Tate, meanwhile, picked up the telephone and tried Kearney’s home number. There was no answer.

He left another message.

8
The Tailor’s Cut

When Uncle Zip heard Seria Mau say the words “Dr. Haends,” he sat perfectly still for a fraction of a second. Then he shrugged. “You should bring it back,” he repeated. This was his idea of an apology. “I’ll be generous to you.”

“Uncle Zip? Do you know a Dr. Haends?”

“I never heard of him,” said Uncle Zip quickly, “and I know every tailor from here to the Core.”

“Do you think it’s military?”

“No.”

“Do you think it’s modern?”

“No.”

“So what can I do?”

Uncle Zip sighed. “I already told you: bring it back to me.”

Seria Mau felt reluctant. She felt as if some other avenue should open up for her at this point. She said:

“You’ve lost your credibility here—”

Uncle Zip threw up his hands and laughed.

“—and I want to meet this guy, this Billy Anker.”

“I should know better than to argue with a fetch!” He stared at her, still amused but suddenly alert. “First off, Billy Anker is not known to be a guy with a refund policy,” he said quietly. “In addition, he is my guy, not yours. Thirdly, he is not a cutter. You understand? What do you think you’d get from him, young woman, that you won’t get from me?”

“I don’t know, Uncle. Something. I don’t know what. But you aren’t telling me what you know. And I have to start somewhere.”

He stared at her a moment longer, and she could see him think.

Then he said, in a throwaway voice: “OK.”

“I’ve got money.”

“I don’t want money for this,” said Uncle Zip. “When I think about it this could work out for all of us. Even Billy.” He smiled to himself. “I’ll give you Billy as a favour. Maybe you’ll do me a favour sometime down the line.” He waved one hand dismissively. “It won’t be much, no problem.”

“I’d rather pay.”

Uncle Zip got gracefully to his feet.

“Don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth,” he advised her flatly. “Take my deal, I’ll let you in on Billy’s whereabouts. Maybe also his present ambitions.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Hey, don’t think too long.”

While he sat, he had balanced his accordion on his powerful thighs. Now he took it up, and got the straps back over his shoulders, and squeezed out a long introductory chord. “What’s money anyway?” he said. “Money isn’t everything. I go down to the Core, it’s five hundred light-years of money. Money all the way. They got entire planetary systems designated FTZs. They got women with two days’ training, sweating out lousy little do-it-yourself splicing kits, what for? So their kids can eat. Oh, and so Earth kids can get a legal patch at a factor five mark-up. Break the seal on the code and give themselves metabolic collapse on a Saturday night. You know what those corporates say?”