Just Compensation

by Robert N. Charrette

  Trust seemed to be a big issue all of a sudden. The runners hadn’t trusted him. Apparently, the big T didn’t either. Who the hell could he trust?

  The busy work that he’d been set could be a manifestation of the trust issue. What if the Telestrian honchos suspected he’d been a part of the datasteal but didn’t know! What if they were keeping him away from anything important while they investigated? They might—who was he kidding?—they would want to keep things quiet. A publicized data theft could cost a corp mega-nuyen in the stock market.

  Too much speculation. Too much unknown. He had to know where he stood.

  He would start with his own corporate personnel file. Everyone had direct access to their own files through their System Identification Numbers, but Andy didn’t think direct access would get him anything. If he were under suspicion, there wouldn’t be anything in his file to alert him—nothing he could access directly, anyway. Going in through another Telestrian access code would offer him the chance to see whether other members of the corporation were being warned about him. Fortunately, he had a TAC other than his own: Russ’s, cadged almost two years ago from an unintentionally active terminal in the ready room. At the time, Andy had thought he might someday want to see what his boss was saying about him, but he hadn’t had the nerve to use it until now. Today seemed to be the day to try it.

  He accessed using the TAC and nothing jumped him. Encouraged, Andy called up his file. He found no alerts and nothing he could reasonably call cautionary notes—until he took advantage of Russ’s access and did a review of his file’s background structure and found a watchdog alarm and a tag-along with a relay tracer stuck to the file’s access gate. The watchdog would tell whoever had set it that someone had accessed the file, and the tag-along would be set to follow the trespasser wherever he went in the Matrix after that, letting the relay tracer ship out bulletins on his activity whenever convenient. It was the Matrix equivalent of a “tail.” commonly used by security operations that wanted to observe somebody’s Matrix activities. Observing the placement of the programs, Andy decided they didn’t belong to Telestrian matrix security; security’s watchdogs would be embedded in the file rather than tacked on.

  If Telestrian security hadn’t set this trap, who had? The runners? That didn’t make sense; what did they care about him now? Some rival to the runners, hoping to access them through Andy? That made only marginally more sense. Whoever had set the watchdog must think Andy knew something. Considering the holes in his memory, the joke was on them.

  But it might not be. He was unaware of anything that might be important enough for shadow action, but he might not understand the importance of something he knew. He understood how “the biz” could work. Nobody would take his word that he was ignorant. If whoever wanted to tail him were serious—and he had every reason to believe they were—they could decide to use his family to persuade him to cooperate. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to cooperate—but would they believe that? Unlikely. And even if he did babble everything he knew, what did he know? Nothing. Certainly not enough to please whoever was after him. They would lean on his family. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let his mother and sisters be hurt.

  So what could he do?

  He studied the watchdog and tag-along. The sophistication of the stuff on his file suggested that he would be outmatched going head-to-head with whatever decker had done the work Though he was a good enough decker, rigging was Andy’s talent. Even with more time and better hardware than he had available, he might not be able to get into anything the decker had protected. Chasing down and identifying his hunters wasn’t an option, and waiting for them to come calling wasn’t bright.

  Every corner he turned revealed something new to worry him. He felt more than a little out of his depth.

  He could go to Telestrian security. They’d be very happy to get their hands on someone who’d penetrated the big T matrix. But unfortunately, having been used by the runners, Andy fit that description, too. Not an option.

  Too bad he didn’t have Buckhead and Feather to turn to, but this was no virtual adventure. Adventures were supposed to be fun, not scary. This was real.

  And scary.

  Andy the shadowrunner would have plotted a course of action in a microsecond and executed the plan regardless of consequences, but the real-world Andy couldn’t do that. He dithered, unsure how to find a safe course. Finally he realized he was wrong to look for a safe course, because there weren’t any. He wished he could ask Andy the shadowrunner for a better solution, but make-believe answers couldn’t solve real problems.

