Marlowe and the Spacewoman Read Free

database.”  The computer hummed thoughtfully for a moment.  “Well, certainly no surprises here.  One of the usual, over-the-counter neurotoxins everyone uses.  This particular blend indicates one of the more expensive brands.  You would think, given their widespread use, that the City would consider reinstating the regulations on these materials.”
    “Ah, but House, if they did that, people would start using all sorts of exotic poisons the nano probes can’t handle.  It would be much harder to counter them, and the resurrection rates would drop dramatically.”
    “As usual, your logic astounds me.”  If House had eyebrows, the tone of his rejoinder indicated he had just raised them.
    “How long was I down this time?”
    “Sixteen minutes, thirty eight seconds.  It is getting harder to repair you.  Of course, the id backup used to restore you was created this morning.  It is forty eight minutes old.”
    “You got everything on the surveillance DVs?”
    House paused a moment, as if insulted by the question.  “Of course.  I expect you’d like to watch them?”
    Marlowe clawed his way to his feet, slipped on the puddle of vomit and crashed to the floor again.  He lay there for a few minutes while the nano probes slipped back out of their storage sack and repaired the new damage.  A floor mop scampered into the bathroom during this interval, doing its best to clean up the mess without disturbing Marlowe, who was now lying in the middle of it.
    “Terribly sorry, sir,” breathed the spider-like mechanical mop.  “Forgive me, I don’t wish to disturb you,” it mumbled as some of the titanium legs pushed Marlowe gently out of the way of the wetvac abdomen that dropped to the floor to suck up the fluid.  “I do hope you’re feeling better soon,” it whispered as it scuttled back to the closet.
    The lie-down had given Marlowe’s head a chance to clear, so the second time he got up, he managed to stay up.  Having a bathroom sink to lean heavily against helped.  “Queue up the digital videos, please.”
    Marlowe wobbled on his own two feet, noticed he was wet and naked, and nearly fell over again when he reached for a towel.  The nano probes, anticipating something along these lines, had opted to put off returning to the storage sack.  They waited in eager anticipation as Marlowe grabbed a towel off the rack, patted himself dry, and then wrapped it around his waist.  It was with no small amount of disappointment that they returned to their storage sack after Marlowe successfully completed these maneuvers; the nano probes simply loved repairing things, and in Marlowe, they had found a good employer.
    Stumbling into the bedroom, Marlowe plopped down heavily on his bed, giving the nano probes a jolt of false hope that another injury had been sustained.
    “Go on, start it.”
    The far wall lit up, and Marlowe watched a life-sized video of his death unfold before him.  He watched an unsuspecting Marlowe rise from bed in his gray and blue striped pajamas, pad into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and then climb into the shower.  His pajamas immediately dissolved under the stream of solvent as video Marlowe pulled the shower door shut.  As soon as the door was closed, the image froze.  
    “I’m running the Clear algorithm on the image,” House interrupted.  “One moment, please.”
    On the wall, a very obscured Marlowe stood motionless behind the fogged glass of the shower door.  Fortunately, the glass was manufactured using a specific fogging pattern, and House was working to reverse the effect.  Marlowe had bought the algorithm to do this off  a peeping tom who worked at one of the larger shower door manufacturing facilities in the City.  House had been pretty haughty when Marlowe installed the algorithm, making unkind remarks about future unsuspecting female house guests, but who was laughing now?
    The smoky glass flickered, became clear.  The video resumed.
    Video Marlowe went