Realms of Light (5 page)

I was on my way out the door when the com
beeped. I wasn’t in that big a hurry; I turned and went back and
sat down.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Mis’ Hsing,” said a synthetic voice.
“There’s a problem.”

“Yeah?” I said again.

“Details cannot be given here, but you must
return to American City immediately.”

“I was planning to,” I told whatever it was.
There was no visual.

“You must go to where you spoke to the
floater.”

“Got it,” I said, and signed off.

If whoever it was was being that mysterious,
I didn’t want to ask any more questions. I didn’t need to, either.
It meant that someone wanted to talk to me in private. Either it
was the old man, or one of his flunkies, or else the whole
investigation had already been blown. Whoever it was didn’t want
anything important to get out on the nets.

So it was back to the dressing room.

And a couple of hours later, there I was at
the clothier.

“Number Four,” I said. “I’m
superstitious.”

The entry clerk said, “I hope you’ll find
something you
like
this time, Mis’.” I ignored the sarcasm,
but decided this time I’d pick up a little something—maybe a video
scarf. If I was going to keep meeting here, I wanted to keep my
hosts happy by buying a few things. I could even put them on the
expense account with a clear conscience.

“We’ve coded Number Four just for you,” the
clerk said. “Will you be taking your floater in again?”

I looked up, and there was the blue and
silver floater, right behind me.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’ll tell the door,” the clerk said. “You
can go right in.”

We went. The stardust still itched.
“Privacy,” I ordered when we were inside. “And kill the display, I
want to think.”

The booth obeyed. The screen over the door
told me we were private. I turned to the floater. “What’s up?” I
asked.

“Mis’ Yoshio Nakada would like to propose a
modification of your agreement.”

“No,” I said.

It fizzed, then asked, “Don’t you want to
hear what he’s suggesting?”

“No,” I said again.

It hung silently for a moment, mulling that
one over. With the privacy seal on it couldn’t ask anyone else to
help it make up its mind, so it had to work the problem out for
itself, and the neural net in a floater isn’t really made for that
sort of decision.

Eventually, though, it said, “I would like to
ask you to reconsider.”

“I don’t intend to modify the deal,” I told
it, “but we’re here, so what the hell, give me the read-out.”

That it could handle.

“Mis’ Nakada would greatly prefer to pay you
the five million credits now, in advance, and to bring Sebastian
Hsing and Guohan Hsing from Epimetheus to Prometheus only after the
investigation has been completed to Mis’ Nakada’s
satisfaction.”

That was all, and I let the silence run for a
moment.

“Why?” I asked, finally.

“I’m not sure I should tell you that,” it
said.

“Then I’m damn sure I won’t agree to the
change,” I replied.

It fizzed again, which could have meant
almost anything, and then said, “You know that Mis’ Nakada is
concerned about the integrity of the corporate software in use by
Nakada Enterprises.”

“Yeah,” I said, with a nod. “So?”

“You are aware that Guohan Hsing is
currently, by the terms of his lifetime entertainment and
maintenance contract, legally incompetent, and a ward of the
Seventh Heaven Neurosurgical Corporation. Legalities aside, he is
also in an induced coma and kept comatose but alive by machinery
owned and operated by Seventh Heaven.”

It paused, but I didn’t bother saying
anything this time. I just stared at it.

“Removing a properly-contracted ward from the
property of Seventh Heaven is not legal, except in a very few
exceptional circumstances, none of which appear to apply in this
case.”

“So?” I said. “Nakada knew that from the
start.”

The floater ignored my objection. “Sebastian
Hsing,” it said, “is employed by the Interstellar Resorts
Corporation at the Ginza Casino Hotel. IRC has classed him as
essential personnel. While he is still technically a free adult, if
he chooses to leave his job he will be in breach of contract and
subject to a fine of up to one million credits. He has not chosen
to leave. Nakada Enterprises is forbidden by city regulations to
pay his fine, should he choose to leave; to do so would leave
Nakada open to lawsuit for employee piracy, and would have serious
extra-legal consequences as well. Nakada could make an offer to buy
out his contract, and in fact, such an offer has been made. The
offer was refused; IRC is not willing to part with Sebastian
Hsing’s services at any reasonable price, and to make an offer any
higher would surely raise suspicions.”

