Read Online Virtually True by Adam L. Penenberg - Free Book Online

what?”
    “This software. It is scarce. Very valuable.”
    “I don’t need it.”
    “And if I were to lower the price?”
    “You haven’t given me a price. But whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
    “Baba,” she sighs. “Life is hard. I lost my family, my husband, parents, sisters, brothers, uncles and aunts, cousins, everybody, yaar . You know how it is to lose your whole family, to wake up in the night, to see their faces, to hear them talk, but only in dreams? Do you know how empty life is without them?”
    Not as empty as life would have been if she’d never known them, True thinks. Or maybe having and losing is worse than never having. For some reason, images of Crick and Watson wind through his mind. But the Rajput’s words unsnag him from these thoughts.
    “My brother was a parliamentarian. I wonder what he is now. Perhaps a goat. After all, he must bear some responsibility for the war. Or a bull. He was a stubborn man.” She stops. “At least sample some technology.”
    An opening. “Answer some questions, then I’ll look at what you have.”
    The Rajput studies him. True waits patiently but feels impatient inside.
    “Come.” She motions for True to follow. Leads him down the street, her sandals sticking to mud.
    “Did you see a little girl, squattering outside night before last?”
    The Rajput doesn’t look back, calls over her shoulder. “She is now dead, is that correct?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Why do you care?”
    They pass People Protectors, and True peeks in the window to see lightweight armor plating on hangers, laser and bullet pistols lined up in a wall display, genetic-coded bombs that lock onto a target’s DNA, force fields, torture devices, an assassination’s hotline, souvenir t-shirts, sneakers. The store, like the bar whose patrons it serves, never closes: grudges, vendettas, and contracts to kill don’t always jibe with normal business hours.
    True tries again. “Did you talk with her?”
    “Yes.”
    “Was she a regular around here?”
    “No. Of that I am sure. I hadn’t seen her around this club before. She did so at perilous risk to herself. This area is protected.”
    “Protected?”
    “She was interfering with legitimate beggars who pay to work this territory.”
    “Like you?”
    “Like I.”
    “Do you think she was killed because of this?”
    She walks on, past the crumbling shell of the church. “No.” She lowers her voice when an in-line skater, grappled to an electric limo, rolls by. “But I warned her about bizzing here.”
    “What else did you talk about?”
    “I said if she continued to vex these beggars she’d soon be dead. But she wouldn’t  listen. I heard later she died begging from a filthy Muslim. I would not wish to die in that manner.”
    “She mention her name?”
    “No.”
    “Where she came from?”
    “No.”
    “Who she was waiting for?”
    She shakes her head.
    “Where she was staying?”
    “No. It didn’t come up.”
    “You don’t have any idea how I could reach her family, do you?”
    She slips into an open doorway and part way up a set of steps, many of them broken or missing, the wood decayed and decaying, names and curses carved, painted, and penned in myriad tongues, no space untouched.
    “No. And if you search the shanties, you may not get out alive.” The Rajput stoops to brush away crumbs, mud, dirt, packets of disposable air syringes and empty vials, then sits. True joins her on the stairs.
    “Now, it’s your turn.” She hands True a program card to insert into his wrist-top.
    She types in initial commands. In response to the computer’s query, Is this game program in English? She taps y , yes. The computer analyzes the card, and then the screen carries another question: This program takes up a great amount of memory. Shall I compress your other files to make room? She pecks another y . When the computer requests a password to prevent illicit copying, the woman shields True’s eyes with her free hand and