The Resurrected Man by Sean Williams

alert.
    â€œYou really should use a voice synthesiser, Odi,” she said. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
    â€œA couple of hours, here and there.”
    She doubted it was that much. “I'll do what you want this time. Out of pity.”
    â€œThat's very kind of you.”
    She walked from her kitchenette to the bathroom and turned on the shower. “Let me get ready. I'll call you in fifteen minutes with a list of hardware.”
    â€œDo that. But don't go overboard. There really is nothing special about this one. I hope there won't be any more surprises waiting for you today.”
    I won't bet on it , she had thought, stepping into the shower to scrub herself clean and to apply nanofood to her scalp. If there was one thing she had learnt in the last forty-eight hours, it was to assume nothing.
    The foyer of the EJC building was empty apart from two sentry robots guarding bulletproof glass doors leading out into the street. The sentries were slim, matte-grey machines suspended like sleeping bats from runners in the high ceiling, weapons folded at their sides in perpetual readiness. Neither of them moved as she and Fassini approached, but she knew they were being closely watched.
    â€œDo we need to check in with the locals?” she asked.
    â€œAll done.” Fassini grinned at her breaking of the silence. “They're pretty relaxed here. It's not as if we're making a bust or anything else that might encroach upon their jurisdiction. That doesn't mean they'll let us d-mat to the site, but it's no big problem taking a car the rest of the way.”
    The glass doors slid open, letting in a blast of hot, humid air. Marylin winced as sunlight struck her full in the face. Her partner touched her arm, guiding her to where the vehicle—a white four-seater sedan—waited for them.
    â€œGive me the rundown. You're more used to this than I am.”
    â€œYeah, it feels weird having you here instead of piggybacking.” The street-side door of the car opened to let them in. Fassini slid across the rear seat, dragging his shirttails after him. “Can't help but wonder why.”
    â€œLikewise.” Marylin chose to sit on the same seat as Fassini, placing the briefcase between them. She preferred to see where she was headed rather than where she had been. “Blame upstairs, not me.”
    â€œThey're checking up on me?”
    â€œNo, but it's not a social visit either.” The door slid shut, enclosing them both in a bubble of cool air. As soon as they had settled, the car slid silently away from the curb. He had obviously programmed the destination in advance. “The rundown, Jason.”
    â€œRight, right.” He winked. “Her name is Yoland Suche-Thomas. You know that already, I presume?”
    â€œYes. Age thirty-four, no dependants, an employee of NuSense. I gather she writes CRE scripts—which should please you.”
    â€œWrong genre. She's into romance, not drama.”
    â€œNot so far apart, sometimes.” She slid the briefcase onto the seat opposite. “Go on.”
    â€œWe got her address from a contact in NuSense itself. GLITCH says she works from home, so the chances are good we'll find her there.”
    Marylin nodded, inwardly cursing the von Trojan laws that prevented them from tracking the woman's UGI directly without her permission. “We'll manage.”
    â€œI guess we'll have to.” His grin flashed. “You've seen the autopsy report?”
    This time she could say she had. Yoland Suche-Thomas was blonde, attractive, and bore more than a passing resemblance to the other victims. She had also been tortured over a prolonged period, maybe as many as five days, and had ultimately died from thirst. Her tissues contained traces of common pharmaceuticals and repair agents, confirming that the Twinmaker had administered enough first aid to keep her alive until he had finished with her. The barely visible scars on