Head On_A Novel of the Near Future Page 16

  “I didn’t,” Mom said. “You’re a nonvoting member of the board of the family business. We can talk to you all we want.”

  “I’m still not going to tell them I talked to you.”

  “A pity. But wise.” She motioned to my head. “Is the haircut all right?”

  “It always is.”

  Mom smiled at this and kissed the top of my head.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I blinked into the guest threep the Boston Bays had set aside for me at their administrative and practice facility in Allston and was surprised to find it was an actual Hilketa-ready scout model.

  “Whoa,” I said, holding up my hands to look at them. Then I noticed another threep waiting for me. Her information popped up: Kim Silva.

  “Welcome, Agent Shane,” she said. Her threep wasn’t a player model, but a fashionably discreet high-end Sebring-Warner. “You look like you’re surprised by your threep.”

  “I am,” I said. “Is this . . . is this a real game threep? I mean, has it seen actual play?”

  “Sort of,” Silva said. “It’s one of the ones our practice squad uses. It’s seen practice play.”

  “That’s really cool,” I said.

  “We thought you would like it,” Silva said. She held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Shane.”

  I took her hand. “And you, Ms. Silva. I should tell you that all my flatmates are dead jealous I get to meet you.”

  “Well, you can tell them that some of my teammates are dead jealous I get to meet you. I used to have the picture of you on my wall. You know, the one with the pope.”

  “Oh, that,” I said. When I was a kid my dad took a picture of me in my kid-sized threep offering a flower to the pope. It went out on the news and became one of the most iconic Haden-related pictures ever. Dad liked to joke it paid for my college tuition.

  “I’m just sorry we have to meet under these circumstances,” Silva said.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “My condolences to you.”

  “Thanks.” Silva said, and paused a moment. “It’s complicated, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not really supposed to be talking to you yet,” Silva said. “About Duane or any of the rest of it. Medina would kill me.”

  “He’s not wrong,” I said. “I’m happy to wait for that until we formally start the interview. Are you here to get me for that?”

  “Sort of,” Silva said. “I was sent to tell you there’s going to be a delay. Medina and Bob Kreisberg had a meeting prior to ours. It’s going long.”

  “I hope there are no problems,” I said. Bob Kreisberg was the owner of the Boston Bays franchise.

  “There’s a lot of yelling going on, so I’m guessing there are problems.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “I wasn’t listening that closely. I was just in Bob’s waiting area long enough for his assistant to tell me there could be a delay and to say Medina asked me to keep you company in the meantime.”

  “I could have just sat in the lobby.”

  “I have a feeling Medina thinks you’ll get in trouble if you’re left alone. Sorry. I’m a spy.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. This reminded me to run a quick diagnostic on my borrowed threep to make sure that it had a secure channel to me. It did. “I’m sure we can find a way to make pleasant, inconsequential chatter until they’re ready for us.”

  “Would you like a tour?” Silva asked. “I can show you the practice field. That’s where I usually am when I’m here.”

  “That would be great,” I said.

  As we walked I took note of the surroundings. “Do you know what this building was used for before the Bays took it over?” I asked.

  “It used to be part of Boston University. Or Harvard, one of the two. They’re both nearby. Actually I think it’s still part of whichever of the two it is. I think the league’s leased the building.”

  “That would make sense,” I said, remembering my parents’ discussion of the league’s tax situation.

  “In which case it’s probably Boston University. Bob’s an alum there. He’s kind of obnoxious about it.”

  “That will happen.”

  “I don’t get it. But then I didn’t go to college. I went right into Hilketa after high school.”

  “You’re not worried about having a marketable skill?” I joked.

  Silva looked over. “You know, I think I’ll be okay.” The tone in her voice told me she got the joke.

  “That’s good,” I said.

  “I don’t have as much as some,” she ventured, seeing if I could take a joke as well.

  “But you made what you have on your own.”

  Silva shrugged. “It’s a game, right?” She motioned to the halls, which featured photos of the Bays in action. “We’re not exactly solving world hunger, here.”

  “It’s a game but that doesn’t mean it’s not important,” I said. “Hilketa means a lot to a lot of Hadens. I’d say you mean a lot to a lot of us. You’re a legitimate sports star.”

  Silva laughed. “I just like beating the crap out of people. This way it’s legal and I get paid for it.”

  “A lot of rage?” I joked.

  “You have no idea,” Silva said. We went into the part of the building holding the practice field.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked, after a minute of taking it in. The practice field was a repurposed baseball diamond, enclosed in a rectangular warehouse-like siding. It was aggressively industrial and unromantic.

  “Practice isn’t until two today. Pena is giving us a couple of light days because he knows we’re all still dealing with Duane’s death.”

  “It makes sense,” I said.

  Silva shook her head. “It’s stupid. We have a short practice week as it is and giving everyone time to get into our heads about Duane means we’re going to be distracted and unhappy. Me most of all. We’re going to get the shit kicked out of us on Friday. We should be having double practices.” She stopped. “That doesn’t count as talking about Duane, does it?” she asked.

  “Probably not,” I said.