  Maybe his virtual shadowrunning had an answer for him after all. He’d played enough games to understand some of the rules of shadow business, and though he knew that the mirror of virtuality wasn’t a true one, he also knew that the basic principles of strategy applied in or out of the Matrix. As if in a dream, he saw a way out.

  After examining the idea and looking for weaknesses, he decided it had a chance. It was drastic, but it could make sure his family wouldn’t get dragged into the quagmire developing around him. Making it happen would take a lot of work and would stretch his skills to the limit, but he figured he could do it if his nerve held out.

  Taking advantage of Russ’s code, Andy set out to do some serious decking. It was three in the morning before he was finished.

  He didn’t have a lot of time left. The fake ID he’d constructed using Russ’s TAC would get wiped out in the morning system update, which was just two hours away.

  He headed back to the apartment. It was still, and he did nothing to disturb the silence. His mother wasn’t waiting up for him this time; a simple call to the Location Centrex would have told her that Andy was still safe within the Telestrian East complex and on an extended work shift. But he wasn’t safe. None of them were, nor would they be unless his plan worked.

  From his room he gathered the belongings he thought would be useful. There wasn’t much, which was fine, because he couldn’t carry much without looking suspicious. He selected clothes he thought would hold up well and help him blend in. Of all the stuff he was taking, the most important items were his Sony CTY-370 cyberdeck and his tool kit. They filled most of his bag, so he really didn’t have any choice but to travel light. Lastly he took the Narcoject replica and some of the talismans he’d bought during his Verner phase. The gun wasn’t real, but it looked like it might be, and the talismans—who really knew?

  Despite what he’d told his sisters, he hadn’t trashed the talismans; saving them had been a whim, and maybe that fancy would pay off. They were supposed to be protections from spells and malign spirits. He’d been assured they were real when he’d bought them, but he was a mundane—how could he tell? They might be real; and if they were, they’d help. Lord knew he needed all the help he could get.

  After all, if things went as expected, he’d be dead within the hour.

  >>NEWSNET DEEP BACKGROUND FILE GOBLINIZATION

  The thirtieth of April 2021 was a day unparalleled in recorded history. Today that date is known worldwide as Goblinization Day. Despite the growing movement on the part of certain minorities to have the date declared a holiday, it is not a date remembered fondly by those whose lives were thrown into turmoil. For on that day millions of ordinary people changed and became something different. Homo sapiens has not meant the same thing since.

  Although estimates vary, it is generally conceded that at least ten percent of the human population of our planet underwent metamorphosis on that single day, with a further twenty percent beginning more prolonged somatic transformations. We have come to refer to the Changed variants as metatypes. Most of the Changed became what are commonly called “orks” (H. sapiens robustus), and the second most common metatype (H. sapiens ingentis) is often called a “troll.” But there have been a bewildering variety of Changed, ranging from those who remain almost indistinguishable from basic human stock to those about whom it is hard to see anything human. Despite striking phy
sical differences, research has shown that the common metatypes, while breeding true within a metatype, remain capable of breding with H. sapiens sapiens, thereby maintaining all the variety within the scientific definition of a species.

  In 2021, the new magical age was only a decade old, and much that we take for granted today was new or even unknown. The Change was dreadful and awesome, and could not but inspire panic. Terror infected homes, businesses, schools, and the streets. Families were torn apart, sometimes literally, by the mobs or deranged victims of the Change. Anguish and fear ruled the day. Now, a generation later, all that has changed—>>>>>FILE INTERRUPT: “Bullshit sayeth the oppressed.”—Trogs Ober Norms<<<<<

  10

  The orders for Tom’s leave came through on 19 August, nearly three weeks after he should have gotten them. Tom was happy to see them until he noticed they were marked “hardship due to death of family member.” He was sure it was his grandfather until he read the accompanying e-mail from his sister Genifer. The old warhorse was alive and kicking. In fact, it had been his influence, with Genifer pulling the strings, that had gotten Tom’s leave approved. It wasn’t the way Tom had wanted to get his leave, but with the orders cut, he didn’t see much point in kicking up a fuss.

