Bigga’s whisper felt like it was meant to calm herself more than anything. Harold’s feigned sickness was one thing, but he knew that keeping the change in his relationship with Echika a secret was going to be the hardest part. He’d been gambling on the fact that people wouldn’t pry too deeply, but when it came to Bigga, he couldn’t say for sure.
It’d be tricky if she ever found out about the secret.
For the first time, his system explored that possibility.
Banfield’s hotel was on the outskirts of Enontekiö. The two-story lodging facility facing the lake had a flat sort of design that reminded Harold of a British terraced house. Harold and Bigga exited the car in the mostly empty parking lot.
“Give me a minute. I’ll talk to the owner and ask for their cooperation.”
Investigator Gardener hurried into the building, leaving Harold, Bigga, and Hansa to wait at the roundabout. The sun was setting, and as darkness crept across the sky, fluttering snowflakes shone like shards of glass in the light of streetlamps.
Harold glanced over at Bigga and Hansa. For childhood friends, the two of them sure weren’t talking much. Harold could easily imagine that Bigga’s decision to wash her hands of the bio-hacking business had driven a wedge between them.
“Hansa.” Harold addressed the boy, choosing a topic of conversation based on his system’s suggestion. “I’m not very familiar with this, but how often is the aurora visible in the area?”
Hansa directed a suspicious glance at him. The boy must have been chiding himself for mistaking a machine for a human—bio-hackers were luddites who lived in technologically limited zones where there were no Amicus. And since Hansa was a beginner bio-hacker, he’d had precious few chances to go into coexistence zones where he might see them.
“Sometimes you see it, but some days it’s not visible at all.” Bigga answered for him. “Harold, have you never seen a real aurora?”
“No, I haven’t. I didn’t have the time to look at it while I was in Kautokeino.”
“Then let’s go see one next time!” Bigga said, her spirits lifting. “Oh, um, I didn’t mean just the two of us. Everyone’s welcome, of course…”
“What’s the point of a machine looking at an aurora?”
Hansa’s tone was harsh. It was clear he wasn’t amused by this situation—by Bigga showing such clear affection for Harold, a machine.
“Hansa.” Bigga frowned. “Don’t talk like that. It’s rude.”
“Rude?” Hansa looked shocked, then he flared. “Bigga, I’m helping because you asked me for a favor. Lying to my dad and convincing him to give me the car was hard. Everyone calls you a traitor, but I never—”
“I know everyone back at Kautokeino doesn’t think fondly of me anymore.” Bigga didn’t act confused, apparently understanding Hansa’s feelings. “I know I’m causing you a lot of trouble, and I’m really grateful you’re cooperating with us—”
“I never said you caused me trouble.”
“You said it was hard.”
“I did, but—” Hansa looked frustrated. “But that’s not the issue here.”
“What is the issue here, then?” Bigga was growing visibly annoyed. “Hansa, what are you getting at?”
“What I mean is! Why are you acting like that toward a machin—?”
“I’m back. She said she’ll let us into Banfield’s room.” A voice cut into their argument.
Investigator Gardener walked out of the building alongside an old woman, apparently the manager of the hotel. Bigga and Hansa glared at each other for a second, then both looked away in annoyance. Harold thought he should intervene to mediate their disagreement, but his system warned him that getting involved would just aggravate the situation.
“Is Banfield really staying here?” Harold asked Gardener.
“Yes. She called his room, but he isn’t picking up, so we’ll have to speak to him in person.”
After Gardener explained, the woman beside him walked toward the rooms, her silence clearly expressing her displeasure at the bureau suddenly forcing their demands on her. Gardener followed the old lady, and Hansa hurried after him, eager to escape the awkward mood.
Bigga looked up at Harold apologetically.
“I’m sorry, Harold. Hansa doesn’t think kindly of Amicus…”
“I don’t mind. He’s right—I am a machine, and I can’t be offended.”
Harold said this with a calm smile, but instead of cheering Bigga up, it only made her expression darken.
The guest rooms were set in the building’s eastern wing, their doors lined up on a half open-air corridor. Banfield’s room was on the first floor, and there was some light snowfall in front of it. The old lady rang the doorbell, then knocked on the door with her wrinkled fist. But as seconds stretched into minutes, there was no response from inside.
“Does the suppressant have any side effects?” Gardener asked Hansa.
“It makes some people nauseated. Sometimes, it’s so bad they can’t get out of bed.”
“You think maybe we should come back later if he’s sick?”
“Investigator Gardener, are you serious?” Bigga raised her brows in surprise. “Banfield is clearly refusing to go out because he’s got something to hide. You should be asking the manager for the master key!”
“Oh, um, I was just joking. Don’t glare at me like that.”
At Bigga’s castigation, Investigator Gardener took the master key from the old lady. He wasn’t very reliable, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. He fumbled with the keys, unlocked the door, drew an automatic pistol from his holster, and timidly stepped into the room. Fearless, Bigga tried to follow after him, but Hansa stopped her. Throwing a sidelong glance at the two, Harold walked into the room after Gardener.
The room was snug, and the lights were still on. The wallpaper was peeling in places, and the interior looked old, more tasteless than plain. There was nothing much at a glance, save for a bed with visibly weak springs, a mirror on the wall, and a small desk.
Nothing—save for Banfield, lying faceup on the floor.