Nightside City

Chapter Nineteen

I DON'T KNOW WHY I WANTED TO SEE NAKADA IN PERSON, but I did. It was important to me, somehow.

We met on neutral ground. We met at a little breakfast bar on Second, in the middle of Trap Over. I was sitting there waiting, with Mishima's muscle quiet in the background, when Nakada walked in with a piece of muscle of her own and an entourage of floaters.

She didn't recognize me until I called her name.

"Mis' Nakada! Over here!"

She came and looked down at me. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

"Long story," I said. "You wouldn't be interested."

She shrugged and sat down.

I pointed at her muscle, a big guy with sleek, hairless black skin that might or might not have been armored. If it was armored, it was a better job than Mishima's bunch could afford. "Do we need him?" I asked.

She glanced back at him, then waved him away. He went to wait outside-there wasn't room in the bar.

Most of the floaters went with him; one stayed, a little golden multipurpose job, and I decided not to argue about it. After all, even if it left, Nakada still had implants down to the marrow, and I couldn't make her leave those outside.

The bar delivered my tea and puffcake, and I asked if she wanted anything. She shook her head.

"All I want," she said, "is to know why you got me down here."

I didn't answer directly. "How's the project going?" I asked.

She scowled at me. "The project?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "You know, the one that's going to make you rich."

She didn't like my manners, that was obvious, but she answered. "Bad," she said. "They hit some kind of snag in the mapping data. Everything's been delayed."

I nodded sympathetically. 'Too bad," I said. "Remember your promise that you'd let me know when the date's set."

"I remember," she said.

I was playing this by guess, plugging in values as I went, I wasn't sure at all what I was doing, why I was there, or why Nakada was there. I just knew that I had to talk to her, and here I was, talking to her.

The obvious question was whether I should tell her that she was being rooked. The obvious answer was yes; I mean, why the hell not? I didn't owe Orchid and Lee anything.

And I wasn't sure it would make any difference. Hell, there was a good chance the whole scam was about to fall apart anyway. My own opinion was that if Orchid was running smooth he'd clear out, take what he'd gotten so far, and get off-planet without trying to bleed any more juice out of anyone.

I decided to try the direct and honest approach. "Mis' Nakada, have you ever really looked at the scheme the Ipsy's selling you?"

She looked at me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, doesn't it sound too good to be true? Have you checked it over to see whether it would really work? Have you discussed it with anyone, run their claims through any analytical software?"

She stared at me. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

"I'm getting at the question of whether Doc Lee and his bunch can actually do what they say they can," I said.

She almost snarled. "Of course they can," she said. "Lee's a top planetologist. His team's all top experts."

"Experts can lie, Mis' Nakada," I said.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"I mean that it's all a trick, a sham," I told her. "They can't stop the city, any more than anyone else can. They're conning you. They're just taking your money and tucking it away on Prometheus. You don't have to believe me; get any planetologist you like to come and take a look, and you'll see. They're swindling you."

She glared at me with a look that was about the closest I've ever seen to pure hatred. "You're lying. You're the one trying to con me."

"No, I'm not," I said. "I'm telling the truth."

"You're lying," she insisted. "Why would they cheat me?"

"For the money, of course," I told her.

"No," she said. "You're lying, that's all." Then she looked as if a brilliant idea occurred to her. "Did somebody hire you to get them away from me?" she demanded. "To get them to work for someone else?"

"No," I said. "Nobody hired me."

"Somebody did," she said. "Somebody's trying to stop me."

"Think what you like," I said, amazed at her ability to deny reality when it clashed with her desires.

I'd tried. I'd tried honesty, tried telling her what was happening. If she didn't accept it, it wasn't my fault. I'd done my full duty to truth and justice. Sayuri Nakada deserved to be swindled if anyone ever did; I could almost sympathize with Orchid, seeing all that money in the hands of someone like her.

Of course, if she checked up later and cut Orchid and Lee and the rest off, or got them sent up for reconstruction, I wouldn't weep.

