Forcing a smile that he really didn't feel, Sam called for a round of drinks.
"There's no reason to be concerned, Mr. Johnson. This is simply a business formality. We can still complete this deal without impediments."
"Let us hope so, Mr. Twist."
"I have confidence. However, my friends might feel more confident of our good will if you were to answer my earlier question. They would be relieved if you were to offer some reasonable explanation for the screwup."
Glover shrugged away the importance of the matter with the merest shift of his shoulders.
"It was a simple communications slipup. Mr. Sanchez never received the word that his extraction was to take place. That same glitch deprived him of your descriptions. He would have had no idea that you and your friends were my agents."
"That's it?"
"That is, as you say, it. I accept full responsibility for the confusion."
It would be impolitic to dispute Glover's answer. It was possible that he told the truth. Just barely. Sam tried another approach.
"I realize that you need not tell us, but what will happen to Sanchez from this point?"
Glover looked thoughtful for a moment, then almost smiled. "Mr. Sanchez will receive the most attentive care during his transfer. We want him in the best of health. His role in our organization will be a prominent one. Of course, we will benefit from his participation, but it will not be all one-sided. Mr. Sanchez has special assets. His participation in our ongoing roject will ensure that many people lead better and more productive lives. If all goes as planned, he may even be famous one day. So I can assure you that you need have no concerns about Mr. Sanchez's welfare. We intend to see that he has every opportunity to achieve his destiny."
"Too fragging noble," Jason commented.
"Believe as you will," Glover returned. "Some people have concerns beyond their own personal comforts and needs. Some of those people are in positions to act and would find it unconscionable not to act. Can you grasp the concept of altruism, or is that beyond your greedy brain?"
Jason clenched his jaw, his hand slowly sliding up and over the butt of his Predator. Thankful that the insult had only lit the fuse rather than touching off an instant explosion, Sam slapped his own hand down on Jason's. He had no hope of pinning it there, but he might slow Jason's reactions. That delay could give Burke time to kill the Indian. Hoping he had made the right move, Sam glared at Glover.
"That was uncalled for. I think you should apologize to Jason."
Glover glanced at the table before speaking. His voice was neutral. "Where apologies are necessary and appropriate, I offer them."
The reduction in tension under his hand told Sam that Jason had accepted Glover's statement as repentence. The Indian really was dumb. Sam waited until Jason relaxed his shoulders, then dragged the Indian's hand away from the gun before releasing it.
They waited. At last, the bar phone rang and Jim picked it up. He spoke into the handset, nodded, then shoved it into his gut to muffle the pick-up.
"Call for Halifax. Anybody seen her?" Jim shouted.
After waiting a moment for a response that never came, he said into the receiver, "Ain't here. It's early, try Damien's."
Dodger sat back and smiled. Sam felt the same relief, but thought it impolitic to let it show. Jim was giving the code phrase that meant Grey Otter had made the transfer and gotten safely away. Jason used the opportunity to snatch the minicomp, letting out a surprised oath when he saw the figures on the screen. He turned the minicomp around again and shoved it at Sam.
"Make the cuts, Twist."
Sam transferred Jason's cut back to the credstick in the machine. He popped it and slid in a blank to take the transfer of Fishface's slice. Transaction completed, he put both on the table and rolled them to Jason.
The Indian grabbed his own first and slipped it into his pouch. Rising, he caught the other as it reached the edge of the table top. He flicked the stick to Fishface.
"Done deal?" Fishface asked tonelessly.
"Done deal. We're outta here."
Glover joined Sam and Dodger in watching the two leave. "Your muscle is flighty. Such an abrupt exit might tempt an ungrateful employer into minimizing his expenses. How can they be sure I will not cause problems now?"
Sam wondered that himself. Not that he thought that they'd care if Glover decided to smoke Sam and Dodger. They had their nuyen and were satisfied to let the future take care of itself. Sam had never been so cavalier about the future, so he hadn't been counting on the lame-brained muscleboys to kept the meeting friendly.
"It was never their problem," he said. "This is a public place where we're well-known. You'll find it difficult to make trouble here. Besides, we all got what we came here for, didn't we?"
