The Night Mayor Read Online Free PDF Page B

feeding a false vision of someone reassuring into the doorstop view had always been a favoured method of entry. Susan had the Household admit Juliet, and met the woman in the hallway.
    The andrew stayed outside.
    ‘I am obliged by law to inform you that the Gunmint requests you volunteer your services.’ Juliet was reading off the inside of a contact lens. ‘Should you refuse, no penalties or proscriptions will be enforced. However, you will be required to pay back the fee that has already been awarded you… plus bank charges, plus inflation increment, plus tax.’
    Susan smiled at the rote speech. Offhand, she couldn’t think of anyone who had refused their Conscription. Who knows, maybe the Gunmint were telling the truth in their official disclaimer. Maybe all you stood to lose was some money. Somehow, though, she didn’t relish the opportunity to become a test case. After all, the lower-case v for volunteer in the standard speech didn’t entirely cancel out the capitalised C for Conscription.
    Juliet held out a formslab. Susan didn’t bother to read the blurb.
    ‘Thumb here, please,’ the marshal said. Susan pressed a square recess, and felt the flickerflash as the slab scanned her print and psycho-chemical balance. It agreed that she was indeed Susan Bishopric, and beeped encouragingly. Juliet allowed herself a tight smile.
    After running a cross-check on Susan’s retinal pattern, she gave her ten minutes to pack an overnight hold-all. Annoyingly, the marshal wasn’t authorised to tell her anything that might help her choose what to take. She picked a minimal toilet set (toothbrite, cleanses, pills) and a change of clothe, ummed and ahhed over make-up before making a snap decision she would regret before she was even out of the house, picked out a handful of musics from the pile (Debbie Reynolds, Peggy Lee, Connie Francis, Dick Powell) and threw the book she was reading
(Headlong Hall
by Thomas Love Peacock) on top of everything. When it was presented to her, Juliet perfunctorily searched the bag, and raised a plucked eyebrow at the book.
    ‘You read?’
    ‘Yes, I’m interested in aesthetic archaeology.’
    Juliet flashed an enigmatic expression, and handed the bag to the black-and-silver andrew. Its face was a cheerful tridvid photograph. They were supposed to be all the same, taken from some square-jawed male model. However, their keepers couldn’t resist giving them individual externals. This one had a black-inked gap in its open smile, and heavily scribbled eyebrows.
    The marshal looked around while Susan programmed the Household not to admit anyone until it received her countersign and palmprint. She fed in the standing orders for dusting, message receipt and feeding the fish. Juliet was plainly taken with the luxury. Susan could imagine the kind of flat the Gunmint would provide its minor functionaries: a GP couch and a foodhole in the wall. Although, tagging the coiled-spring tautness of the younger woman’s body and her confidence with the tools of her trade, Susan wondered whether Juliet might not rate more preferential treatment. In a humourless sort of way, Juliet reminded her of Vanessa Vail. She wore no rank insignia, and Susan intuited that the marshal felt she was on very important business indeed.
    ‘Well,’ said Susan, ‘shall we go?’
    ‘Right away, Ms Bishopric.’
    The andrew strode out first, Susan followed, with Juliet last out. Susan was uncomfortably aware that the possibility of her making a bolt for liberty had been taken into account. The marshal stood aside while Susan sealed the door. The electrodes crackled, and shutters came down over the windows. The Household defence system came on line. If she turned round, Susan felt that she would find Juliet’s hand resting lightly on the butt of her taser, a polished red fingernail on the safety. Such intuitions were part of the Talent – she had long since got used to them. Not once had she been able to divine anything useful,