killing, then what the hell is it?”
    “We can’t allow it to be anything else.”
    “I think that’s too simple, Zero. I think we should keep on looking for this Boda clue.”
    “You think so?”
    “Zombies don’t put roots into the lungs of their victims.”
    “Kracker says wind it up, before another dog-riot starts.”
    “I say we keep on looking. Word from the street is that Boda was Coyote’s girlfriend. You know that most murders are committed by partners?”
    “Is that a fact?”
    “You ever had a girlfriend, Zero?”
    “Kracker has released the body.”
    “What?”
    “The funeral’s tomorrow.”
    “Clegg, isn’t that a little early?”
    “Kracker wants the dogs happy. What would you have me do, Sibyl? Go against the boss?”
    “The master’s voice. Bow wow.”
    Clegg gave me his best show of teeth, but I could feel the hurt over his bristling Shadow. A strain of fear.
    Maybe even then I knew that this investigation was to be mine alone.
     
    Coyote had lived in a small flat perched above a fish-and-chip shop on Ladybarn Lane, Fallowfield. The shop was called Bingo Rex’s, and a cluster of angry dogboys bayed around the entrance as Zero and I pushed through them, Zero snarling at them with his cop-teeth. Bingo turned out to be a greasy Vaz-dripping dog-husband who led us through a damp living room where a tattered and very human wife was smiling through a bruised face, dipping pieces of fish into a tub of low-grade batter. From there a staircase ascended into darkness, and the musty stench of a high dog. Zero was holding his snout from the smell, like he didn’t want to recognise this victim as one of his own.
    “You okay, Zero?” I asked.
    “Sure thing, Smokey,”