Just Compensation

by Robert N. Charrette

  “Are you really the Dodger?”

  “ ’Tis a name to which I answer.” the ebon boy replied as he took a seat at the now-vacant table over which Zagfoot had presided. “Pray, sir, take a seat and tell me how you are called.”

  “Cee-three.” Andy said, pleased he’d remembered to use the variant on his usual Cee-cubed as he he’d intended. He took the seat across the table from the Dodger. He didn’t want to seem too familiar.

  The ebon boy’s lips quirked into a curious half-smile. “Last name P-O, by some chance?”

  “No.” Andy replied. Had he made a mistake? Was there another Cee-three? “Why?”

  “Have no care for my remark. ’Tis but a jocular reference and of no consequence.” The ebon boy regarded Andy for a moment before speaking again. “ ’Tis passing strange that you are known by but a letter and a number? Such things are no names, certainly not for free folk such as you and I; thus we must dismiss the number out of hand, good sir. C, you have said? As in the gleaming cyberman all studded with cylinders that you appear to be? Nay, trouble not to answer, for ’tis none of my business. However, it is, I must assume, my honor to make your acquaintance, Master Cylinder.” The glittering cloak whirled with a flourish as the ebon boy bowed. “You are, I would venture to say, somewhat new to these digital domains. As you have learned, that ruffian Zagfoot likes no better prey.”

  Andy denied he was a newbie, but he knew the Dodger wouldn’t believe him.

  “You show spirit to jest, but ’tis only a jest. Plain truth is not so easily hidden, for though he is a lout, Churl Zagfoot was correct. ’Tis plain to see that for a deck as leaky as yours, you have invested far too heavily in your icon. The error of a novice. You would be well advised to make some adjustments ere next you venture forth.”

  Andy would do that. “Do you have any other advice for me?”

  “I? I never give advice.” The ebon boy smiled, showing gleaming, midnight teeth. “Not without remuneration, that is. Free advice is treated with the respect given all that comes at no cost.”

  “I’d be willing to pay for good advice from someone who really knows his way around.” Andy said, doubting he could offer enough to pay for such a famous decker’s time.

  “Truly?”

  “Yeah. Some.”

  “ ’Tis said that a true knight aids the downtrodden for virtue’s sake and the simple sake of the needy unfortunate. Alas, ’tis my misfortune that you see me not as a true knight. ’Tis, mayhap, my greater misfortune that you see truth.” A pause. The ebon boy’s expression grew serious. “You said you had funds.”

  Andy produced a virtual credstick, previously limited to half his available funds. He hoped it would be enough to persuade the Dodger to help him. He thought about adding more—the Dodger’s help could be invaluable—but he decided to do so just after setting the credstick on the table. It was too late then to snatch it back; it would be too unchill.

  Jet fingers caressed Andy’s credstick for a moment, then retreated. The Dodger sat quietly for so long that Andy feared his meager offering had offended him.

  “How curious.” the ebon boy said softly. “You are Telestrian.”

  “How do you know that?” Andy blurted out. “Technomancy.” said the ebon boy with a negligent wave of a hand. “ ’Tis true then?”

  “Ex-Telestrian.” Andy said. When the Dodger made no reply, he added, “Chiptruth. I don’t work for anybody. But I’d like to. If you get my meaning.”

  “You will work for no one while you retain ties to Telestrian.”

  “I told you. I’m history with the corp. I’m a free agent.”

  “ ’Twould make me happier ’twere true.”

  “I don’t know how I could prove it to you.”

  “Can you not?”

  Andy really didn’t know how. “No, I can’t.”

  “Will you not offer me an open portal to their secrets? You are so recently come from their employ, surely your codes and protocols have not all faded. Such an offer would be worth far more than this.” The ebon boy rolled the credstick at Andy.

  Andy hadn’t even thought of making such an offer. He could have. Though his legitimate codes and accesses would have been trashed as soon as his “death” was logged, he’d left himself a few back doors. He could still get into the system. “If that’s the price of your help, maybe we can arrange something. But I won’t help you steal anything from them.” The ebon boy inclined his head slightly. “I see. You shall open the door and stand aside while I alone enter to loot and pillage.”