Right now, though, I had one more thing I realized I had to discuss with her, and maybe it was something I should have dealt with before I antagonized her. I had a client to take care of. Just because Paulie and Bobo weren't going to be making the rounds in the West End didn't mean nobody would.

"There's one other thing," I said, casually. "I probably should have mentioned it the first time, but you know how it is, things can slip your mind."

She just glared. Maybe she didn't know how it is, with all the implants she must have had keeping her up to date. Or maybe she just didn't want to admit she knew.

"There's a little matter of some people I know," I said. "Living out in the West End in some of the buildings you bought."

"Squatters," she said.

I nodded. "You could call them that," I agreed.

"Burakumin!" she spat. "Abid! A bunch of social gritware. They pay rent or they get out; I don't want them around when I start cleaning up out there."

I held up a hand. "Mis' Nakada," I said, "I think you're overreacting. They aren't such bad people."

I was lying; they were scum. But they were also paying clients.

"What are they to you?" she asked.

"Friends," I lied. "And I don't want them evicted."

"I do," she said, and she was pretty damn definite about it. I guessed right then that collecting rents hadn't been Orchid's idea at all, but hers. I doubted Orchid had known just how much trouble collecting that stupid rent would buy him, but at least he hadn't come up with it on his own.

"Mis' Nakada," I said, "I hope you'll reconsider."

"Why should I?" she demanded.

"Because if you don't, I'll put everything I know about the little plan you have the Ipsy working on on the public nets. That could cut into your profits pretty badly, having the word get out too soon."

"That's blackmail," she said.

I shrugged. "You could call it that, I suppose," I admitted. "I have a chunk of information; I can hand it out free, or I can sell you the dissemination rights. If you want to call that blackmail, suit yourself. Which do you want? Do I put it on the nets or not?"

"No!" she said, sharp and hard.

"Then we make a deal," I said. "We can put it in writing. I'm not looking for anything permanent, just a little time for my friends to get relocated. I'll agree not to release to the public or anyone except partners or immediate family any information I may have concerning your investment plans or dealings with nonprofit scientific organizations, and I'll bind all partners and immediate family to the same commitment. In exchange, you'll agree that you will not attempt to collect any rents on property in the West End for, shall we say, three years?"

"That's too long," she snapped.

"All right," I said. "Until you're ready to refurbish the buildings, or three years, whichever comes first. The day your repair crews arrive, the squatters will be out; how's that sound?"

"How do I know you won't make more demands?" she asked.

"That's in my end of the agreement," I said. "If I spread the word, or if I demand anything more, then I'm in breach of contract-and you and I both know what the penalties are for that in Nightside City. I'm not interested in a term of indenture, or in selling body parts."

She thought for a minute, then nodded. "All right," she said.

That little golden floater had all the necessary equipment for the contract, and in fifteen minutes we had shaken hands and left.

I don't know where she went. I went home to my office. I thanked Mishima's muscle and let them fend for themselves; I didn't see that I needed them anymore.

The case was over, as far as I could see. I sat at my desk and ran through the records, making notes, seeing if I'd missed anything. I didn't see that I had. My contract was to stop the new owner from evicting the squatters; I had Nakada's agreement recorded and sealed. Side issues had been to find out who was doing what, and why, and I had all that figured out. Orchid and Rigmus had tried to kill me, but I had it set so they wouldn't try again.

It looked smooth. I started clearing everything out of the com's active memory.

Then the com beeped and I touched keys, and Mishima's face appeared.

"Hello, Hsing," he said.

"Hello, Mishima," I replied.

"So how'd it go?" he asked.

"How did what go?" I said.

"Your little talk with Sayuri Nakada-how'd it go?"

I wasn't terribly happy to hear him ask that. I was beginning to have second or third thoughts about any sort of partnership with Mishima. I'd always worked alone, my own way and at my own speed; having a partner checking up on me did not carry a lot of appeal. It had seemed wonderful when I was lying in a hospital bed with new eyes and my new skin still baby-slick, feeling vulnerable, with no idea how I could face down Orchid and the others all by myself, but now I began to see drawbacks.

