Realms of Light

Chapter Eleven

I finished logging out and shutting down, and then Isat for a moment, staring at a desktop image of rolling ocean.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Oh, technically, Isuppose coincidence was a possible explanation, but it wasn’t oneI’d run. Even the stupidest gambler in the Trap wouldn’t play thoseodds. There had to be a connection between my visit to the SeventhHeaven system, and that hour-long probe a day earlier.

And the connection was pretty obvious. I gotmy access to the back door from a recording of Yoshio Nakada that Igot from the old man’s ITEOD file, and I wasn’t the only one tolook at that file. One of the others must have booted up a copy,just as I had, and found out about the back door from it.

That gave me three suspects: officer of thecourt Hu Xiao, an intelligence named Dipsy 3, and the anonymoususer who had used a Nakada Enterprises corporate account. I knewwhich one I’d bet on, given a choice-the one who’d had a connectionwith Grandfather Nakada all along.

But that left another question-what was theconnection with Seventh Heaven? Why would my mystery person (or HuXiao or Dipsy 3) want access to a dream company’s records? I knewwhy I wanted it, but somehow I doubted that some member ofthe Nakada clan was searching for a particular wirehead in thestorage tanks of Trap Under. Why would anybody be looking atdreamer files?

Whoever it was presumably wanted somethingSeventh Heaven had. I wanted my father; what did this other personwant?

What did Seventh Heaven have?

More specifically, what did they have thatother companies didn’t? If the intruder had been going throughmultiple companies looking for credit or information, I didn’tthink she would have gotten to Seventh Heaven this quickly; a dreamcompany wouldn’t rank very high on my list of targets forthe usual sort of exploitation.

So what would a dream company have that othercompanies wouldn’t?

Dreams, of course-millions of hours ofinteractive imagery ready to be fed into a client’s brain withoutbeing filtered through actual eyes and ears. Imaginary kingdoms oflight and color, lands of bliss, bedrooms where no matter howenergetic or inventive you got, you never had to worry abouttugging on hair or twisting an ankle. Thrilling adventures, willingharems, transcendent scenery.

But you could get that kind of thinganywhere. Hell, a lot of it was public domain, and you coulddownload it free from the city’s public service. Sure, some of thebest stuff was the dream companies’ proprietary material, but wasit really worth this much trouble?

What else did Seventh Heaven have?

Row upon row of dreamtanks-enclosedlife-support systems that could keep an unconscious human beingalive and reasonably healthy indefinitely without any externalsupervision, while a hardwired link fed pretty pictures into hisbrain. Was there some use for dreamtanks that I wasn’t seeing,something that made them valuable?

You could hide things in them, I supposed,but so what? They didn’t go anywhere, so that wouldn’t help muchwith smuggling, and really, what would you need to hide inNightside City that would be worth the trouble of finding an emptydreamtank to stash it in? There were dozens of abandoned buildingsin the West End where you could hide things; why bother with adreamtank?

I thought of an answer to that one. If whatyou were trying to hide was an unconscious human being, then adreamtank would be perfect. I didn’t know exactly why you wouldwant to hide someone, but there could probably be some interestingreasons.

I wondered whether it might be worth checkingthe city’s missing persons database against the DNA of the peoplein Seventh Heaven’s tanks. Seventh Heaven might have kidnap victimsstashed away somewhere without realizing it.

And that was the other thing Seventh Heavenhad, of course-people. Hundreds, or thousands, or maybe even tensof thousands of them, tucked quietly away in Trap Under, dreamingtheir lives away undisturbed. Nobody ever visited dreamers, nobodychecked on them; anyone might be in those tanks, and no one wouldever know. Was there someone in there that somebody wanted?

Well, there was my father, and I wanted toget him out of Nightside City, but was there anyoneelse?

It didn’t seem very likely. People who hadsomething to do in the real world didn’t buy the dream anddisappear into the tanks. That took a loser like my father, andnobody but me had ever gone looking for him, not even mybrother or sister. His wife, my mother, had left him there to rotwhile she took off for Achernar or somewhere.

Of course, she had also left her three kids.Not exactly a perfect avatar of maternal concern, nor anadvertisement for ancestor worship. Maybe there were otherfamilies, families less buggy than ours, where someone had bought apermanent dream but his family still cared what happened tohim.