  “Good.” She pointed at me and motioned to the field. “You should go run on it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re wearing a scout threep. Those things are really fast. More than most threeps. Try it out.”

  “I don’t think I should.”

  “You totally should,” Silva said. “You’re not going to ruin the field. That’s what it’s there for. And you’re probably not going to get another chance to be in an actual scout threep, short of joining the league. You might as well.” She pointed at the far wall, past the goalposts with the netting in them. “See how quickly you can get over there. Try it.”

  I looked at her for a moment, shrugged, and sprinted off as fast as I could to the far wall.

  Four seconds later, my threep’s face planted firmly in the ground, I heard Silva laughing.

  “I don’t see why this is so funny,” I said, with mock gravity.

  “I’m sorry,” Silva said, walking up to me. “Actually, I’m not sorry.”

  “I know you’re not, since I’m guessing you knew this would happen.” I picked myself up off the field.

  “It’s not just you,” Silva said. “Everyone falls over in a scout threep the first time they try to run in one. You’re used to running at one speed. The scout operates at an entirely different speed. You have no idea where your center of gravity is.”

  “And then you face-plant,” I said.

  “Yes. You and literally everyone else. People think the tank threeps are the hardest ones to control in the game, because the tank is so big and powerful.” She pointed to my threep. “It’s the scouts. They’re a real pain in the ass.”

  “And in the face.”

  Silva nodded. “Scout control is a real skill. I mean, I can’t do it. There’s a reason I stick in the general model, or sub in with the tank. Your brain has to run fast to handle the scout
.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Did you have them put me in the scout model just so you could bring me down here to watch me fall on my face?” I asked.

  “I will neither confirm nor deny that,” Silva said. “I will say we often put visitors in scout threeps. And we often bring them here and invite them to go for a run.”

  “And here I thought I was special,” I said.

  “Well, if you want to feel special, hold on.” Silva’s threep suddenly snapped into a neutral resting position.

  “Hello?” I waved a hand in front of her threep and got nothing.

  “Over here,” Silva said, and came out of a side room, which I quickly understood was a threep storage area, in a tank threep.

  She lumbered over to me, faster than I would have thought a tank threep could move, and held up the two weapons she was holding, one in each massive fist. “War hammer or sword,” she said. “Pick one.”

  “What?”

  “War hammer or sword,” Silva repeated.

  “Sword?” I ventured.

  “Good choice,” Silva said, and handed the sword to me. I took it, hesitantly. “Okay. Ready?”

  “Ready for what?” I asked, and suddenly on my threep’s neck red lights began blinking. I looked up at Silva’s tank, and a red ring of lights was flashing on her neck as well.

  “On the count of three, try taking off my head,” Silva said.

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “One.”

  “You are serious!”

  “Two.”

  I grabbed my sword with both hands and held it out in front of me like, well, like a sword, I guess.

  “Three,” Silva said, and then my entire line of sight was filled with a tank threep rushing at me, war hammer in hand.

  “Oh, shit,” I said, and turned to run, just in time to get a hammer blow in the side. My threep magically transported sideways by about three meters and my sword flew out of my hands. I rolled on the field and jumped up just in time for another hammer blow in the chest. I lifted in the air and tumbled backward. I scrambled to the side just barely fast enough to miss a hammer blow that would have broken a human spine, and, I suspect, whatever support truss this threep had as well.

  From my scramble I managed to get up on my feet and run over to where my sword had fallen. Silva watched me as I grabbed it and squared off.

  “Having fun, right?” she said.

  “‘Fun’ isn’t exactly the word I would use,” I said.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “The pain isn’t even turned on in that threep. You’re fine.”

  She was right. I was being knocked around but I wasn’t feeling any pain. “That’s not regulation,” I said, to Silva.

  “You can turn it on if you want,” she said, and then rushed me. I disobeyed my amygdala’s frantic request to run away and sprinted toward Silva, sword up. The plan was to run past her on the side not holding the hammer and take a swing at her neck as I flashed by.

  It was a really excellent plan except for the part when she saw immediately what I was planning, spun as she ran toward me, and then suddenly there was the hammer in my chest, and there was me, flying sideways again.

  At least this time I held on to the sword. I stumbled and almost fell from the hit, but kept upright and moving.

  “Now you’re learning!” Silva said, and seemed about to say something else, so I rushed her to catch her off guard and was then deeply disoriented as the room went spinning.

  Oh, I see, I thought as I realized I was now getting a rotating bird’s-eye view of the field. She absolutely just hammered my head off my body.

  And then the field was rushing toward me, or at least my head, at an alarming speed.

  A second later I saw the tank’s feet out of the corner of the one eye that was not directly in the field’s artificial turf. “Rushing right at me while I had a war hammer,” Silva said. “That was a bold strategy, Agent Shane.”

  “I was hoping for the element of surprise,” I muttered into the turf.

  “If you’re hoping for the element of surprise, it helps to be surprising.”

  “That’s a good tip,” I said. “I’m going to remember that for next time.”

