Realms of Light

Chapter Twelve

He raised his hands slowly and stared at me. “Whoare you?” he asked.

“I’m the person with the gun,” I told him, asI stepped away from the dreamtank and trained the HG-2 on hisgenerously-sized belly. “That’s all you need to know rightnow.”

“You’re trespassing.”

“Oh, there’s a shock,” I said. “Did you thinkI hadn’t noticed?”

“What do you want here? There’s nothing worthstealing.”

“Is that why you aren’t armed?”

“Why would I be armed? I’m justmaintenance.”

“Not security?”

“No. Why would we have a human guard here?There’s nothing worth stealing!”

“Security has been summoned,” the roomsaid.

“Tell them to stay back-there’s a hostagesituation,” I said, keeping the gun pointed at the maintenanceworker.

“They won’t be here for twenty minutesanyway,” my hostage said. “Our security is the casino cops from theGinza, and they’ll want to clear it with management before theycome down here.”

I considered that, then asked, “Why are youtelling me?”

“Hey, you’re pointing a gun at me. I don’twant you getting nervous because things aren’t going the way youexpect them to.”

That made sense. “Which of these is Station31?” I asked, nodding toward the dreamtanks on my right. “Give me ahand, and I can be out of here before the casino cops ever show up.No danger of getting caught in the crossfire.”

“Thirty-One?” He blinked, then pointed,keeping his hand high as he did. “Over there somewhere.” The handsdrooped a little. “Is that what you’re after? One of these lose…I mean, one of our clients?”

“That’s right. Can you get him out forme?”

“You gonna kill him?”

I grimaced. “No,” I said. Then a memory ofwhat it had felt like when the three of us got the news that ourparents were dumping us stirred in the back of my head somewhere,and I added, “Though he maybe deserves it.”

“He owes you money?” He shook his head. “Hecan’t pay it. That’s part of the deal. The company takes control ofall assets and all debts when the babies go in the bottle. Theygive up control of their own affairs. If he has any money left, hecan’t touch it.”

“I know that!” I snapped. “I’m not hereto…never mind. Just open Station 31, will you? It’s none of yourbusiness what I want with him.”

He shrugged. “Sure. No juice out of mysystem.” He lowered his hands and headed toward one of the tanks.He tapped the display and said, “Maintenance.”

The screen lit up. He glanced at it and said,“Oops.” He moved two panels over and repeated his performance,except this time instead of “oops,” he said, “Got it.”

I moved cautiously closer, keeping the gunready and staying a couple of meters out of reach.

TIER 4, ROW 6, STATION 31, the top line ofthe display read, and the second line said HSING, GUOHAN.

That was him.

“Huh,” the maintenance worker said. “Is thatspelled right?”

“Yes,” I said. “Get him out.”

“I mean, it’s usually Singh, S I N G H.That’s how I spell it. Maybe the H is in the wrong place.”

I put that together with the guy’s turban.“He’s not a Sikh,” I said. “The name’s Chinese, with an archaicspelling. Now, get him out of there.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” theturbaned man-presumably Mis’ Singh-said.

“Security is on its way,” the room remindedus. “Please do not take any hasty actions.”

“Get him out,” I repeated.

“He’s been in there a long time,” themaintenance worker warned me. “If I get him out he’s going to bepretty disoriented, and there’s probably been some muscleatrophy.”

I hadn’t really thought that through. I knewhe might not be feeling very cooperative after being snatched outof his mechanical womb, away from his pretty fantasies, but thatwas one reason I’d brought the gun. That he might not be able towalk could complicate matters.

I couldn’t take the whole tank; it was toobig, and built into the floor. It wasn’t designed to move. I had toget my father out, and if he couldn’t walk, that was a problem.

Fortunately, I had a solution standing rightthere.

“You may need to carry him for me, then,” Isaid. “Don’t worry, he’s not a big man.”

“After all those years in there, I’ll bethe’s not.” He glanced around. “Carry him where?”

“Anywhere I can get a cab.”

He looked baffled. “You’re taking him awaywith you? Why? He’s a dreamer, nobody’s going to ransom him oranything.”

“I know that.”

“Does he know something you want? Are youplanning to question him? Because there might be some memoryloss…”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone beingheld at gunpoint,” I said. “Just get him out.” I pressed a buttonon the HG-2, and it made a threatening whine, as if the targetingmechanism were adjusting.

The real targeting mechanism was completelysilent, of course; the button was just sound effects.

The sound effects worked, though; Mis’ Singh,if that was his name, stopped asking questions and got busy withthe panel on T4 R6 S31. A moment later there was a hiss, then awhir, and then Station 31 opened and a bed slid out.

And there was my father, lying naked in thebed-not on it, but sunk down into it, surrounded by worn brownplastic. He was curled into foetal position, lying on his leftside, but going by the wear on the plastic, and the condition ofhis skin, he had been turned every so often. Tubes ran into botharms, his mouth, nose, anus, and urethra; a visor covered his eyes,and a heavy-duty cable was plugged into the back of his skull andsecured with a clamp around his throat. He was shriveled andshrunken, his skin dry and flaking, his hair long and ragged; theonly part of him that still looked healthy and normal was the wirejob on his neck and one side of his head.

