Stormland by John Shirley

Author:John Shirley [Shirley, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2021-02-12T23:27:28+00:00

Webb found Leuman in a mildewy, mostly empty storage room, just a large closet. Leuman was shivering on a small air mattress under a coarse yellow blanket. Projecting from a wall was a light bulb enmeshed in cobwebs.

Because he instinctively disliked Leuman, Webb thought about saying, Kind of a downgrade from your usual accommodations, I’m guessing . . .

But Leuman’s face was glazed with sweat, sagging with fatigue, red with fever. He looked so miserable Webb didn’t have the heart.

Instead he crouched, leaned against the doorframe, and said, “My name’s Webb. I do some investigating.”

Leuman squinted at him and licked his lips. “You going to arrest me for killing Morton?”

“Not authorized for that. Anyway, I was going to shoot him myself. He had a helluva big dangerous weapon, and he was out of control.”

Leuman nodded and winced. He closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You’re ill.”

“Some. Had some meds. They’re wearing off. I’m waiting for that fella Gerald. The nurse or whatever.”

“He’ll show up to check on you, if he knows you’re sick. So . . . I’ve gotta ask you some questions.” He took a plastic water bottle from his coat pocket, pushed it across the floor to Leuman. “Water?”

“Thanks.” Leuman, sat up, opened the bottle, drank, and dashed a little water on his face. “You want the bottle back now?”

“Keep it. I had the same bug you had, more or less. Probably won’t kill you.”

Leuman screwed the bottle shut and lay back, holding it on his chest. “I’ll take a chance you’re not some bastard poisoning me.”

“Who’d want to poison you?”

“I’ve got enemies. Some of them are competitors. And I’ve got friends I suspect are enemies. And one of them is right here in Stormland.”

“Who’d that be?”

“That weaselly prick Burkey. He’s hiding something from me.”

“Like what?”

“Wish I knew. That what you wanted to ask me about?”

“Your company—you still active in it?”

“If you mean MetaPharmia, no. Have my own thing on the side. Plan to get MetaPharmia back. And I don’t fucking care who knows it.”

“Either company do a lot of research with implants?”

“MetaPharmia sells med implants—small part of its business. Wish I’d gotten the cross-symptom implant put in, myself. Morton, he had one of our steroid implants. All standard stuff.”

“Sure. But I mean new stuff. Innovative. And brain-centered.”

Leuman licked his lips again. “There was some experimentation when I was there. We moved away from it.”

“Did you? Why?”

Leuman darted him a narrow-eyed look of suspicion. “You think I have to tell? Because I don’t. Privileged information. Corporate Science Experimentation Act of 2037. We don’t have to report experimental data to anyone. I’ll tell you this much—we stopped the project. I stopped it.” Leuman closed his eyes again. “I don’t work with implants now. I’ve got bot pills; I’m making drugs with a new method to maximize purity—real high-price boutique stuff. Cory can tell you about it.” He groaned softly. “I’m about out of steam for any kind of interrogation here, officer.”

“I’m not formally an officer. But nothing here is formal. Why’d you come here, to what’s left of Charleston?”

“Running from a storm.

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