Only Forward. Michael Marshall Smith

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      ‘Stark. You’re early. Congratulations.’

      Zenda was sitting behind her ridiculously large desk when I finally made it to her office. This time they’d rearranged the inside of the building too, and used an industrial strength Gravbenda™ so they could have the floors at a 45° angle to the ground. They probably had a reason, but it made finding your way around sort of mentally strenuous. The elevator I took was clearly very annoyed about the whole thing and spent the entire journey muttering to itself instead of telling me the history of the Department in the way it was supposed to.

      Zenda’s desk is about forty feet square, literally. As well as her computer, pens, paperclips and stuff like that, it also has an aquarium on it, and a meeting table with six chairs. I made my way round to her end of it and kissed her hand. They don’t do that in the Centre, but they do in the Neighbourhood where she grew up, and I know she kind of likes it.

      ‘Good to see you, Zenda. You’re looking very diligent today.’

      ‘Why thank you, Stark. Cool trousers.’

      ‘Yeah, the streets loved them. Am I tidy enough?’

      ‘You’re fine.’

      She turned and bawled a drinks instruction at the unit in the wall.

      ‘Okay, okay already,’ the machine said huffily, ‘I’m not deaf.’

      I grinned. Zenda is very relaxed for an Actioneer. Being in the Centre has changed her much less than it does most of them: I think the only reason they keep her there is that she’s so damned good at Doing Things. The machine burped the drinks onto the desk and slid shut, without even telling us to enjoy them. Zenda smiled, and handed me one of them.

      ‘When did you get back?’

      ‘A few days ago. Went into extra time. Sorry about this afternoon.’

      ‘That’s okay: I assumed you were tired.’

      ‘I was.’

      ‘Did it work out okay?’

      ‘It worked out fine. You going to tell me what this is about?’

      ‘I can’t. I don’t know myself. I got a call this afternoon from a couple of rungs up the ladder, saying there was an ultra-important Thing That Needs Doing, requiring a particular blend of skills and discretion. It sounded like your sort of thing, so I got you here.’

      ‘Is it a normal thing or a Something?’

      ‘A normal thing.’

      Very few people would have known what the hell I was talking about. Zenda is one of the very few who know me well, and knows what I really do, but we don’t discuss it. There are things I have to sort out, and they often come to me through her. I rely upon her, in fact, her and a couple of other people, and yet I’m the only person who can sort these things out, and they know that. It’s an odd kind of relationship, but then what isn’t?

      ‘Good. So. When can I buy you dinner?’

      ‘Next year, possibly. It’s a busy time: I’m on intravenous feeding for the next three months.’

      ‘Okay, so I’ll bring a burger and we can watch the drips together,’ I drawled with a grin.

      ‘I’ll call you,’ she said, lying sweetly. Actioneers don’t date outside the Centre. It’s frowned on, it’s not a good career move, and having your date blow up mid-evening would be a bit of a downer too, I guess. I know that, but it’s kind of fun pretending to try. It’s an in-joke between us, like the private detective impersonation. Contrary to appearances, I don’t have a frosted glass door with my name on it, and I didn’t use to be a cop. I used to be a musician. Sort of.

      At one minute to eight exactly the desk intercom rasped, ‘Ms Renn, your meeting participants are on their way up. Meeting time minus one minute and counting.’

      People in the Centre are never, never early for meetings. Being early would suggest that you weren’t busy enough, that you hadn’t just immediately flown in from something else just as important. These people had timed it very well. I tried hard to admire that.

      ‘Okay, Stark: shall we sit?’

      We climbed onto the desk. Zenda arranged herself beautifully in the chair at the head of the table, and I sat opposite, so that I could monitor her facial reactions during the meeting. Also, so that I could just look at her face, which has high cheekbones, green eyes and a wide mouth. Yes, okay, so I like Zenda a lot. Well spotted.

      ‘Meeting time minus thirty seconds and counting.’

      The doors at the end bounced open and two men and a woman entered in formation, walking fast. The woman I recognised as Royn, one of Zenda’s assistants, and the man in front wore the distinctive violet cufflinks of the Centre’s Intelligence Agency, ACIA. He was thickset and looked pretty serious. Not much of a dancer, I guessed.

      ‘Hi, Royn,’ I said.

      ‘Hi, Stark. Hey, cool trousers.’

      I made a mental note to use the CloazValet™ incorrectly again sometime. As they arranged themselves around the table I stole a look at the second man. He was in his fifties, tall and thin, with a pale and bony face. That meant that he was senior enough to disregard the compulsory tanning regulations in the Centre, which made him pretty damn senior. I wondered who he was.

      ‘And…Meeting time!’ sang the intercom’s synthetic voice. ‘On behalf of the building I would like to wish you a productive and diligent meeting. Here’s hoping it will be deemed a success by all participants and by those they work for, with and above in their respective Departments. Go for it!’

      While Zenda introduced us all to each other, I lit a cigarette. Normally that’s strictly forbidden in the Centre, as all the Actioneers want to carry on busily doing things for as long as they can, but I figured I ought to state a presence somehow. The man from ACIA, whose name was Darv, gave me a long stare but I gave it right back to him. I’ve met his type before. They hate me. Actually, they hate what they see, which isn’t the same thing. I’ve been playing this game for ten years now, and I know how to fit in. Curiously, what they see and hate is what they want to see.

      The thin man was referred to only as C, which meant he was the third most senior executive in the whole Department. That made him an alarmingly heavy hitter, and though he said nothing for the first ten minutes of the meeting, I could tell he was someone to take seriously. I saw now why Zenda had suggested I make an effort.

      Darv kicked off the meeting by grassing on the elevator, which had moved on to insinuating damaging things about the sexual proclivities of the building’s interior designers. Royn made a call and somewhere in the basement a SWAT team of elevator engineers and hydraulic psychotherapists went into action.

      ‘Now, Mr Stark,’ he continued, swivelling his head on his thick neck to face me, ‘I’m sure you realise that someone like you wouldn’t be my first choice for a Thing That Needs Doing like this. I want it put on record that I think this could be a mistake.’

      I looked at him for a while, and the others waited for me to say something. I blew out some СКАЧАТЬ