  Silva laughed and then my head was lifted up and pointed in the direction of my threep’s body. “That was such a clean hit that your body remained upright,” she said. “That almost never happens.”

  “Yay?” I said.

  Silva laughed again and reattached my threep’s head to its body. I could hear the attachment mechanisms shift into place, locking it down and returning control of the threep body to me.

  “Well, that was a new experience for me,” I said to the tank threep.

  “I’m back over here,” Silva said, from her nongame threep. I walked over. “I’m betting that was the first time you’ve had your head knocked off,” she said to me.

  “Actually, no.”

  “Really.”

  “I was hit by a truck when I was eight. My head went flying. This is the first time someone did it intentionally, though.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I think I’m glad I had my pain sensitivity turned all the way down.”

  “You’re not wrong about that.” Silva reached out and touched my arm. “Thank you, Agent Shane.”

  “What for?” I asked.

  “For letting me beat the crap out of you. After everything in the last few days, I needed that. And I didn’t know I needed it until I was doing it. That was really . . . cathartic.”

  “You’re welcome. Although I think you should know that I’m never doing that again. At least not with a scout against a tank.”

  “Oh, no. Scouts are the best against tanks.”

  “My experience here makes me sincerely doubt that.”

  “I’ll give you a tip. Tanks are top-heavy. Once they’re down they’re really hard to get back up. Run behind them, go low, and topple them. Then just hammer their legs until they fall off. Scouts are really good for pushing tanks over. All that speed turns into momentum.”

  “You could have told me that earlier.”

  “I could have,” Silva agreed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  I was about to respond to that when Silva held up a hand. I waited.

  “That was Kim, Bob’s assistant,” she said, after a minute. “They’re ready for us.”

  I looked around at the weapons and the tank threep. Silva followed my gaze. “We can leave them,” she said. “Someone else will come and deal with them.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Agent Shane, I’m glad we got to do this,” Silva said. “Before we have our formal interview, I mean. We got to be friendly with each other. Now we have to go and be not so friendly, I think.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “We’d like to begin by stating for the record that Ms. Silva voluntarily offered to meet with you today to answer questions,” Oliver Medina said, as he, Silva, and Boston Bays manager David Pena sat down at the conference room table with me.

  “All right,” I said, sitting down myself.

  “And that at any time Ms. Silva may choose not to answer questions if she or I feel it is not in her best interest to do so.”

  “Are you formally representing Kim Silva at this interview, Mr. Medina?” I asked. “I ask because I know your title is general counsel for the North American Hilketa League. I want to be sure that you’re here for her, not for the league.”

  “I don’t believe there’s a material conflict between the two,” Medina said.

  “I don’t doubt that you believe that,” I said. “But maybe we should ask Ms. Silva.”

  Medina looked over to Silva, who looked over to me. “I asked Oliver to be here today,” she said. “Actually, when I told David and Oliver I wanted to talk to you, they both offered to be here with me, and I accepted the offer.”

  “You were at Duane Chapman’s apartment on Sunday night,” I said.

  “Yes.”
/>   “Is this an apartment you shared with Mr. Chapman?”

  “No. It was his apartment. Or, as I understand it now, his company’s apartment, the company he co-owned with his wife. Which for obvious reasons is now very awkward. But I kept certain things there and used it as a mail drop from time to time.”

  “Including,” I prompted.

  “Including a threep, some personal objects, and a cat.”

  “Why the cat?”

  “Because I’m allergic to cats and I can’t keep one at my own home. The allergic reaction is unusually severe thanks to complications from my Haden’s. So I kept Donut at Duane’s apartment.”

  “Since you kept a cat there it’s fair to say you were in the apartment frequently.”

  “I wasn’t in the apartment frequently because of Donut. I was in it frequently because Duane and I were lovers. And because of that, I was there frequently enough to keep a cat.”

  “A consensual relationship between two people isn’t grounds for a federal inquiry, Agent Shane,” Medina said.

  “It’s useful for me to establish she and Mr. Chapman knew each other well,” I said.

  “Of course they knew each other well. They were teammates.”

  “In your knowledge of Mr. Chapman, as a friend and . . . teammate, Ms. Silva”—I nodded to Medina—“were you aware of any physical impairment that might have caused him to collapse on Sunday?”

  “No,” Silva said. “Duane had some Haden-related health issues, but we all do. None of them ever affected him like this. He was always healthy for games, and for everything else.”

  “Why did you come to the apartment after Mr. Chapman’s death?”

  “Because I needed to get Donut and my personal effects. I mean, it wasn’t my apartment. And to be honest I didn’t want Marla to know about my relationship with Duane. She never liked me, even before Duane and I started our relationship, and she and Duane have been on the rocks for a while.”

  “Did he ever explain why to you?”

  “I know she accused him of infidelity,” Silva said. “Which was true. But there were other issues, too. I think Marla felt cheated that he wasn’t a bigger star, and took it out on him. She wanted a bigger lifestyle than she had. I think she felt he was her way into riches. Duane told me at one point he had started to feel like it was one of the reasons she was with him at all. She didn’t have any positive feelings about Hadens in general, I can tell you that much.”