  The deceased was Andy Walker, his half-brother and youngest of their four half-siblings. Tom wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable social occasions connected with the funeral; he’d never been involved with that part of the “family.” Such contact as he’d had with that “side” had always come through Genifer’s machinations.

  He and his sister had often fought about her attempts to make a family out of all of Matthew Walker’s children; she complaining about his lack of sympathy and love, and he countering with her lack of sense and family pride. The bouts never solved anything. She kept trying, he kept dodging. She remained unwilling to believe that Tom had no interest in the affairs of their father’s second family, or that he wanted no part of anything to do with the bastard who had sired them.

  He was using tickets Genifer had arranged, riding a Can-American commuter flight into Balt-Wash Airport. Like the leave, the pre-paid tickets were a fait accompli. Genifer’s style. She knew he would have preferred a military transport into Andrews, just as she knew he wouldn’t arrange the military flight anyway and pocket the price of the tickets. They knew each other too well, which was why he was sure she’d be waiting when he deplaned.

  Which she was.

  He spotted her among the clump of folk standing outside the security barrier. He couldn’t miss that hair. She had the same raven hair he did, though she wore it a lot longer, and she still had the frosted streak she’d adopted during her rebellious period after their mother had died. The sight awoke memories.

  Genifer had been a holy terror the first year after their mother’s death on the Night of Rage in ’39. They’d been living with their grandparents, as they had since their father had deserted the family. But with Mom gone things changed. Despairing of Genifer’s avowed intention to dump school and go live on the streets as soon as she was fully legal, Gram had spent a lot of time predicting that Genifer would be the death of her. Gramps had just nodded quietly through the storms, though he had once privately confided to Tom that he thought Genifer was just taking their mother’s death a bit too hard. Gramps didn’t much care for hysteria in the family women. “Genifer has some of her father’s blood.” the old man had said. “And blood will tell.” But the General had been wrong—not about their parentage, of course, but about its necessary result. Neither Genifer nor Tom had ever shown their father’s blood, remaining unchanged, normal people.

  The Change was something Tom had spent years fearing. His father had goblinized into an ork, and it had damn near killed his mother. The Change had destroyed his parents’ marriage. Fortunately Tom’s grandparents had taken in his mother and her children, and Tom had a good family to grow up in—no thanks to Matthew Walker, his father. The drunken ork had shown up on Tom’s eleventh birthday, shattering Tom’s belief that his father was dead. For Tom it had been the beginning of eleven years of nightmares as he waited to goblinize. It wasn’t until he was a year older than Matthew had been when it happened to him that Tom was sure he was safe from that fate. He thanked God for it every day in the almost decade and a half since. He still didn’t like orks—or his father.

  But old nightmares weren’t suitable for a fine, hot, summer day. He watched Genifer’s face light up as she spotted him. He put on a smile for her.

  “Hello, Tommy.”

  The childhood diminutive was something he let her get away with. She hated any diminutive form of her name, so Tom only used one when he wanted to get her angry. This wasn’t the time or place for that.

  “Long time, Genifer.”

  “Too long, Tom.”

  She seemed hesitant and unsure; he decided they needed an ice-breaker. “You’re looking good—for an older sister, I mean.”

  “What would you know about it, soldier boy?” she asked, picking up on his bantering tone. “I hear your kind thinks anything with the right equipment looks good.”

  “You’ve been listening to the wrong people. I’ve got some discrimination, you know. Can’t you see the uniform?”

  “I see it.”

  “Yeah? Then how’d you mistake me for Navy?”

  She frowned mock anger at him and tried to slug his shoulder. He slipped her punch and wrapped her in a bear hug. She hugged him back. Despite his joking, she did look good, and he was glad she’d come to meet him. Maybe he had stayed away too long.