But in a family like that, would the parentshave done the dump? If I were still legally family, I could havegotten Dad’s location legitimately, without using the old man’sback door into the company.

No, I couldn’t see any reason anyone elsewould be looking for a specific dreamer the way I was-and ifsomeone was looking for a dreamer, why would she have neededan hour looking through the back door? I was done in tenminutes.

So it wasn’t someone trying to find an oldfriend, or a member of the family.

But what else did Seventh Heaven have? Theyhad dreams, and tanks, and dreamers, and that was about it. Thedreams weren’t worth stealing, I didn’t see what anyone would wantwith the tanks-what did someone want with dreamers if hewasn’t looking for a particular person? A couple of hundredyears ago they might have been worth something as medical suppliesand spare parts, but now? Doctors have better sources. Syntheticorgans are better than anything you can get used.

Could there be some particular dream inSeventh Heaven’s inventory that was somehow special? Was there someother use for a dreamtank besides stashing people no one caredabout?

I didn’t know, and I didn’t think I wouldfind out here in the New York’s office suite. I stood up.

“I hope you have enjoyed your stay, Mis’Hsing,” the room said, as the image of waves faded away and thedoor slid open.

“So do I,” I said.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the roomsaid, but I didn’t bother to explain.

“Tell Mis’ Vo thank you,” I said, as I headedout into the corridor.

The floater that took my gun was waiting forme by the door, tray extruded. I picked up the HG-2 and stepped outonto the roof.

“The car will take you back to your ship,”the floater said from over my shoulder.

I hesitated. Did I want to go back to theship, where the newsies were probably still snooping around? Iwould be more or less trapped there, but I would also be able tochat with Yoshio-kun. It might be able to tell me somethinguseful about Seventh Heaven, or about who might be poking around intheir system.

I definitely wanted to go back to the shipeventually, and when I did I would want to talk to the upload, butI had come here to fetch my father and ’Chan.

“Thanks,” I said, “but I just need a liftdown to street level. I have business in the Trap.” I turned backto the door. “In fact, an elevator would be fine, I don’t need thecar.”

“You are armed,” the floater said.“High-powered weapons are not permitted in the casino.”

I looked down at the gun I still held. “Oh,right,” I said.

“The car will take you to any legaldestination within a three-block radius,” the floater said.

I nodded. “Fair enough,” I said, heading forthe car.

I wasn’t sure just what I was going to do,but I knew part of it: I was going to find Tier 4, Row 6, Station31 and make sure my father was really there. I might get him out, Imight not; it would depend what I found down there. I thought itwas just barely possible that he wasn’t there, that someoneor something else was hidden away in that dreamtank, and thedreamers who were supposed to be there had been quietly disposedof, but I didn’t think it was likely. I expected to find Dad rightwhere he ought to be.

But I intended to check, and while I wasthere I intended to keep my eyes and ears open and try to figureout what they might have down there that would be worth breakinginto Seventh Heaven’s system to get.

In particular, a strange possibility hadgradually worked its way into my thoughts. Could it be that someonehad faked Yoshio Nakada’s death solely so he could get acopy of the old man’s brain, and that he had wanted a copy just sohe could get at the back door to Seventh Heaven?

It didn’t seem likely; in fact, it didn’tmake any real sense at all. But the only tangible thing to come outof the false reports of Grandfather Nakada’s death, the only realresult I had yet found, was that someone had gotten into the backdoor at Seventh Heaven. If it really was the only result,then it must be the point of the whole thing.

If someone was going to run that much codejust to break into Seventh Heaven, then there must be one hell of areason, and maybe, just maybe, I would see some sign downthere of what that reason was.

It was far more likely that the chance to getin there and look around was just a little extra, not the primarygoal at all, but it was the only real effect I had seen sofar.

I settled onto the car’s upholstery, whichwas now a few shades lighter but still red, and looked at the gunin my hand.

Vo’s people had probably bugged it. Iwould have, certainly. I flicked the switch to turn it on.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” the car said.“Where to?”

“Street level,” I said. “Near an entrance toTrap Under.”

“Could you be more specific, Mis’? There areno public entrances to the service levels.”