“Go on,” I said.

“Are you recording?”

“No,” I said, which was a lie, but what the
hell.

“I believe that Yoshio Nakada had every
intention of circumventing these obstacles. However, he now has
reason to believe that the corruption of the corporate software
available to him is far more extensive than he had realized when he
spoke to you last night.”

Last night? I’d been thinking of it as
earlier today. Not relevant; I ignored that and asked, “What
reason?”

“He is unsure whether he can get Guohan and
Sebastian Hsing off Epimetheus safely, given the current means
available to him,” it said, which did not answer my question.

It shut up, and I stared at it for a
moment.

“That’s it?” I said at last.

“That’s it,” it agreed.

“But that’s stupid,” I protested. “Everything
he’d need is on Epimetheus, not in the Nakada family compound. All
he has to do is send one message to a trustworthy human on
Epimetheus!”

“No,” the floater said.

“Why the bloody hell not?” I demanded.

“Because all supposedly-secure corporate
communications between Prometheus and Epimetheus have been
affected. While he has established that there has been
interference, Mis’ Nakada is unable to determine the nature or
extent of the meddling. He attempted to contact Epimetheus after
you left last night, and discovered that he cannot tell whether he
is, in fact, speaking to a human on Epimetheus, or to a digital
simulation—his usual security tests have been compromised. This was
not the case when he made his preparations; something has changed.
He suspects that when he met with you, his absence from his usual
routines was noted and prompted this action. It now appears that
the conspiracy that... the conspiracy he is aware of is more
extensive than he thought, and there is literally no one employed
by Nakada Enterprises on Epimetheus he feels he can trust with the
assignment.”

I felt a creeping uneasiness somewhere in my
spine.

“It’s that bad?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Hsing,” the floater said, “but
Mis’ Nakada thinks it is.”

The thing’s manner had changed. It had gone
from formal and every centimeter a machine to its more familiar
self. I guessed it was because it was back in its familiar groove,
no longer stretching its instructions to the limit and telling me
things it hadn’t been told to tell me.

“If the conspiracy, or whatever it is, is
that extensive, how do I even know he sent
you
?”

“If you agree to continue on his revised
terms, he will meet you in person to verify it.”

“Fine. How the hell does he expect me to stop
it?”

“By finding the parties running it, of
course.”

I snorted. “Sure, that’s all,” I said.
“Finding the people responsible for infiltrating one of the most
powerful corporations in the galaxy, and exposing them—that’s easy,
right? Hell, maybe it
is
easy, I don’t know. I’ve never
tried it.” I grinned at the floater. “But you know what must be
pretty tricky? Staying alive while I do it. That’s got to be
tough!”

“But Hsing,” it said, “you’re good at
that.”

“Good at what?”

“At staying alive. You’re tough, Hsing—people
have tried to kill you, IRC tried to break you, but here you
are.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “The old man’s stayed
alive six times as long as I have—
he’s
the one who’s good at
it!” I shook my head. “And besides, if he can’t get ’Chan and my
father off Epimetheus, why should I work for him?”

“For the money?” the floater asked, as I
paused for breath.

“No, thanks,” I said. “Money’s nice, but so’s
maintaining decent odds of living to enjoy it. No family, no deal.
That was what we recorded.” I reached up and signaled the privacy
seal off; I didn’t see that we had anything more to talk about.
“Guess I’ll be buzzing back to Alderstadt,” I said. “Good luck to
your boss.”

“Hsing, wait,” the floater said.

I didn’t answer, I just headed for the door
of the booth.

“Hsing,
please
,” it said. “I’m talking
to him now. Could you wait? He may have an offer to make.”

“What can he offer?” I asked, my hand on the
door.

“Hsing,” the floater said, “he does have an
offer.”

“I don’t care,” I said.

“You will,” it stated flatly.

I hesitated, then turned back.

“All right,” I said. “Boot it up. What’s the
offer?”