  “Something like that.”

  “ ’Tis an arrangement with which I have a passing familiarity. And in return you only ask advice? A small, inconsequential price. Pray tell, what sort of advice do you seek?” It sounded as if the Dodger was going to help him. This trip to Nell’s Basement was turning out far better than Andy could have hoped.

  “I want to meet some people.” Andy said. “The kind of people I’ll need to know, to survive on the street and to get into the biz. You know, the kind of people you’d be willing to work with.”

  “Perhaps those very same folk with whom I associate?”

  “That’d be wiz! If you’d be willing. I mean, I don’t want to take any biz from you, but, geez, to get an in with the Dodger’s connections. Who would have thought?”

  “Who, indeed. And nothing else?”

  Andy couldn’t believe how accommodating the Dodger was being.

  “Well . . .” There was something else praying on his mind. He wasn’t sure he’d been completely successful in wiping out his tracks. If someone discovered that he’d faked his death—

  “If you could help me make sure I’m a shadow.”

  The ebon boy gave him a toothy smile. “There are many ways of ensuring that.”

  Didn’t Andy know it! “I think I covered all the bases, but someone put a watch on me before I cut out. I don’t know who, but I want to. I want to make sure they don’t have anything to use on me. And I’d like to know why they were looking and what they found.”

  “All laudable goals.” From beneath his cloak, the ebon boy produced a chromium ferret. “This is a hunter program. It is very good at tracing connections, if somewhat shortlived, and is primed to bite the hand that tampers with it. One must preserve one’s secrets, as I am sure you understand. I can set this fine beast to find any files associated with yourself, including trails left by your hunters, if you provide the proper source codes. Will that be sufficient?”

  “Sounds great.” Andy reached across the table to take the ferret, but the ebon boy didn’t offer it.

  “The codes are necessary to prime it.”

  “Right.” Andy handed across a virtual facsimile of his old corporate identification tag.

  In the Dodger’s hand, it transmogrified into something that looked like cat food. He fed it to the ferret, placed the beast on the table, and patted its rump. It humped across the table to Andy. "The ferret is yours to use before the morrow’s dawn.”

  “Wiz!” Andy gathered in the ferret, popping open a panel in the Exterminator’s central chassis to provide the beast a home. “What about the connections?”

  “First, show me your magic portal.”

  That seemed fair. The Dodger had already helped him, now it was Andy’s turn to hold up some of the bargain. They departed Nell’s Basement and flew across the Matrix to the Telestrian system. The Cyberdyne branch was a molten gold oak tree, hanging root and branch in the electron sky. Andy leading, they ducked below the roots and wove in among the tangled mess. When he found the right point—his second safest way back in—Andy showed the back door to the Dodger. The ebon boy stopped to examine the doorway. “Nice work.”

  The compliment from the Dodger caught him off-guard. To be praised by one of the greatest legends of the Matrix was high praise indeed! Maybe Andy did have a future as a runner.

  But he clearly had a lot to learn. The Dodger was spending a long time at the doorway. Andy had expected him to duck
in and be on his way, doing whatever he was intending to do in the Telestrian system.

  “What are you doing?” Andy asked.

  “Taking precautions.” the Dodger answered amicably. “Something a wise man does often, Master Cylinder.”

  “That sounds like free advice.”

  “Does it? How could it be advice from me, if ’tis free?” The ebon boy finished his examination, but he made no move to enter the Telestrian system.

  “Aren’t you going in?” Andy asked.

  “Nay, I think not. Mayhap some other time.” The ebon boy stepped away from the door. “One last thing, Master Cylinder. The place at which you enter our mutual hallucination. It is safe?”

  “It’s the best I can do right now. I paid extra for the security options.”

  “Paid? With your fine corporate credit, no doubt.”

  Andy wasn’t that stupid. “No. It was some other money.” The money the runners had left him.

