Realms of Light (19 page)

Singh cocked his head. “How big is your
brother?” he asked.

“Bigger then me,” I said. “Bigger than my
father. But not really big.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Besides a ride to Prometheus?”

“Yes, besides that.”

I glared at him, then shrugged. “A
kilocredit.”

“Five.”

“Two-five.”

“Three.”

“Done.”

We shook hands, and then loaded my father
into the luggage compartment, where he would be safely out of the
way.

“Everything hurts,” he complained. “I feel
every little bump, and my legs and hands are all stiff.”

“That’s how you know you’re alive,” I
said.

“They didn’t hurt in the dream.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a dream if they did,”
Singh said, as he straightened Dad’s limbs to make him more
comfortable.

“We’re approaching the Ginza,” the cab
said.

“Let me see,” I said, and as the bubble
turned transparent and the city reappeared around us, I pulled my
gun from its holster and tapped the power switch to on.

I hadn’t specified which entrance to use, so the cab
had brought us down at the big front door on Cassiopeia Avenue, and
our arrival was the central act of a circus.

Ginza cops were everywhere, three or four
different varieties of them, and a few characters who had the look
of cops but who I didn’t think were from the Ginza. People in fancy
suits were there, as well, and I don’t think they were all on the
same side. Dozens of floaters were swooping around, or
hovering—newsies and security and spy-eyes, and advertisers that
saw a crowd forming and didn’t care why. Tourists were watching;
they probably had no idea what was going on, but thought it looked
exciting.

Add that to the usual glittering chaos of a
casino’s entrance, the stardust and holos and lightscapes.

But I didn’t see ’Chan.

“Hey,” I said into Singh’s com. “Where’s my
brother?”

“On his way.”

“We’ll wait.”

The cab asked, “Will you be
disembarking?”

“We’re staying right where we are,” I told
it. “Go ahead and charge waiting rates if you want.”

“Thank you, Mis’.”

“You’re either crazy, desperate, rich, or on
an expense account,” Singh remarked. “I’m guessing it’s an expense
account. You’re working for someone.”

“Could be more than one of those,” I
said.

“It could. You said something about rich
friends; I’m betting it’s more like a rich client.”

I glanced at him. “You know, you should be
careful about what you bet on. You might make someone angry.”

“You must know you couldn’t get out of this
with your brain intact if you didn’t have some pretty serious
backing.”

“So maybe I
want
to be reconstructed.
Maybe it’s my way of avoiding reality, since I can’t afford to buy
the dream the way my old man did.”

Singh shook his head. “You aren’t
that
crazy.”

The cab was now completely surrounded by
Ginza cops and security floaters. “Are you sure?” I asked.

He considered that for a moment, then said,
“Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good. Cab, privacy, please?”

“You do know that the city police can
override my privacy field?”

“I didn’t, but I’ll risk it. Do it.”

“Yes, mis’.” The bubble went black, plunging
us into gloom lit only by the cab’s various internal displays.

I turned back to Singh. “Here’s what I want
you to do for your three kilocredits. I’m going to talk to my
brother, and I’m going to tell him I have someone here in the cab
he needs to see. He’ll come over to look and he’ll see our dad
here—and when he does, you grab him and pull him into the cab.”

“I can do that.”

“And cabbie, the instant our new passenger is
aboard, I want you to close up and head for the port as fast as you
can. Don’t wait for further instructions. Got it?”

“Yes, mis’.”

“Good. Then drop the privacy.”

“Yes, mis’.” The bubble was transparent
again, and I looked out at a dozen guns pointed at us—and at ’Chan,
who was walking slowly across the entry plaza toward us. A woman in
a navy blue suit was walking beside him and talking while read-outs
flickered across her chest and sleeve. ’Chan was leaning toward her
slightly, obviously listening to whatever she was saying.

“Open the door,” I said.

The cab’s door slid aside, and I perched
myself in the opening with the HG-2 in my hand. “’Chan!” I
called.

“Mis’ Hsing,” the woman beside him called.
“Come out and talk.”