“You get an unlimited expense account,” it
said. “The corporation will pay any fines, bail you out, anything.
You investigate the infiltration, conspiracy, whatever it is—on
Epimetheus. There has definitely been covert activity there. And
while you’re there...”

“I get them out myself,” I finished.

I stared at the machine while I thought it
over, stared at the metal that gleamed pink in the booth’s light,
and the blue plastic that looked almost as black as the plastic
streets of Trap Under.

“You’ve got a deal,” I said at last.

I’d never seen Epimetheus from space before; when
I’d left I hadn’t bothered to look.

I looked this time, and decided I hadn’t
missed much.

The ship I was in was Grandfather Nakada’s
private yacht; the old man had personally escorted me aboard to
hand over command. It had all the luxuries, including a live pilot,
just in case the old man wanted something the software couldn’t
handle. The pilot was a redheaded roundeye, tall, with a face I
could live with that wouldn’t win any awards, 100% natural as far
as I could tell. When I asked, the ship told me his name was Colby
Perkins.

Wasn’t sure I’d heard it right at first, and
since the man himself wandered in just then I asked, “Your name’s
Pickens?”

“It’s Perkins,” he told me, blinking those
pale blue eyes of his—strange how many colors eyes can come in, but
usually don’t. “Colby Perkins.”

“Perkins,” I said. “Got it. I knew someone
named Pickens once, wondered if you were any relation.”

“No, Mis’, it’s not the same name at all.” He
seemed a little uneasy about something, wouldn’t keep his eyes on
me, but it didn’t look serious. Maybe he just wasn’t used to
passengers.

Or maybe I’m uglier than I thought.

At least he wasn’t family to Zar Pickens, who
welshed on me back on Epimetheus; I wouldn’t want anyone who shared
ancestors with that human gritware to be piloting any ship I was
on.

Whatever, I didn’t need to make him
uncomfortable, so I looked out the window, and he went away.

Yes, window. Nakada’s yacht had big, fancy
windows in the lounge, not just vid or holo. I could watch
realtime, direct and live, as we came in across the nightside and
headed for the field in Nightside City.

There wasn’t much to see. Just a lot of
darkness, and a seething mass of silver-gray clouds in a gigantic
ring at the storm line. If you get out further and look straight
down at the midnight pole the planet must look like a practice
target, with the pale slushcap at the pole, and then the dark stone
around it, and then the circle of clouds where everything
precipitates out of the upper-level air currents, and then dark
stone again, and finally the bright line of the dayside at the
edge. I suppose there would be occasional pixels of light at the
various settlements, too.

I never saw it from that angle, though; we
came in low so it was just black and grey, no details anywhere
until the lights of Nightside City sparkled on the horizon, and an
instant later the light of day spread across behind the city in a
long, widening arc like a cadcam construction, hot and golden.

I don’t like daylight, so I didn’t look any
more after that. I let Perkins, or maybe the ship, take us into
port, and when we were down I hit the ground. I wanted to move
fast. The old familiar gravity made me feel light on my feet, ready
to run.

One thing about the Wheeler Drive—it’s so
fast that I hadn’t had time to plan much on the way. I’d taken in
some data on Nakada’s immediate family, but that was about it. I
came out of the port without any very clear idea of just what I was
going to do.

I could eat and sleep on the ship, if I
wanted to—I’d made sure that was understood. I didn’t have to worry
about finding somewhere to park myself.

All I had to do was find ’Chan and my father
and get them out of there, and if I happened to learn anything
about the conspiracy against Grandfather Nakada while the program
was running, that was fine and smooth. I was supposed to
investigate the conspiracy, sure, but all I really intended to do
was take a quick look, because the odds were way the hell up there
that the important stuff was back on Prometheus. As far as I was
concerned, I’d just come for my family.

So where to start?

My father was in a Seventh Heaven dreamtank
somewhere in Trap Under. ’Chan was at the Ginza, working for IRC.
Neither one was all that easy to pull loose.

But ’Chan would be faster—all I had to do
there was convince him to make a run to the ship, and get him
off-planet before IRC stopped us. Once we were off Epimetheus,
Nakada could debug whatever IRC might want to do.