Kalifornia by Marc Laidlaw Read Free Book Online Page A

icy look. “And what are you? A born-again
Puritan? Don’t tell me what to do. Just because pleasure frightens you . . .”
    “That’s enough,” Alfredo said. “I didn’t bring you here to argue.”
    “Then why are we here, Father?” asked Miranda. “It’s what we do
best.”
    “I wanted to be with my family. I wanted to feel some of the old
magic.” He rubbed his knobby fingers roughly, as though trying to work the
knuckles out of them.
    “You’re pathetic,” said Miranda. “If you want old magic, you
should’ve summoned demons. Speaking of which, where’s that gypsy slut of
yours?”
    “Maybe you’re my demons.” Alfredo looked sharply at Cornelius.
“Where’s the baby?”
    “I’m afraid there was some trouble, sir. Poppy wouldn’t come with
me. I don’t know exactly what happened, but—”
    “Were you in a fight, Cornelius?”
    “Couldn’t be helped, sir.”
    “Poppy wasn’t violent, was she?”
    “Good grief, sir, no! There was trouble on the set of her
spin-off. It seems the baby—”
    A sudden pounding on the door startled them. A sealman poked his
head into the room and said breathlessly, “Sir, the news! Channel Ninety!”
    “What are you on about?”
    “Poppy’s child, sir. Your granddaughter.”
    “What the . . . wait a minute.” Alfredo
pressed a button on his desk. The seascape faded from the window, to be
replaced by a live projection of a wild Franchise street. Revelers raised
their glasses to the wall as if toasting the Figueroas, hamming it up for the
cameras. Sandy was grateful for the flatscreen image because he didn’t feel
like riding the wires at the moment. Most news programs were broadcast both
flat and by wire, so that viewers could either watch a sometimes violent
reality at a comfortable remove, or enter a wired journalist’s body to
participate in fast-breaking stories. He certainly didn’t want to rush into a
mob scene like the one on the wall. It looked a bit too real.
    A newscaster stepped into view. The body was female, but, like all
Channel 90 ‘casters, she wore the trademarked androgynous Channel 90 plastex
mask. The News You Need From the Face You Heed! Only
the voice and choice of attire betrayed any slight individuality, but they
weren’t enough to make any one ‘caster less indistinguishable or trustworthy
than any other.
    The newscaster was saying: “  . . . followers of the popular
program, ‘Poppy on the Run,’ will get an unexpected surprise when they tune in
for their regular feature tomorrow. The crew was recording a special
bicentennial episode in the building behind me, when trouble struck the set
tonight. We’ve known for some months that the newest Figueroa has been growing
in the womb of Poppy Figueroa, but not even industry tattlers knew until now
that the baby’s birth was timed to coincide with California’s bicentennial.”
    “I knew it was a bad idea,” Alfredo growled.
    “It wasn’t your choice,” Miranda said. “She carried the
twerp. Her contract ruled. ”
    The camera pulled back to show the exterior of an ancient hotel.
Lights glowed in some of the windows. People crowded the upper ramps of a
rickety fire escape. Below, children bounced on the padded sidewalk.
    Newsbody 90 went on: “The session went as expected, according to
the crew, with young Poppy pursued down this fire escape by actors playing the
henchmen of President McBeth. But something went wrong when she dropped the
newborn daredevil into a passing wagon.”
    “She did what?” Alfredo leaped to his feet. “What kind of stunt is
that? I never heard—We never allowed anything so stupid on our show, so
dangerous! The baby’s injured, isn’t she? God, this new vaudeville is
monstrous. . . .”
    “There’s more, sir,” said Cornelius.
    “The baby Figueroa landed safely, as far as we know.
Unfortunately, no one knows much. The unidentified wagon vanished, along with
the child. Until she’s found, the story of the Figueroa baby, like the