“The nearest entrance that won’t require anyclearance.”

“Would the northeast delivery entrance of theNew York Townhouse Hotel and Gambling Hall suit you?”

“That sounds fine.”

“I would appreciate it if you turned off yourweapon.”

“I’m not going to shoot you. Just get me downoff this tower. The sooner I’m on the ground, the sooner I’ll getmy gun out of your cabin.”

“Yes, Mis’.” Then it finally got moving, andI could turn my attention to the read-outs on the HG-2.

The Sony-Remington HG-2 is a fine weapon,designed for use on high-gravity worlds. Epimetheus is not ahigh-gravity world; I’d had a friend bring the gun in fromout-system for me, and it probably wasn’t legal in Nightside City,but sometimes it was very handy to have. It could put a hole inpretty much anything I was likely to want a hole in. The recoilknocked me on my ass just about every time I fired it, but if I wasever up against something where I needed a second shot I wasbuggered anyway. It had all the power I wanted.

But it wasn’t very bright. It understoodspoken instructions, at least as far as being told what to target,but it didn’t talk, not by sound and not by wireless. If I wantedto know whether anyone had tampered with it I had to rely on itsdiagnostic read-outs, which were not exactly detailed surveillanceholos.

They weren’t totally worthless, though, andthey reported an unexplained power drain. It was bugged.

Which meant there were probably at least twobugs-the one I was expected to find and remove, thereby convincingme that I was once again clean, and the serious one they didn’tthink I would notice. If they thought I was really cautious theremight be a third, but I doubt they thought I was sufficientlyparanoid to justify a fourth.

In fact, I wasn’t going to remove any ofthem. I couldn’t be sure I’d get them all. Even just worrying abouthardware, if I did a mass check and made sure there wasn’t anyadded weight that still wouldn’t prove anything; they could havedrilled out the exact weight of the bug somewhere.

And of course, they might have used softwareand planted a bot somewhere in the gun’s pitiful excuse for amotherboard, though that would be tricky, given how littleprocessing capacity it had and its complete absence ofnetworking.

There wasn’t any point in worrying about it.I wasn’t going to do anything with the gun that Vijay Vo or theNakadas would care about; I was going to get my father back. Iexpected to break several laws in the process, but Vo and theNakada family weren’t cops.

I’d clean the gun eventually, when I got itback to someplace with the equipment to do the job right, but fornow I didn’t mind if people listened in.

I turned the gun off and tucked it away justas the car settled to a stop and opened a door.

I looked out at the gleaming wall of aservice tunnel, where news headlines, traffic reports, and casinoinventories were scrolling past in various colors. I didn’trecognize it, but my wrist com gave me my position.

I stepped out, and the car closed up andglided away, leaving me alone in the tunnel. I could see a serviceentrance for the New York ahead, and to one side was the accesstunnel where the car had come in; Seventh Heaven was somewherebehind me, a few blocks and three levels away. I turned around andstarted walking.

Trap Under wasn’t exactly open to the public,and there weren’t any city streets, but the service tunnels andaccess corridors and passageways linked up to form a web under theentire Trap, and most of it wasn’t guarded or patrolled. Gettingaround wasn’t a problem as long as you stayed clear of thehigh-security areas. Oh, there were cameras everywhere, but nobodyever bothered to check out most of what they picked up; they werefor backtracking after an incident, not keeping an eye on everyonewho took a shortcut through the tunnels.

I didn’t expect any trouble getting to anentrance to Seventh Heaven’s tank farm, and I didn’t have any-a fewminutes’ walk, a ride down an open freight elevator, then anothershort walk, and there I was, standing in a black plastic corridorat a yellow door that had “Seventh Heaven Service Access T5”stenciled on it. No one bothered much with any sort of variableimaging on the basic labels down here; it was just paint, anddidn’t change at my approach.

The door didn’t open, either.

I stood there for a moment, lookingimpatient, but if the door was watching me it didn’t care; itdidn’t say anything. “Got a delivery,” I said.

The door still didn’t answer.

I frowned, and took another look-maybe itwasn’t that smart a door. I didn’t see any lenses or speakers, butthat didn’t mean anything. There was a big steel handle; I leanedon that, but it didn’t budge.