  “So happily resident on your credstick?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ah, poor naive Master Cylinder. Such a formidable appearance and so frail a real presence. Electronic cash is electronic cash, but electrons have tails most plain to those with the eyes to see.” The ebon boy produced a white card and placed it in the Exterminator’s multi-digit manipulator. “Accept this address for a relatively honest money changer. Tell him you seek a beginner’s work and mention the Dodger.” With that the ebon boy swirled his cloak, becoming a spinning pillar of flashing silver. The column dissolved into a glittering swirl of stars, and as the stars spread and faded, his voice offered a last, unremunerated piece of advice. “And, pray, find a better place to stay.”

  With the Dodger gone, Andy wasn’t sure what to do next. He had come to the Telestrian system and opened the back door, expecting to see the Dodger vanish inside; but instead the Dodger had just vanished. So here he was, the door was open, and the Dodger had said that the ferret program had a limited life span. What better time? It wasn’t like he had a date to be somewhere. Andy slipped into the Telestrian system and unleashed the ferret.

  The ferret led him to a number of files with his name on them. Concerned about being an unauthorized user on the system, Andy copied the files he hadn’t seen before, intending to read them later. Copying was less intrusive than trashing or swiping the data; either of those options would leave far more obvious footprints, and this was a covert run. Everything went wiz, until the ferret came up with a security breach file. Discovering that Telestrian was associating him with a security breach gave Andy pause. A cursory look told him it wasn’t going to be easy to open, so he copped a copy and went on. The ferret, now on another trail, plowed nose first into the armored legs of a black-faced golden knight. Andy didn’t hesitate; he turned tail and ran, leaving the ferret to take the first attack of the black ice.

  Panting in his squalid little room, he stared down at the datacord in his hand. His head ached and his vision was blurred, vibrant colored spots swirling around the edges. He’d gotten away.

  Of course, he’d crashed the run and left without closing his back door. He’d never be able to use that one again. Neither had he gathered everything about himself in the system; the ferret had been caught while still hunting, but right now he didn’t care. What was important was that he’d escaped the black ice and would live to try again another day.

  If he dared.

  Andy was too keyed up to sleep, and the light coming through the window showed that morning had come. He tried the contact the Dodger had left him, but couldn’t get a meet set up for another day. He spent a restless day cruising through the data he’d taken, looking for something—anything—that offered a way to understand what had happened to him. When he discovered that the watcher set on his file was supposed to deliver to a military data-drop, he understood that there was too much he didn’t know. He needed more data, but he wasn’t ready to go hunting it until he felt more secure. That night he got a little more sleep, but only a little.

  In the morning he set out for his meet, glad to be heading toward something definite. Dealing with the fixer turned out to be no big deal, especially once Andy mentioned the Dodger. Even so, the transaction cost more than he’d have been able to afford if the Dodger had taken the money Andy had offered him, but to Andy’s surprise the Dodger hadn’t touched the cash offering. All of the famous decker’s help had come free; despite his protests, the Dodger had turned out to be a true knight.

  Andy was feeling pretty good about his prospects when he left the meet. The fixer had taken Andy’s credstick and given him a handful of new ones, certified, and another one set up under a false SIN, his new identity. He could ride the Metro again, which would be a far better way to get back to his slump than the crowded, stinking, un-air-conditioned bus he’d taken to this part of DeeCee. Best of all, the fixer had said he might have some work. Andy would have to check back in day or two.

  With the tension of the meet gone, Andy discovered he was very hungry. He started wandering, looking for someplace to get a meal. He didn’t know the area well and the first few streets he tried weren’t commercial enough, just residences and a few converted office suites. Looking down the next street, he saw a promising possibility in what was obviously a mixed-use building. The building was mostly offices, to be sure, but the street level had big windows for shops. The place looked large enough to support a deli, or at least a Stuffer Shack. Stomach-driven, he plowed toward the building and right into some suit coming out of the alley.

  “Drek, kid! Watch where you’re going.” the man said.