I still appreciated the loan of the muscle, not to mention the medical bills and the detail that Mishima had ventured out onto the dayside to rescue me, and I could see virtues in the arrangement, but I didn't like being called to account like that.

"It went all right," I said, trying to think how I could put my concerns.

"What did you get?" he asked.

"What do you mean, what did I get?" I said.

"I mean, what did you get from Nakada?" he said. "How much did she pay you to keep quiet?"

"She didn't pay me anything," I said. "She just agreed to leave the squatters alone."

He stared at me for a minute. "Listen, partner," he said. "I don't want to get this relationship off to a rough start. Let's just keep the bugs and glitches to a minimum. Let's not hold out on each other, okay?"

"Sure," I said. "I'm not holding out."

"Oh, get off it, Hsing," he said. "You went there with all the details of this scam, with everything you needed to prove to Sayuri Nakada's old man back on Prometheus that she's a complete idiot, and you came away without a buck? You expect me to believe that?"

It was my turn to sit back and stare for a minute.

"All right, Mishima," I said. "Suppose you tell me how you think it ran."

He gave me a look like I'd just offered to buy his firstborn child at an offensively low price.

"All right," he said. "I think you went in there and told Nakada that she was being taken, that Orchid and Rigmus and Lee were running a scam on her that had made her look like a complete fool. I think she probably suspected it all along-I mean, the whole thing is so obviously too good to be true. I think you mentioned that her greatgrandfather might be interested in knowing what she'd been doing with her money. I think you suggested that you might tell him, if the circumstances arose. I think she took the hint and asked what it would cost to be sure the circumstances never arose, and I think that the two of you dickered out a specific amount. Since she was a pro once, I suppose it wasn't all that much, but half of it's mine, Hsing. Now, how much was it?"

I shook my head. "You've got it wrong, Mishima. Right from the start."

"Then you tell me how it went," he demanded.

"You tell me something first," I said. "How'd you know it was all a scam?"

He paused, and I could see he was thinking back and realizing that I'd never told him that. He could say he figured it out for himself, but he was awfully damn sure that I knew it was a scam.

I guess he decided on the truth.

"I tapped into your com," he said.

"Hey, partner," I said. "Wasn't that a sweet thing to do! Hey, what rare trust between partners we have here!"

"Come on, Hsing," he said. "You were busy. We're partners. You owe me. I just saved us some time and argument."

"I'll tell you, Mishima," I said. "I don't think the team of Mishima and Hsing is going to make it. Sorry about that."

"Oh, come on," he said. "Give me a break!"

"I will," I said. "Don't worry. I know what I owe you. I just don't think that this partnership will run. I'm not going to screw you over if I can help it, Mishima, but I don't think I can work with you, either. I'm telling you that right now, up front."

"Hell," he said. "Just forget the partnership, then. I don't need you. But you owe me, Hsing, so tell me what you got from Nakada."

"I did tell you," I said. "Hey, how is it you didn't manage to listen in at the breakfast bar? Then we wouldn't be arguing about it."

I was being sarcastic, but Mishima took me seriously. "Nakada had privacy fields up," he said. "Those floaters of hers were loaded. I couldn't get anything through. And those three gritheads I loaned you didn't bother to try and hear; they figured I'd get it all from the machines. Even Jerzy."

"That the one with the chrome face?" I asked.

He nodded.

"You know," I said, "maybe they heard and just didn't want to tell you, figured it wasn't your business."

He spat, offscreen. "Don't give me that," he said. "Of course it's my business, and those three work for me. They didn't hear. You did."

"Right," I said. "And I told you what I got."

"So tell me again, and maybe add a few details," he said.

I nodded. "I'll do that," I said. "First off, you started off well with your little guessing game. I did tell Nakada the scheme was a fake. But you got her reaction wrong. She didn't believe me. Didn't believe a word, thought that I was the one running a con on her, trying to cut her out of the deal. They've got her clipped down tight."

"Oh, come on," he said. "Don't give me that shit."

"True," I said. "I swear it. Put it on wire, on oath, on stress-triggered plague test, I tell you she did not believe me."

"Hsing, nobody is that dumb!" he insisted.

