“This is more satisfactory,’” the Dragon confirmed, unasked.
Hart and her employer observed without interruption until Hart noticed someone approaching. It was the master sorcerer who had arrived at the side of the wounded man just as Hart left to catch up with her employer. The mage stopped a few meters away to compose his face into a pleasant expression before stepping forward to where he thought the Dragon could see him. From where she leaned against the beast’s withers, Hart felt more than heard the soft chuff that she recognized as a sign of the Dragon’s amusement.
Hart knew that the beast could see that the mage stood waiting. The Dragon let him stand there for some minutes, a period sufficient to establish dominance, then inclined his head to signal his attention.
The Human smiled. “You are just in time, Lord Dragon. It’s almost ready.”
“It will work as desired, Doctor Wilson?”
“Certainly. The last two prototypes performed well within parameters. Mutability factors have all been right on prediction and there has been no decay in stability. We have no reason to believe the process is flawed.”
“Well that you should not.”
Wilson swallowed, his fear apparent to Hart. She had no doubt that the Dragon sensed it, too. He could probably smell it.
“I meant no disrespect, Lord Dragon. It’s just that, as both a mage and a scientist, I expect all new processes to have some problems. It’s only natural. This project has gone very smoothly under your guidance. I have no doubt that the product will meet with your satisfaction.”
The Dragon flexed its wings slightly, dismissing Wilson’s remarks. “Show me.”
“As you wish, Lord Dragon.” Wilson wet his lips with a pink tongue that only slightly protruded beneath his mustache. “With your indulgence, it will take a few minutes.”
The Dragon remained silent. Wilson turned quickly and vanished into the darkness of a side tunnel. A moment later, he reappeared, emerging from a corridor onto the floor of the chamber to have a brief conference with a quartet of his fellows.
Hart wanted to get a closer view of the operation. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she retrieved a pair of glasses. She tapped once on the frame to adjust the setting to magnification and settled them on her head. What she saw on the screens was fascinating, though she understood very little of the abstruse hermetic formulae, much less the chemical formulae. She wished she had a copy to study at leisure.
The consoles forfeited her attention when they blanked at the first faint strains of thaumaturgic chant beginning to drift up from the group of mages gathered below. She scanned the bowl’s floor. All the ordinary technicians, save one, had disappeared. That one was attaching a hose to a wheeled canister. The other end of the hose was fastened to the vat. The technician moved to a nearby panel, where she adjusted a few knobs. Bilious green swirled into the vat’s fluid, commingling with the liquid until it resembled molten jade. As more and more of the green substance entered, the shape in the vat slowed its motion, ultimately becoming still. Apparently satisfied, the technician shut down her panel and vacated the floor.
As soon as she was out of sight, the mages raised their voices, strengthening the chant spell. The four who had joined their master split away in two pairs to take up station at opposite sides of the container. Their song rose again in volume as Wilson stepped up to the tank. The paired mages split, one of each couple remaining in place while the other walked a quarter of the way around the circumference. The cardinal points occupied, they raised their chant almost to a shout before dropping it to a soft, monotonous tone.
Within the hermetic circle, Wilson executed a series of intricate hand motions. The sweeping gestures described by his arms grew ever smaller until only hands and fingers moved. Then they too stopped. A heartbeat later, Wilson stepped back. A casual gesture of his right hand brought a harness down from the obscurity of the ceiling. A flaccid spider trailing its web, the straps plunged into the once more translucent liquid to snake around the limp shape. Wilson raised his hand and the harness rose in sympathetic motion.
The figure that emerged from the tank was humanoid. Though it was naked, Hart could discern no sexual characteristics, primary or secondary. Now that it was no longer a shadow, she could see that its skin was as milky white as the fluid had been when they arrived. The flesh was soft and unlined, barely disturbed by the swell of muscles. It seemed somehow undefined.
