John Kessel - Corrupting Dr. Nice(1997) by Anonymous Author

Author:Anonymous Author
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Epingsoft
Published: 2011-02-08T05:00:00+00:00

Two-faced Woman

A windowboard in Times Square flashed a big head-and-shoulders of Jesus hugging an adorable fluorescent-orange puppy. The copy followed:

Miracle Dog!

HIS Favorite—Why Not Yours?

This was the twenty-three-year-old Jesus, riding his charisma for all it was worth, oblivious to the advice of his older avatars. The ad reminded Genevieve of Max, the apartment in Toronto and her mother. She wondered if her mother was still alive.

Gen passed a man dressed in a tattered ruff and codpiece, playing a harmonica, an upturned hat in front of him. Times Square was full of displaced historicals. This would never be allowed in the privately run areas of Manhattan. The city government was looking for some corporation to sponsor mid-town, but so far nobody had bitten.

She took the escalator down to the Times Square station, ran her ward over the turnstile sensor and stepped onto the platform, reclaim the future! blared a poster pushing the upcoming metric conversion. But the poster crawled with smart paint spelling out anti-metric slogans. As she watched it switched from liters are lame! to centimeters suck!

A couple of businessmen with discreet corporate logos em-broidered on the shoulders of their dark suits made way for her. Gen had pulled her broad-brimmed hat below one eye, but her spotless white gloves and ankle-length dress of watered silk proved she was a lady. She had let her hair grow long, reddened it slightly; today it was pinned up, a few wisps curling past her ears.

The uptown train arrived. A man in a four-button suit stood to offer her his seat. Across from her sat a teenaged girl wearing a video shirt that replayed the famous sequence from the Jerusalem hostage crisis. Owen, in a martial-arts frenzy, snapped Jephthah's knee, then, hair flying, whirled toward the camera.

Above the kid a sign read, Hard Times? Pick a New One! Contact NAFTA Directory of Colonization, 001-NEWCHANCE.

The man who had sacrificed his seat noticed her gaze. "A lovely young woman like yourself doesn't need to think about emigrating," he said. Red carnation in his buttonhole, he stood, legs spread apart to balance in the swaying train, one hand resting on the knob of his black-lacquered cane.

Gen looked him in the eye. "I'm not thinking about emigration."

"You're fortunate. Because if you were short of cash, or in danger of losing your job—"

"—you could help me out. You're a public-minded man."

"Once you get to know me, you'll be impressed by the size of my . . . mind." As the train swayed through a bend, the man's hip brushed her shoulder.

Gen leaned forward. "Let me show you something."

The man lowered his head. She pulled the phony badge from her purse. "Delta Uberrasch, NYPD undercover," she said in a low voice. "Thanks for your offer of assistance. You see that man over there?" She indicated a big, square-shouldered man wearing an eyepatch. "He's a slave dealer. You can help me bring him in."

"But I—"

"When we pull into the next station, I want you to obstruct his path off the train. I'll come up behind.

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