“Talk first,” I said. “Then maybe I’ll come
out.” As I spoke I was trying to take in as much of my surroundings
as possible, and in particular what sort of weaponry the casino
cops were displaying. It looked like about half lethal, half merely
incapacitating, which meant that they’d be willing to take me down
at the first opportunity. Killing me would mean kiloscreens of
reports and documentation and trouble with superiors who might want
to know what the hell I’d thought I was doing, but tranking me, or
otherwise shutting me down somehow, would be good for a few karma
points, so long as I didn’t manage to do any damage going down.

Which was why I had the gun turned on and
ready. If they shot me I intended to get off a shot or two of my
own before I went blank.

“Carlie, what the hell are you doing?” ’Chan
asked. He sounded both concerned and annoyed.

“Did they tell you who I kidnaped?” I
called.

’Chan glanced at his keeper—I wasn’t sure if
she was his boss as a security admin, or in a different chain of
command, or what. “No,” he called back.

“I think you should take a look.”

The woman in blue whispered something to him;
he threw her a startled glance.

“It may not be who they think it is,” I
said.

“Carlie, this is insane,” he answered.

“Come take a look, and then tell me
that.”

That definitely had his interest; he came and
looked. I leaned aside and pointed toward the luggage
compartment.

“Is that Dad?” ’Chan asked, leaning in. “They
said...”

And that was when Singh grabbed him by the
front of his worksuit and heaved him over me into the cab.

“Go!” I shouted, but I didn’t really need to;
the cab was already moving.

The door closed on ’Chan’s foot at first; we
must have been forty meters up by the time the cab was able to get
it free and Singh managed to pull ’Chan entirely in.

“I’m being ordered to land immediately,” the
cab told us.

“You tell ‘em that if you land, I’ll start
shooting.”

“They want to know whether I consider this a
credible threat.”

“I have an active gun here; what do
you
think?”

“I think I am not programmed for threat
assessment. I am reporting this conclusion to the city police.”

“It’s
city
cops now?”

“Yes, mis’.”

That was bad. I didn’t want to mess with city
cops. I glanced out through the bubble at the city zipping past.
“Is this your maximum velocity?”

“I am exceeding the posted speed limits by
the customary twenty-five percent.”

“Go to emergency maximum, please.”

“I am forbidden to do so without an order
from authorized personnel.”

“An active gun doesn’t constitute
authorization?”

“I regret to say it does not.”

I looked out and saw no fewer than four cop
cars following us—and those two black floaters. The cops seemed to
be ignoring the floaters; I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Getting from the cab into the ship was going
to be tricky.

“Privacy,” I said.

“The city police have overridden my privacy
systems.”

Damn. “They’re listening?”

“I would assume so.”

I only had to think for a second. “Listen,
cab,” I said. “I like you, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Put us
down where I point, and as soon as we’re out, get the hell out of
there. You understand?”

“Yes, mis’.”

“We’re clear on the fare and tip?”

“I believe so, mis’.”

I smiled. I did like this cab. “If you’re
coding for even more—well, how much can you take without getting
called for an ethics violation?”

“You might be surprised, mis’.”

I smiled wider. It even had something like a
sense of humor—and maybe a sense of honor, too, giving me a
graceful way to avoid wasting
too
much money. “I might, at
that. Okay, not that much, but I’m feeling generous. You charge
what seems fair.”

“Thank you, mis’.”

We were approaching the port by then. I tried
to arrange myself so that my gestures wouldn’t be visible to the
cops behind us, but I knew the onboard security cams would be
feeding to them, and they could calculate from those. “Put us down
there,” I said, pointing at the steps to
Ukiba
’s
airlock.

“Yes, mis’.”

“Carlie!” ’Chan said. “What the hell are you
doing?”

I turned to look at him; he and Singh were
thoroughly tangled on the seat beside me. Dad was leaning over the
seat-back and grinning at them.

“Getting you out,” I said. I would have said
“off this planet” if the cops hadn’t been listening. “Mis’ Singh,
can you manage both?”

