Altered Carbon

“I was a whore, Mr. Kovacs. A good one. A good whore feels what the client wants them to feel. There’s no room for anything else.”

I could have burst into song

memory graft and keep both sets of experience.”

I drew a bead on his throat with the Nemex

Did you spring him?”

Larkin and Green proved to be the names not of two gunsmiths, but of two streets that intersected on a leafy slope called Russian Hill. The autocab had some visitors blurb about the area, but I skipped it. Larkin & Green, Armourers since 2203 was a discreet corner façade, extending less than a half dozen metres along each street, but bordered by blinded units that looked as if they had probably been annexed. I pushed through well-cared-for wooden doors into the cool, oil-smelling interior.

“Well, well. You were in exalted company for a while, Kovacs.” She waved an arm in the direction of the male corpse. “Sleeve last registered to Dimitri Kadmin, otherwise known as Dimi the Twin. Professional assassin out of Vladivostock.”
“And the woman?”
Ortega and the mohican exchanged glances. “Ulan Bator registry?”
“Got it in one, chief.”
“Got the motherfucker.” Ortega bounced to her feet with renewed energy. “Let’s get their stacks excised and over to Fell Street. I want Dimi downloaded into Holding before midnight.” She looked back at me. “Kovacs, you may just have proved useful.”

“It’s Russian.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The script.” She came round the rack and stood beside me, looking down at the map. “This is a Russian computer-generated chart of moon landing sites. Very rare. I got it at auction. Do you like it?”
“It’s very nice. What time did you go to sleep the night your husband was shot?”

He blinked. “Oh. Yes. She barged in here, wanting something. Probably the keys to one of the limos. I’m an indulgent father, I suppose, and Naomi is my youngest.”
“How young?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Do you have many children?”
“Yes, I do. Very many.” Bancroft smiled faintly. “When you have leisure and wealth, bringing children into the world is a pure joy. I have twenty-seven sons and thirty-four daughters.”

I glanced across the landing area and saw a crowd assembled around a black-clad man on a packing crate. Holographic placards wove erratically in the air above the heads of the listeners. NO TO RESOLUTION 653!! ONLY GOD CAN RESURRECT!! D.H.F. = D.E.A.T.H. Cheers drowned out the speaker.
“What’s this?”
“Catholics,” said Ortega, lip curling. “Old-time religious sect.”
“Yeah? Never heard of them.”
“No. You wouldn’t have. They don’t believe you can digitise a human being without losing the soul.”
“Not a widespread faith then.”