Glover pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows slightly. "It would appear so. Yet I wonder, would your associates have performed any differently had this meeting taken place somewhere else?" "We have friends in lots of places." "You are commendably cautious, although some of your associations may not be wisely chosen." "There are always constraints." Glover nodded knowingly. "Quite. I apologize for my earlier abruptness, gentlemen. Your style is unfamiliar to me and I was slightly discomfited. Having become acquainted with some of the constraints under which you work, I realize now that your conduct was competent and professional."
Sam inclined his head. He wasn't sure what Glover was leading up to, so he thought it best to say nothing. ' 'I have certain endeavors still uncompleted and find myself somewhat short of competent help. Which is to say, I have another job suitable for professionals of your caliber. It is a similar to this recent operation, which has been concluded with such admirable results."
No thanks, Sam thought. "I think things will be a little warm in Seattle for a while."
"Which is a good reason for you to consider my offer. The job I have in mind is out-of-town work."
"I'm afraid that's not the sort of thing we do," Sam said.
' 'I assure you nothing like the little mix-up that occurred here will happen there. Having taken your measure, I can also assure you that I can convince my principals that you are worth greater compensation." Sam started to repeat his rejection of the offer, but Dodger elbowed him in the ribs and said, "We'll give your offer some thought, Goodman Johnson. Mayhap you can provide us with a way to contact you?'' "Certainly, my good elf. But I will need an answer soon. I have schedules to keep and must leave the metroplex by tomorrow evening."
Dodger took the card Glover offered. "We shall take counsel with our associates anon and you shall have our decision by tomorrow afternoon."
As soon as the ATT man and his bodyguard had left the club, Sam rounded on Dodger. "What did you think you were doing?"
"Looking out for our future, Sir Twist." "I don't want that guy in our future. Communications slipups like we had are trouble, deadly trouble, waiting to happen. Especially if there is any chance he's connected to Lofwyr."
"I hesitate to suggest that you speak in haste, but I fear that I must. There was something I thought you should see before Friend Glover arrived, but he was so prompt that opportunity fled." "And what is that?"
"A mere tidbit that fell into my hands during my research. It may mean nothing, but it may have some significance. I had thought that you would be the best judge. 'Tis a file I found among the datastores Goodman Glover had transferred to Seattle ATT."
Dodger tapped at the minicomp, bringing up a list of seven names. He highlighted item number three: "Raoul Sanchez, Seattle." The line was marked "In progress." Two of the other names were marked "acquired."
"So, Glover is collecting people. Nobody we know is on the list."
"So sure, Sir Twist?" Dodger highlighted item seven: "Janice Walters, Yomi." "Is it not a custom of the Japanese to change the names of the changed?" Sam nodded, his mouth dry. Most Japanese considered having metahumans in their family a disgrace. The unfortunates were shipped to Yomi and their names changed, thereby removing th
e shame from their family. Could Janice Walters be Janice Verner, his sister?
Sam didn't know if the Yomi officials would have allowed Janice to select her own new name. If so, she might have chosen Walters; it was their maternal grandmother's name. Janice hadn't been born when she had died, but their mother had regaled them constantly with tales of Grandma Walters' world travels. She had been the star of many a bedtime story. Janice had grown up idolizing the woman. When faced with the bureaucratic demand that she cease using Verner as her surname, she might have chosen Walters.
It seemed a slim chance that the woman Glover sought was his sister. But could he afford to take the chance that Janice Walters wasn't Janice Verner?
What did Glover want with all these people, anyway? If one of them was his sister, Sam needed to know. What better way to find out than by becoming part of Glover's organization? It was always easier to snoop around from the inside. But what if he was working for Lofwyr? All the more reason to keep his sister out of the dragon's grasp.
He didn't like it, but it looked as though he would be working for Glover a while longer.
Janice thought she understood comfort and easy living. Before her exile to Yomi, she had lived the life of a corporate dependent. It was a comfortable, cozy life complete with all the easy conveniences of civilized society. Renraku took care of its dependents. She had felt safe and secure. Yomi had taught her just how fortunate they had been.