"You ever met Nakada?" I asked. "She isn't exactly dumb, but she only believes what suits her. Stopping the sunrise suits her right down the line, and she wasn't taking any argument, so I didn't argue."

"That's crazy," he insisted.

I just shrugged.

It wasn't all that crazy, but he couldn't see it. He was Epimethean, like me-except maybe without as much imagination. I could dream about stopping the dawn, but to him, the sunrise was inevitable. He'd lived with it all his life. The idea of stopping it was just gibberish, like turning off gravity. He didn't realize that Nakada looked at it differently. To her, cities were permanent things, and the idea that this one was going to fold up and die, and that there was no way to stop it, was anathema.

The truth lay somewhere in between, I was pretty sure. With time and money and competent people, Nightside City could probably be saved-but it wasn't worth what it would cost. It would be one of the biggest engineering projects of all time, up there with the terraforming of Venus, but with only a city for payoff instead of an entire planet. A bad investment-but not unthinkable.

"You believe what you want," I said, "but Nakada doesn't think it's a scam. She still doesn't want the word spread, though, so we drew up a little agreement-I keep quiet, and she leaves the squatters alone. That's all. That's all I asked for."

He went back to that disbelieving stare.

"Hsing," he said, "I think I believe you. But if it's true, I've got to ask what the hell is wrong with you, passing up a chance like that!"

"I don't work that way." Then I exited the call.

I half expected him to call back, but he didn't, so I didn't have to explain it any further.

It was all clear to me, plain and simple. I'm a detective. I was then; I am now. I find things out. I sell people information. I keep quiet when I'm paid to.

But I'm not a blackmailer. Nakada hadn't hired me to find out anything, so she couldn't pay me to keep it quiet.

I'd stolen that information from her, because I needed it for my client. Information isn't like most property-you can steal it from someone without them ever knowing it's gone, and without depriving them of it. There's no law of conservation of information. You can multiply it from nothing to infinity.

But it was still Nakada's information. I had no right to spread it any further than I had to. If I took money from her to shut me up, I'd be stealing it.

And yeah, this is all hypocritical as hell. I did blackmail her, when I made her leave the squatters there. I'm not above selling information that isn't mine. I'm not above a little quiet blackmail. I do what I need to survive.

But I try and keep my self-respect. I try to stay inside my own limits. They aren't the limits the law sets, but they're limits. Sayuri Nakada had enough problems, what with her blind belief in the gritware Orchid and Lee were peddling her. I couldn't see taking her for all she could afford; that was too cold, too sharp for me.

Nakada hadn't done anything to me.

And there's another, more pragmatic point. Blackmailers tend to have a short life expectancy. What I'd taken, she could afford. It was no problem. We could draw up a nice, clear, binding contract without ever saying what I was selling her, and she could be pretty sure that I wouldn't come back for more.

But if I'd gone for money, how could she know that? What good would a contract be? People get illogical when money comes into the picture. She might worry about whether I'd come back for more, whether people might trace my money back to her and wonder what I'd done for it-any number of things, until one day I was back on the dayside, or maybe in a ditch somewhere with pseudoplankton growing on my tongue.

And she hadn't done anything to me.

If it had been Orchid or Lee or Rigmus, if they had Nakada's sort of money, things might have been different. They owed me, just as I still owed Mishima. But I knew how much they had tucked away, and it wasn't enough to tempt me yet. I knew that if I took all of it, they'd find a way to get me-they'd be cornered, and cornered vermin aren't reasonable about these things. If I left enough for them, there wouldn't be enough to be worth the trouble.

I don't know, maybe there would. If I took a piece off the top of all eight shares, I could put together my fare off-planet-but I'd have eight bitter enemies, all of them also bound for Prometheus.

I don't know. I didn't sit down and work out all the ups and downs. I went by instinct, same as I usually do, and I didn't blackmail anyone.

But I didn't know how to explain that to Mishima.

He didn't call back. I didn't have to explain anything.

I did have something to do, though. I'd done my job; it was time to get paid. Zar Pickens owed me a hundred and five credits.

Reaching him by com was clearly hopeless. I called a cab.