Singh had straightened himself out. He looked
at ’Chan and Dad, considering. He did not look happy.

“Never mind,” I said. “Get him.” I pointed at
’Chan. “I’ll get the other.”

“Carlie, you know the implant kicked in, and
I’m paralyzed from the hips down, right?”

“I know,” I said. “You just cooperate and no
one gets hurt.”

“Oh, come on, Carlie, I’m your brother! You
aren’t...” He stopped in mid-sentence, and I don’t know whether it
was because he realized the cops were listening, or because he
suspected I really
was
that crazy.

Or maybe it’s just that he didn’t think I was
listening, because I was hauling Dad out of the rear compartment.
Dad was helping me as much as he could, but that wasn’t much.

Grandfather Nakada’s doctors were going to
have some work to do getting my family back in shape, I thought.
Assuming anyone bothered to do anything with Dad other than stick
him back in a dreamtank.

The cab was settling down right next to the
Ukiba
—I mean, close enough that my feet wouldn’t have to
touch the plastic pavement at all, I’d step straight from the cab
onto the metal steps. I heaved Dad onto my shoulder and got ready
to jump, but paused long enough to com Perkins two words—“Open up.”
I knew the cops would intercept that, but I was hoping they might
not realize I was talking to the ship rather than the cab, or that
they simply wouldn’t react quickly enough.

The cab opened up first, but only by a second
or two. By the time I was solidly on the steps and trying to climb
with my old man on my shoulder the airlock door was sliding
aside.

I was relying on the fact that the cops were
human, and had only human reaction times; the pause while they
decided whether to shoot or not gave us time to get aboard the
ship.

But only barely. Singh was right on my heels,
with ’Chan on
his
shoulder, and the first trank bounced off
the steps where his foot had been an instant before while I was
still staggering into the airlock.

We made it, though, and the airlock closed up
behind us, and the ship began moving the instant the outer door had
a good seal.

If we’d been using a commercial vessel that
would have been it, the authorities would have shut it down before
it got off the ground, but I was pretty sure Yoshio Nakada wasn’t
the sort of person who would allow that. I’d gambled that the
Ukiba
did not have any of the standard police or port
overrides—or at least, that they didn’t actually override the
ship’s own systems.

The warning sirens were howling; we could
hear them through the hull until we got through the inner door of
the lock. I hoped the newsies and cops would all realize we meant
it, and that the overrides weren’t going to stop us; I didn’t want
anyone to be hurt by the launch.

I dumped Dad on the vibrating floor as soon
as we were in the ship; he might only weigh half what he ought to,
but that was still more than I was accustomed to carrying, and the
ship’s acceleration made any movement more difficult.

Singh lowered ’Chan to the deck, too, and we
both sank down as well, and sat there leaning against the wall and
panting as the roar of atmosphere past the hull peaked, and then
began to fade.

“Mis’ Hsing?” Perkins asked over the
intercom.

“Right here,” I said. “Everyone’s aboard and
alive.”

“We’re clear of the crater and heading for
space,” Perkins said. “I’m ignoring a lot of questions and demands
from the ground.”

I nodded, not that I thought he could see it.
“Good.”

“What’s our destination?”

“American City,” I told him. “The Nakada
compound.”

“Thank you. May I ask who our passengers
are?”

I glanced around. “The one with the working
legs is Minish Singh,” I said. “He’s a passenger—I promised him a
ride off Epimetheus in exchange for his help with the others. The
skin and bone near-corpse is my biological father, Guohan Hsing; we
want to make sure he’s healthy, then get him settled into a
dreamery on Prometheus. And the last one’s my brother Sebastian,
who needs to have an implant removed before we can let him go.”

“An implant? So we’re being tracked?”

I sighed. “Perkins, we’re staying in-system.
They don’t need an implant to track us.”

“Oh. Of course not.” There was a click; I
didn’t know whether he had really broken contact, but he seemed to
be done talking.

“I assume you’ve got a surgeon lined up to
take it out,” ’Chan said.

“Not yet,” I said. “We can take care of it
when we get to Prometheus.”