Around the bowl, computer screens sprang to renewed life, displaying columns and rows of figures as well as formulae and diagnostic illustrations. Hart had no interest in numbers or pictures. The limp shape, at once compelling and repulsive, absorbed her whole attention. The strength of her fascination blew her usual cool professionalism away on the faint breeze from the air purifiers.
“Quite extraordinary, isn’t it?”
Hart was startled. She had not registered Wilson’s departure from the floor of the chamber, let alone his return to the platform.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“No one has. That is part of what makes it so valuable.”
“Direct your attention to the reaction data, Hart.”
She was annoyed at the beast’s use of her name in front of the mage, but she did as she was told. Scanning the screen displaying physical data, she whistled. The specs would look good on an Olympic athlete, but no Olympian had ever excelled in so many areas. “Superlative,” she concluded.
The Dragon chuffed his satisfaction.
“Very good.”
The mage bowed in acknowledgement. His face was a carefully constructed combination of the praised servant and the acknowledged savant, but Hart could see behind the subservient mask to the relief that was the man’s real emotion.
The Dragon stood, arcing its neck in a stretch that radiated satisfaction. When they had left the birthing chamber behind and the barriers both astral and mundane had been restored, the Dragon spoke. “I believe it is time for Mr. Drake to begin Operation Turncoat.”
Hart could feel the beast’s anticipation.
CHAPTER FIVE
“We came from the dust of this planet and to the planet we return, our bodies recycling without end. Yet, while our mundane dross returns to oneness with the Earth, our spirits soar onward to answer for our stewardship. Let us consider now the works of men, especially those of our brother Jiro.”
The priest stopped speaking and after some scattered “amens,” silence filled the small chapel. The room was not crowded. Besides Sam, Hanae, and the priest, only ten others were present. Jiro had not made many friends in his year at the arcology. Most of those attending were business acquaintances. Of his family, only an uncle had come.
The only flowers were a single twig of cherry, its forced-growth blossoms wilting quickly. Their scent was overwhelmed by the musty odor of the earthen floor.
Sam contemplated the pasteboard coffin. It was cheap, degradable paper in keeping with the Conservationist creed. Paper was still relatively inexpensive in the Northwest. He’d read that believers in other regions used cloth bags or didn’t bother with a covering at all.
The priest rustled his cotton robes to attract the congregation’s attention. “Brothers and sisters, we are still here, alive in the living world. Our brother Jiro has moved on in the never-ending cycle. We pray that he has achieved unity with the great spirit of life. Now we commit his shell, not to interment within the earth, but to a proper and glorious dispersal. What our brother was shall enrich us all.”
As the priest spoke, the coffin slid back toward the chapel’s inner wall, disappearing into the darkness. After it had moved, Sam could see the faint lines of the dirt that had slid into the trackway for the electric-motored platform that was carrying the coffin away. Somewhere in the darkness, attendants would remove the box and place it on a conveyor down to the recycling operation. Any usable parts would already have been sent to the storage banks. The remains would be rendered down to constituent components. Conservationists took rec
ycling seriously.
“The family has asked me to announce a luncheon at Hsien’s Natural Foods on Level 144. Those wishing to make a memorial contribution will find cards with a list of preferred organizations in the rack at the door of the chapel. You may, of course, contribute directly to the Church of the Whole Earth, Incorporated. All donations are tax-deductible. Thank you for coming.”
The priest bowed, then disappeared into the darkness at the rear of the chapel. When Sam and Hanae turned to leave after a moment of deference, Sam was startled to see Alice Crenshaw standing near the door. He would never have expected the hard-nosed security woman to show up. She always made such a show of being hard-shelled.
Deciding that he wanted to talk to Crenshaw, Sam nudged Hanae in the direction of the security officer. Before they had taken two steps, however, a small, weedy man with a porcelain datajack in his right temple blocked their path. The jack and his lapel pin identified him as a Renraku decker.
“Geez, ain’t it weird,” the man began without preamble. “You keep finding out stuff about people even after they’re dead. I didn’t know Jiro was a Conservationist. Did you?”