Her corporate comfort had been due to her brother. She had often wondered what would have happened to them after their parents were killed if Sam hadn't caught the eye of old Inazo Aneki, the master of Renraku Corporation. Sam was five years older than she was, and he was only eighteen at the time. There had been no money and few prospects, but Aneki had taken an interest in Sam and seen to it that her brother finished his education. Under the distant but benevolent patronage of Aneki, Sam had gotten started on the fast track at Renraku. Aneki's charity had been like a gift from God, an offering of a long, comfortable life. They certainly wouldn't have been able to make it on their own. Her brother's position was exalted, for a gaijin, and she had been proud of him. His salary and position should have ensured congenial accommodations for both of them for life.
Now, her thoughts of Sam's success were less kind. He had abandoned her to keep his sinecure, unwilling to be tainted by her goblinization. Kawaru the Japanese called it, a pretty euphemism for an ugly thing. The English word, with its harsh syllables and awkwardness, was so much more fitting.
Sam would call it kawaru. He had always been so enamored of things Japanese, aping their attitudes and manners. The Japanese corporate society liked to pretend that metahumans didn't exist, casting them away to rot on the edges of society and to dwell in the polluted shadows of those gleaming corporate towers. The pure stayed home, safe from taint. Secure in their bastions, they ate their regular, balanced meals, slept in their soft, warm beds in their precisely controlled climates, watched their approved entertainments, and ignored what they wished did not exist. Those hypocritical overlords spoke of financial aid, readjust out. A short, dark man in a white suit waited at the foot of the stairway. As her eyes settled on him, he smiled.
"Welcome to Atzlan," he said in accented English. "I am Jaime Garcia. I offer Mr. Shiroi's apologies. He was unavoidably detained by business and has asked me to entertain you until he is available. I hope you had a good flight. You have no complaints of your treatment?"
Shivering in the sunshine, the pilot tensed. He relaxed only a little when she said, "Everything was fine."
"Most excellent," Garcia said. His dazzling smile vanished as he turned away to speak rapidly in what she assumed was Spanish. The people to whom he spoke were short and dark like him. Their eyes never left her.
Most of the crowd wore loose-fitting blouses and pants, but a few wore tailored coveralls or suits like Garcia's. He finished with an obvious command, scattering the blouses and coveralls. Minions, jumping at his word. She had seen such feverish obedience once when some important Aztechnology officials had visited the Renraku compound. Was it a universal trait of the underlings in Atzlan-based corporations? She didn't like it.
After a few softer exchanges with the suits, he turned his attention to her again. The brilliant smile returned as if it had never been gone. "Please, senorita. Come down and join us."
She wasn't sure it was a good idea, but she stepped through the hatchway. There was something about this Garcia that she didn't like. She ran her tongue across her lower lip, wishing she knew what he hid behind his smile. Her eyes were still hurting as she walked carefully down the stairs. She squinted down at Garcia and realized that he looked different. He was no longer a small man in a suit but a long-limbed, furred metahuman like herself.
In her surprise, she nearly stumbled. He was up the stairs to meet her before she could recover her balance on her own. His grip was strong, steadying her. He was a suit again, armored behind his smile. Solicitously, he helped her down the remaining steps.
She didn't like his cologne.
He seemed unaware of her dislike. "You appear to be taxed by your journey. Perhaps some refreshment would restore your spirit?"
"No, thanks. I'll be fine. Besides, they served a meal on the plane only a couple of hours ago."
"And you found it to your taste?"
He really did seem to be concerned that she be pleased. Maybe he wasn't so bad. She gave him a friendly smile, but she remembered her fangs and closed it down. "The meal was quite tasty. My compliments to your corporate chef. I don't believe that IVe ever had meat with quite so delicate a flavor."
Garcia's smile grew wider. "Yes, it is a specialty. I will be sure to communicate your compliments."
Garcia escorted her across the landing field to a waiting helicopter. They climbed aboard and made a short flight over Mexico City. Their destination was a compound on the north side of the plex. The GWN monogram that she had seen on the uniforms of Garcia's minions at the airport gleamed on the side of the eighty-story skyscraper at the center of the enclosed blocks.