  “Where’s the General?” he asked as they walked through the terminal. He’d hoped their grandfather would be with her.

  “You know him.” Genifer said with a theatrical roll of her eyes. “He wouldn’t come into the terminal. He’s waiting with the car.”

  “Orbiting the terminal?”

  She nodded. “Wouldn’t do to pay those usurious rates for parking. Are all army men crazy about spending money, or is it just Rocquettes?”

  “Probably everyone. Too many years of budget cuts. Pinching pennies gets to be a habit.” He shrugged. “You didn’t have to buy the tickets.”

  “Didn’t I? Would you have come otherwise, Major Frugal Soldier?”

  “Soldiers, frugal or otherwise, don’t pass up leave.”

  “But they don’t like going to funerals, either. I needed the insurance that you’d come here, instead of heading for some trashy Club Carib resort to chase elven bimbos.”

  “You know I wouldn’t even think of that.” he said, turning to follow the passage of a young elf moving in the other direction along the concourse. Genifer punched him in the shoulder. In fact, women, elven or otherwise, had held little attraction for him since Winona died. Eleven years, and he still didn't feel ready, which neither surprised not upset him. But he knew how to pretend, which is what he’d just done, in order to keep Genifer off his back on the issue. Someday he’d be ready for another relationship; just not yet.

  “Gramps will be waiting and wondering where we are.” Tom said to get her thinking about other things.

  If not wondering, Gramps was at least waiting. The vintage Mitsubishi Gallant, the Rocquette family’s fancy transportation for the past fifteen years, was pulled over at the end of the passenger pickup area. A bit older, a bit more battered and shopworn, but still running; just like its owner. He sat behind the wheel, his white hair quite a bit thinner than Tom remembered. His grandfather must have been watching in the rear view mirror, because he got out of the car and waved as soon as Tom and Genifer hit the sidewalk. As they approached, he drew himself up into a salute. Even without the salute, the casual clothes would have failed to disguise the General’s military bearing. Tom halted and snapped back a salute of his own.

  “Welcome home, Major Rocquette.” the General said with a smile.

  “Been too long, General.” Tom’s doubt of that vanished. If was good to see the General, good to be home.

  While they
shook hands, the General said, “Good to have you home, Tom. Haven’t see nearly enough of you these past few years.”

  “You know what the life’s like, General.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  They locked eyes for a moment. They both knew that Tom’s excuses were just that; but the General was too big a man to say anything about it, and Tom wasn’t ready to. He changed the subject.

  “How’s Gram?”

  “Cranky.” The General winked. “But no more than usual, for which the Lord be thanked. She’s anxious to see her only grandson.”

  “Then let’s get going.” Tom said, stepping between the General and the driver’s door. “I’ll drive.”

  The General shook his head in resignation. “Getting you your slot at the Point was the last thing you let me do for you.”

  “And I wouldn’t have allowed that, if I’d known.” Tom said, not for the first time.

  “You can have the front, Gramps.” Genifer said, tugging open the rear passenger door.

  They made good time out to Columbia and the Rocquette house. Gramps filled the time telling Tom about his latest woodworking projects. It wasn’t a subject that much interested Tom, but he was willing to listen for the old man’s sake. Genifer called ahead, and Gram had tea and cookies ready when they arrived. Tom was expecting to have the evening to relax, but before the tea was cold, Genifer brought the conversation back around to the funeral and insisted that Tom go with her to the last night of the viewing. He argued that attendance at the funeral was sufficient, given the relationship, but Genifer was having none of that.

  “Andy was our brother.” she insisted.

  He tried looking to his grandparents for support, but they stayed prudently neutral. “Up to you, Tom.” his grandfather said, which meant he wasn’t willing to cross Genifer on this one. Ultimately Tom decided he wasn’t either, but he drew the line at wearing a suit instead of his uniform. He was, after all, what he was.