“No,” Sam replied, annoyed at the man’s boldness.
“Hey man, you must of,” he insisted. “You were his best buddy. Warner, ain’t it?”
“Verner. I couldn’t say I was his best buddy. We were friendly. Jiro didn’t let anyone too close after his wife’s death.”
“Yeah. Thought you might have known him better than us guys down in Data.” The man’s eyes darted around the chamber. “You’re right about him not having many friends. I would have expected more guys from the office to come, even though he was a loner. Zaibatsu spirit and all that. But I guess if you want to get that spirit up, it takes more than a salary, man. You know?”
“The company makes no demands with regard to religious observances here in America,” Sam observed, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He thought that was the best way to make the man cease his inquisitiveness and let Sam get on with his business.
“Here in...Oh man, that’s right, you came in from Japan about the same time, didn’t you?” The man didn’t wait for an answer. “Guess it’s real different over there. No Injuns lording it over proper educated folks. I hear they don’t even take guff from the metas. Keep them on reserves or something.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Sam said through his teeth. His detachment had fled. “I didn’t get out much.”
“You ever hear about that island, Yomi, I think it is, where they ship all the Orks and Trolls?”
Sam controlled his anger. This man was obviously insensitive. Arguing with him would be worthless, and besides, Sam wanted to make no scene in the chapel. “I was a shaikujin. Like a good salaryman, I never went far from Renraku property except on corporate business. The company has little to do with the so-called Awakened, so I didn’t see much of them.”
“Don’t I know what you mean! Had a buddy who was a real good mechanic. Casey, real nice gal, even if she was a Dwarf. Got a job with Raku through EEO. Wasn’t six months before her boss had her up on negligence charges. Couldn’t have been true, of course. I knew Casey. Man, she took care of machines like they were her babies, but she packed it in rather than face the charges. Heard she was over at Mitsuhama. They’re Japs, too, but they go a lot lighter on the Asian superiority thing, you know.”
Sam could see Crenshaw stepping outside. “Look...ah...“
“Addison,” the man supplied helpfully. “Billy Addison.”
“Addison-san, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, but I really do have to get along.”
Sam took Hanae’s arm and tried to walk around Addison. The decker held his hand up in front of Sam’s chest.
“Wait a minute, man. Look, I really wanted to ask you something. I...well...us guys down in Data were kind of wondering about something. You see, we knew you were friends with Jiro and...well...”
“Well, what?”
Addison shifted nervously. He craned his head around, looking to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. When he saw that the chapel had emptied, his face relaxed slightly. “There’s...there’s a rumor going around that Jiro was chipping when he fell.”
“Chipping?” Hanae asked.
“Yeah, you know, using BTL.”
Hanae put a hand to her mouth in shock. BTL stood for Better Than Life. BTL chips were supposed to be entertainment simulations that someone plugged into his head through a datajack or a special chip receptacle. They allowed one to “relive” an experience as though actually doing it himself. But the experiences were more than realistic. Unlike ordinary simsense entertainments, all BTL sensory impressions were heightened electronically, pushed into realms beyond any normal person’s experience. The enhanced impressions were supposed to be unbelievably thrilling, more sensual than anything that real life had to offer. Sam didn’t know if that were true, but he did know BTL was highly addictive. Users often lost themselves in the chip’s world, abandoning the real world until they died of neglect or the real world intruded fatally on what they perceived.
Sam suddenly realized that a user might, lost in his false reality, stumble over a railing and fall to his death. Had Jiro? With the anniversary of Betty’s death coming up, Jiro had been increasingly depressed. It was true he had done some chipping shortly after his return to Renraku, but he had stayed away from the heavy stuff. His doctor had even approved, prescribing certain chips and calling it re-entry therapy.
This put a new light on matters. Sam certainly didn’t want to discuss it with Addison, nor did he want to go into the subject with Hanae around. “That’s really none of our business. Besides, what difference does it make now?”