  Andy started an automatic apology and stammered to a stop. Kid? Andy’s brain did a sidestep. He knew this guy. Or did he? The man’s face wasn’t familiar, and his suit was nothing special, just a cheap off-rack thing. Nothing flashy in his accessories. The buzz-side cut of his hair was equally unremarkable, but the face was of a rugged mold that should have been hard to forget. Yet Andy had forgotten it.

  Forgotten it?

  Hooting laughter echoing in the street grabbed Andy’s attention. A couple of blocks away and heading toward him were a half-dozen orks, jostling each other and having a good time. They were unimportant. Andy turned his attention back to the puzzle in front of him and found that the guy had walked away and was nearly in the building.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Andy called.

  The man stopped, hand on the pull bar of the main door. “Do I know you, kid?”

  Kid. Yeah. Andy had heard that dismissive tone before. A name popped into his head: Marksman. “Yeah. Yeah, you do. Telestrian Cyberdyne. Last week. We met in a very small room. What’s the matter, Marksman, didn’t think I’d remember?”

  The man stared at him without a change in expression. Andy couldn’t tell whether he’d scored or not.

  “Name’s Markowitz, not Marksman, and I haven’t got a clue to what you’re talking about, kid. Now buzz. If I were you, I’d want to be off the streets before things got too unhealthy.”

  The man turned his back on Andy and walked into the building. Andy stared stupidly after him, wondering if he’d been right or if his mind was just playing tricks on him. He didn’t even realize he was in trouble till the first ork grabbed his arm. He’d only begun to struggle when they dragged him into the alley.

  >WNVA FEED COVERAGE

  REPORTER: KATHERINE KRISTIN KAYE [KAYE-328]

  UPLINK SITE: FREDERICKSBURG, NORTH VIRGINIA

  Kaye: “We’re here in Fredericksburg at the Heritage Festival and having a wonderful time. But there’s an edge to the mood of some folks here celebrating today. Yesterday, as you undoubtedly know, State Senator Wendell North introduced a bill calling for a referendum on the secession of

  North Virginia from the UCAS. The bill passed the Senate on introduction and will come before the House of Delegates tomorrow. It seems clear what the politicians think. We wanted to hear from the public. So we’re asking them what they think.”

  Well-dressed father with two children: �
�I think the treatment North Virginia gets at the hands of Washington is disgraceful. Atlanta couldn’t possibly be worse. So, yes, I think it’s a good idea.”

  Ork concessionaire: “Secession? Yeah, I guess I’m for it. I mean, why not? What’s Washington done for us lately?”

  Tourist from Richmond: “What North and the State Senate have done is, of course, illegal under the Constitution of the UCAS, although not under that of CAS. They obviously think they’re already under CAS law They’re going to find out differently, I think.”

  Dwarf woman: “I’m a corporate citizen. None of this affects me.”

  Two teenagers wearing look-alike cyberchrome fashions: “I didn’t hear about it.”

  “You sure it’s not a hoax? Like, I think it ought to be a hoax.”

  “Sounds like one to me. I mean, really.”

  Man in “It's a human thing” T-shirt: “Secession wasn’t a good idea in 1861, nor in 2034. It’s not a good idea now. North don’t like being a part of our country, he can fragging well move!”

  Woman in gray kepi: “Wahoo is what I say, and about time. I hear the Confederated States has got two armored divisions just over the border in Virginia. Well, come on up, boys. You’re long overdue. The south shall rise again !”<<<<<

  12

  The funeral went almost as painlessly as Tom could have hoped. There was a decent turnout, including a pair of stiff executive types making the formal corporate condolence call—though the way they hung back most of the time reminded Tom of security officers rather than social callers. Barnaby showed up, but he didn’t make any attempt to talk to Tom, which was fine. Even the third sister, Asa, had made it in sometime during the night. She stood with her siblings and cried through the whole thing, the three of them looking like sobbing crows in their funereal black suits. Minor differences in their suits made it possible to tell them apart, but Tom still couldn’t put the right name to the right woman, as he proved while the crowd was breaking up. There was a reception planned after the service at the cemetery, but Tom had played on Genifer’s safety concerns to convince her to skip it. They’d done their duty.