“What?” the paralyzed woman said.
“You ripped me off from the beginning,” Webmistress said. “Or rather, Dr. Clevenger did, wherever she is. I paid her first rate and she sent me a second rate knock-off.”
“Prep… prep…”
“Preposterous? I would think so, but apparently the woman’s arrogance knows no bounds,” Webmistress said. “Sending me a clone.” She laughed. “Well… this changes some things. For one thing, it means I’ve only broken my vow once today, even if I did let you die… though I see no reason to now.”
“I… I’m still…” Markham said.
“You’re still here?” Webmistress said, not sparing her a glance. She tried to kneel down beside the stricken clone, but couldn’t manage to bend her right leg. “Damn it,” she said. She turned back to the console and hit the talk button. “Rhyme, I think it’s time we revised our agreement.”
“And what agreement would that be, exactly?” Rhyme replied from somewhere in the complex. Her voice even seemed to echo, as if it were being picked up in multiple locations. “I wasn’t aware we were operating under one.”
“Listen, we’ve both been played for fools,” Webmistress said.
“I only play the fool,” Rhyme said. “Which sets me apart from you.”
“I think you’ll be interested in…”
“I want Seven,” Rhyme said, her voice cracking.
“Seven of what?”
“I know you have her there,” Rhyme said.
“If you want the doctor, I’m afraid I have good news and bad news,” Webmistress said. “The bad news is that she’s not really here. It’s a fucking clone. The good news is that I need someone to disable whatever genetic failsafes the original built into it, and then strip it of as many unneeded organs and limbs as possible without killing it.”
“That is good news. I mean, people who need people are the luckiest people, and all that.”
“I’m trying to make you an offer here!”
“Oh, gee golly willickers,” Rhyme said. “Look at how well the last one you made turned out… for both of us.”
“Because of Clevenger’s duplicity, no pun intended,” Webmistress said. “I’m offering you a chance for a little structured play-time with her.”
“With her clone, you mean,” Rhyme said.
“The one who planned on dissecting you.”
“You’re trying to pass the job off as payment,” Rhyme said. “Work may be its own reward, but I’m not giving you something for nothing. If you want me to turn your Clev-clone into anything other than a fine red mist, I want Janie.”
“You can’t have her.”
“Oh, please don’t tell me you’ve grown accustomed to her face,” Rhyme said. “Though it’s really not a problem if you have. I’ll settle for the rest of her.”
“I haven’t decided what I’m doing with her yet,” Webmistress said. “But she’s my mistake to correct.”
“That leaves us with the basic problem of you wanting something from me and not having anything to offer me in return,” Rhyme replied. “That’s not a great bargaining posture, especially when we’re talking about a two-for-one deal.”
“Two-for-one?”
“I’m assuming you still want a cyberneticist in a jar.”
“You mean you really think you can do it? You can revive… Dr. What’s-His-Face?”
“Do it?” Rhyme repeated. “I did it thirty-five minutes ago.”
“What? Really?”
“No, but wasn’t it cool that I said the thing from the thing?” Rhyme said. “I’ve only been loose in the lab for five minutes, and I spent one minute altering the surveillance feed to show a repeating clip and the communication system to bounce my voice all over the base, and then you came on and started talking to me, so I’ve hardly had time to… oh, wait. There it goes.”
“There what goes?”
“Life.”
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