“Well, not a whole lot to Jiro. But we been thinking about the rep of the department, you know, if word got around that he was chipping, and certain parties started an investigation. You do know that Kansayaku Sato is coming? You know, the axman? He might....” As his words trailed off, the man arched his brows in a conspiratorial expression. “Well, you know. We were worried.”
Worry Sam could understand, especially if someone in Addison’s group needed to keep something hidden. Whatever the problem to which Addison alluded, it could not possibly be a material danger to Renraku. If it were, Addison or whoever was involved would already be running.
The mention of BTL might mean that somebody in the department had a chip habit. Lots of deckers used chips for recreation, but most knew enough to stay away from BTL. The implication that a decker was involved in the dangerous pastime could get him a black mark in his record that would affect the promotion schedule. Justifiably. No legitimate corporation wanted to trust its Matrix secrets to someone who was an addict. There were too many cases of blackmailed deckers stealing files or crazed Matrix runners crashing systems when their delusions crossed over into the already hallucinatory reality of the Matrix. A decker who chipped would likely be canned and blackballed.
Then again, maybe the chipper had already paid the price. If Addison or one of his buddies had supplied Jiro with a chip, and if Jiro had taken his fall while under the influence, the charge would be manslaughter at the least. Sam couldn’t recall any mention of BTL chips in Jiro’s hospital file, but that didn’t mean much. If someone had arranged for Jiro to get such a chip, that same someone might easily have been there when Jiro fell and then removed the chip before the medics arrived. Such a person would dread an investigation that might uncover his or her complicity.
Had someone in the department been running Jiro’s icon when Sam encountered it in the Matrix last week? The data department would have known about Jiro’s injuries, and they would have had physical access to Jiro’s cyberdeck. A brain-fried decker would be impossible to hide, but a good back-up team might have been able to jack out the icon’s controller before the black ice got him. Using someone else’s deck was punishable by expulsion from the corporation as well as hefty fines, but that wasn’t always enough to deter a dedicated hacker. But whoever
had been running Jiro’s icon had tampered with the Wall, which meant even harsher sanctions. If it were one of Addison’s group behind Jiro’s icon, they would all be subject to dismissal if their actions were discovered. They had more than enough reasons for a cover-up.
“Don’t worry, Addison-san. I don’t think there will be any BTL investigations.” Even as he said it, Sam also knew that there should be. Jiro did have a history of chip abuse, but his hospital file contained no mention of it. Just as there should have been an investigation of Jiro’s accident. On the other hand, if Addison and his cronies were part of some cover-up, the decker wouldn’t be here nervously asking questions. Someone else was involved, hiding something behind the official lack of interest. Crenshaw was in security. Maybe she knew something. “We really do have to go.”
“Yeah, sure, man.” Addison stepped back, a nervous smile flickering over his face. “Well, thanks anyway, Warner. You’re an O.K. guy.”
Sam hurried out the chapel door. Hanae, unquestioning, tried to keep pace, but after a few steps, she gave up. Sam raced ahead, anxious to catch Crenshaw. Scanning the park surrounding the chapel, he failed to spot her. Then she appeared from behind a hedge, walking along a path and almost out of sight. He ran after her.
At the sound of his footsteps, the woman looked back, but did not stop walking. Sam raised his hand and started to hail her, but she pivoted away and quickened her pace. She turned when the path branched at the statue of Chief Sealth and passed out of sight behind some trees.
Sam ran after her. His breath started to come hard. He was too fat, too out of shape for this. He skidded, trying to turn as he reached the intersection of the paths. Baffled by what he saw, he let momentum carry him into the statue. Leaning on the pedestal and puffing, he stared. The path Crenshaw had taken was empty.
There were no turnoffs that she could have reached in the time it took him to get this far. She must have left the path. She had deliberately eluded him. Why?
He wouldn’t find the answer today. He had no hope of tracking her through the park. Crenshaw surely knew more than enough tricks to evade his amateurish pursuit.
Never Deal with a Dragon Page 9
