Sequela by Cleland Smith

smaller East Chapel where they held weekday services. He noted how few of its members paused at the donation terminal. It was a hobby of his to watch the worshippers exit. It was always interesting to see where the different people would go next and the coffee shop gave him the perfect view either way down the street with its three bakeries, its upmarket lingerie boutique and its branch of the Pigs. The local Pig branch had been tastefully named Holes Only for the nickname of the infection-free suburban branches and the owner was such a fan of puns that he had incorporated a snooker hall on the top floor. If Blotch saw a worshipper disappear in there it wouldn't be the first time. For now most of them had stopped to check the lunchtime lotto on their Books. At least they had the decency not to have them on during the service. Blotch fixed on a man in a depressed green coat that came down to his shins.
    'The Hospital: Lady speaking.' The smooth telephone voice sent a shiver down Blotch's neck. He had almost forgotten he was on a call.
    'Lady,' Blotch lowered his voice instinctively, 'it's Minister Blotch here. I'm glad I caught you. I've got a favour to ask.'
    'A favour? A paying favour?'
    'Potentially.' Blotch flared his nostrils. People could be so indelicate about these matters. Glancing up and down the street he realised he had lost the man in the green coat. He looked back up at the church inscription and forced himself to refocus. 'If my memory serves me correctly you used to have a contact at V.'
    'Yes.'
    'Are you still in touch?'
    'The Hospital still uses V's testing centre, if that's what you mean, but you know they're not keen on me shouting it around.'
    'I'm thinking specifically of your friend Gerald who runs the centre.' For a second, Blotch worried that he had got the name wrong. He took his Book from his ear quickly and flicked a document icon from the side-menu towards the table-top.
    'Oh yes?'
    'I don't know if you've heard the news but he doesn't run the centre any more. He's had rather a nice promotion.' Blotch wiped the grimy table display with his sleeve and cast his eyes over the mail. Gerald, yes. He could barely make it out. The display looked like it had been used as a chopping board.
    'Yes, I heard.' Lady sounded hesitant. 'Perhaps I could put in a congratulatory call, but it might seem a little odd, since his new department is technically going into competition with me. And I doubt he'll be able to give you any information if that's what you're looking for. It would be helpful to know what it is you're looking for.'
    'I'm looking for…' Blotch hesitated. He wasn't exactly sure himself what it was he wanted. 'Eyes on the inside, I suppose. We don't like the idea of these "designer viruses" any more than you do. It just seems prudent to keep an eye on things, don't you think?'
    'Hm.' Lady's answer gave little away. 'Let me speak to him and get back to you. Could be a week or more. He's a busy man. He'll be even busier now.'

Chapter 5  
     
    Kester undid his tie for the third time. It was never going to look good enough because it would never be a good enough tie to wear to V. However, he thought it was a bit mad to go and spend a load of money on a new outfit when there had been talk of a corporate tailor.
    As he flipped the tie back over his head to start again, there was a metallic spang and he found himself standing in the dark. Cursing, Kester left the bathroom and paced around his small flat in an attempt to find some kind of reflective surface. He had thought he would stay in his Lambeth flat when he started at V, rather than live-in like most of the V staff, but over the last few days all the little niggles that he had learned to ignore had started to get to him again: the lack of any natural light source in the bathroom, the noise of next door's boiler kicking in at five every morning, the slight cant of the living room floor, the missing skirting board in the hall. He was preparing himself