There was also a red panel with whitelettering that said “Emergency access-alarm will sound.”

I considered that for a moment, and thendecided I didn’t care about setting off any alarms. It would mean Iwouldn’t have much time to explore before trouble showed up, and Imight need to go ahead and get Dad out now instead of waiting,maybe make a run for it, but I was here, and I wanted to know if hewas really in there. I slid the panel up, and found a single bigred button behind it. I pressed it, hard, with my thumb.

Sure enough, an alarm sounded-a sort ofhooting. I ignored it, and watched as the door shook slightly; thenthe latch released and the door slid open.

It had opened less than halfway when Islipped sideways past it into the tank farm.

The alarms were hooting in here, too, and redlights were flashing, though the regular lights were on, too.

“Please identify yourself,” somethingsaid.

“Hu Xiao,” I said. “Officer of the court, oncity business.” I was in a corridor, with rows of black panels setwith video displays on either side-dreamtanks, I assumed. I hadnever seen one up close before.

The hooting stopped, but the red flashesdidn’t. “Please state the nature of your business.”

“I’m investigating a reported kidnaping,” Ilied, trotting down the corridor.

At the first intersection I stopped andlooked around for some indication of where I should go, and sawthat the passage I was in was labeled T5, while the corridorcrossing it was R1. I headed straight on.

At the next intersection Corridor T5 crossedCorridor R2. I smiled; that seemed straightforward enough, andpicked up the pace.

“Please explain the nature of yourinvestigation,” the voice said, startling me. It had been quiet forso long I thought it had given up.

“Classified,” I told it.

R3, R4…

“Human personnel have been contacted, and areon their way to discuss the situation,” it said. “Please have yourcity ID ready.”

“Of course,” I said, and I drew the HG-2.

“Officer Hu, your appearance and voice do notmatch the information on file.”

“Rejuve surgery,” I said as I got to thecorner of R6 and hesitated. “I need to update that.” I picked adirection at random and turned right.

Bad choice. The intersections were muchfarther apart in this direction, so by the time I spotted the redT6 on the wall above the corner tank I could hear footsteps in thedistance.

“Hello?” someone called. It sounded like aman, not a machine, but you can’t always tell. “Officer Hu?”

“Over here,” I called. “Row Five.” I turnedand hurried back down Row Six, hoping we wouldn’t cross the Tier 5corridor at the same time.

We didn’t. A moment later the voice wasbehind me, calling, “Officer Hu?”

I was in Row 6, between the T4 and T5corridors-did that put me in Tier 4? And which tank was Station 31?I didn’t see any numbers.

“Officer Hu, if you don’t show yourself I’llhave to call Security.”

“I’m over here,” I said, while I wondered whoI was talking to. Wasn’t he Security? Did he mean he’d have to callfor reinforcements? I stopped midway down the row and studied thenearest dreamtank’s display panel. It was blank. I tapped it with afingernail.

The word STANDBY appeared on the panel.

“Status report,” I said.

“Officer Hu?”

“Right here,” I called, as the screen litup.

The red flashing lights were distracting, butI could read the screen. TIER 4, ROW 6, STATION 18, it said at thetop. OHTA, AZRAEL-I took that to be the occupant’s name. Ascreenful of data appeared below that-medical data, a list ofrecently-played dreams, and more. Azrael Ohta’s blood glucose was72 and his BP was 91 over 63, which both seemed a little low, butotherwise he appeared to be in good health, and he was eighty-threeminutes into something called “Desert Encounter 306,” withthirty-one minutes to go.

But he wasn’t my father. I turned around andlooked at the opposite side of the corridor. A tap on that panelgot me the STANDBY message.

And then a paunchy guy in a purple turban andblue worksuit appeared at the corner of T5 and R6, looking atme.

“You’re not Hu Xiao,” he said

“Neither are you,” I said, hoping to confusehim.

“I saw a picture,” he said. “You aren’tOfficer Hu. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

I sighed, pressed the power button, andraised the HG-2. “I’m threatening you with a heavy-gravity handgunloaded with homing incendiaries,” I said. “That’s what I’m doinghere. Now, are you going to cooperate, or is this going to getnasty?”