Oozing charm, Garcia took her on a whirlwind tour of the facilities. GWN was an obviously successful corporation. Most of the plants were devoted to food processing and nutrient farming; labels on containerized cargo lots told her that GWN shipped worldwide. She wondered briefly what brands belonged to the firm. Comestibles weren't the corporation's only product. Several impressive structures were dedicated to information technologies and small, high-tech manufacturing plants. The combination wasn't surprising; no megacorporation could survive without at least dabbling in the Matrix and data technology. If all of this belonged to Mr. Shiroi, as Garcia implied, her benefactor was a powerful man.
They had just left a building where cheap simsense players were being assembled, and were walking through a section of employee tenements, when a telecorn box on a street corner called Garcia's name. He excused himself, leaving her to stand in the heat. OflFshift employees, who had been gathered on the front stoops to take in the afternoon sun, suddenly found business elsewhere, but not before she had seen their fearful glances in her direction. Garcia returned.
"Ah, Mr. Shiroi will see you now, if you wish. But there is no hurry. Plenty of time for you to freshen up or partake of some refreshment, if you wish."
She shook her head. Freshening up was something for norms. Make-up on her face would be a travesty, and she didn't have a curry comb for the fur. Let Mr. Shiroi see her as she was, because that's what he got. "You are not hungry yet?" "No. I'm not hungry at all." "That is understandable. After the change one's appetites are often erratic. It is best to trust your feelings. Your body will know when you need sustenance. One should not overdo."
Garcia took her to an elevator, holding the door open as he tapped a code into the keypad. He wished her well and stepped back, letting the doors slide shut. The car rose silently, with very little sensation of motion. After a few moments, the doors opened on a lavish office. Chill air swept into the car, cooling her co
mfortably. The walls were a pale, pale blue. She might have taken them for white if not for the pure alabaster of the deep pile carpet. The room was huge, but its furnishings were few, and they were dominated by the presence in one corner of a carved column. The stack of stylized faces on it stretched at least three meters; it didn't reach the ceiling yet seemed to fill the room. Two-thirds of the way across the chamber, a dark wood desk stood between her and the tinted window-wall. Behind the desk, in an oddly shaped chair, sat Mr. Shiroi.
"Ah, Janice," he said as he noticed her. "It is good to see you again."
He was smiling, with pleasure she thought. Why he should do that, she didn't know. She wasn't pleasant to see. She felt awkward and out of place. "Wish I thought so, Mr. Shiroi." His smile faded a bit and his eyes filled with concern. "You must learn to accept what you are, since there is no way to change it. Denial only prolongs the pain. I do not wish to see you in pain. And please, call me Dan."
She slowly walked across the room, since that was expected. When he indicated the chair in front of the desk, she sat. She started as the soft grey upholstery shifted beneath her.
"Just relax. It will settle down," he said. There was a hint of amusement on his face.
She didn't like being laughed at. Forcing herself to ignore the squirming chair, she waited. The cushions slowed their wriggling and finally stopped. She was surprised at how comfortable it was. She was almost as surprised that the chair seemed to fit her oversize body. Shiroi must have read her reaction on her face. "You have just had your first experience with a Tendai-Barca Glove Lounger. They are always a little unnerving the first time, but, if you will excuse the pun, one adjusts quickly. I doubt you will find better seating anywhere in the world."
She calmed her breathing, relaxing. The chair shifted again to accommodate her. Perhaps her anger at his amusement was out of place. Anyone feeling a chair writhe under their butt would look comical. She still wasn't comfortable mentally, though. He had had her brought halfway around the world. Surely, it wasn't all for the sake of this small joke? "What do you want, Mr. Shiroi?" "There is no more reason to be abrupt than there is to distrust my motives, Janice." He took her bad manners in stride. She even thought she detected a hint of sadness behind his soft voice. "I want to help you find yourself. I want you to accept a place in my organization. If you choose to follow your own path, I will understand, but it is my hope that you will find us congenial. It is very lonely being on your own. It could also be dangerous."
Choose your enemies carefully s-2 Page 4