I hadn’t seen him in years, and when I did hehadn’t looked like this, he’d been healthy and alert, but all thesame, I recognized him immediately. This was Guohan Hsing, allright. This was my father, genetically if not legally.

“Get him out of there,” I said again. Themaintenance guy tapped the control panel; the throat clamp releasedwith a sharp click, and tubes started withdrawing. I decided Ididn’t need to watch that, and focused my attention on the paunchyman’s face, but I could hear the tubes sliding from theirplaces, which was almost as bad.

“Do you want him awake?” Singh asked.

“Waking Mis’ Hsing is a violation of hiscontract,” the room said. “Please wait for Security before takingfurther action.”

“I just want him alive,” I said. “Awake orasleep doesn’t really matter right now.”

“Waking Mis’ Hsing is a violation of hiscontract,” the voice repeated.

“Can you shut that thing off?” I asked Singh.I gestured with the gun. “It’s annoying me.”

“Not from here,” the maintenance workersaid.

“It’s not very bright.”

“It doesn’t have to be, to watch over a bunchof dreamers.”

The hiss and gurgle of retracting tubesstopped, and I heard the rasping as my father began breathingunassisted for the first time in years. I hesitated before lookingat him, though; I wasn’t sure I really wanted to see him.

“They didn’t give it much authority, didthey?” I said, putting off the inevitable. “You didn’t need to doanything to override it.”

“You just said it’s not very bright, Mis’.Would you trust it with anyone’s life?”

Then Dad coughed, a harsh, choking cough, andI turned to help.

So did the maintenance guy. Between us we gotmy father into a sitting position as he choked and gasped, hislungs struggling to work unaided. He coughed uncontrollably forwhat seemed like half an hour, but which my symbiote told me wasonly about twenty seconds, and when he was finally able to stop hewas wide awake, sitting in his plastic bed. He raised one tremblinghand and lifted off the visor, then looked up at us.

He tried to talk, but all that came out was awheeze, and that started him coughing again. I decided not to wait.“Pick him up,” I told Singh. I had lowered the gun while we movedmy father; now I pointed it again.

He hesitated, glancing at Dad. “What are yougoing to do with him?” he asked.

“I’m going to get him off Epimetheus beforesunrise,” I said. “Pick him up!”

“Security will arrive in approximatelyeighty-five seconds,” the room said. “Please stand by.”

“Off-planet? How?” Singh asked.

“I have a ship,” I said. “It’s waiting at theport. Unless you want to get caught in the crossfire, I suggest youpick him up and get him out of here before those eighty-fiveseconds are up.”

Singh took maybe half a second to think itover, then nodded. He bent down, tugged the loose clamp out of theway, unplugged the cable from the back of Dad’s neck, then slid hisarms under shoulders and knees and picked my father up. Either themaintenance guy was stronger than he looked, or Dad weighed aboutas much as a cup of tea. He put up about as much resistance as atea cup, too.

“Which way?” Singh asked.

“Out,” I said. “Wherever Security isn’t. Youshow me.”

He nodded and began walking, and said, “Whatkind of ship?”

“A yacht,” I said, following him. I had totrot to keep up. “Not mine.”

“Room for another passenger?”

I should have expected that. “If it won’t getme arrested, there might be.”

“Hey, getting me out isn’t anywherenear as illegal as kidnaping this poor guy I’mcarrying.”

“Stop right there!” a new voice called.

I turned, the HG-2 in my hand, but before Icould say anything Singh called, “It’s okay, guys!”

I didn’t point the gun at anyone after all;instead I just looked at the two cops who were coming down theaisle toward us. They had guns, too-nothing quite as big as theHG-2, but probably more than enough to kill me several times over.A floater was hanging just above and behind them, scanning thescene.

“What’s wrong?” I said, trying to soundconfused.

“The surveillance system here reported ahostage situation,” the lead cop said, keeping his gun trained onme. The second cop, I noticed, was pointing his gun atSingh.

Singh had been telling the truth aboutSeventh Heaven’s security; these two were in charcoal-gray suitswith the Ginza logo on the breast and security badges on theirsleeves. Casino cops-that was both good and bad. Good, because theydidn’t really care about the law, only about what was good forbusiness, and shooting potential customers was pretty much nevergood for business. Bad, because they not only didn’t care whetherI was breaking the law, they didn’t care whether theywere, either-they could play rough.

“The surveillance system is an idiot,” Singhsaid. “There’s a maintenance problem, that’s all-I had to get thispoor loser out before his tank poisoned him.”

“Who are you?”

Singh sighed. “I’m Minish Singh, second-shiftmaintenance.”

“Who’s she?”

“Hu Xiao. She wanted me to check on thisguy-he’s a potential witness. Good thing she did; he’d have beendead in an hour.”

I thought that was pretty good improvisation;I wondered whether they’d buy it. I didn’t think I wouldhave, but I’m not a casino cop. Casino cops don’t like trouble.

“Surveillance, can you confirm?”

“Minish Singh, confirmed. However, thisperson does not match city records of Hu Xiao.”

“I told you, rejuve,” I said. “My files needupdating.”

“She’s Officer Hu,” Singh said.

“She threatened Mis’ Singh with what shecalled a heavy-gravity handgun loaded with homing incendiaries,”the room said. I thought it sounded… miffed, maybe. Or pettish.One of those strange old words that shouldn’t apply to ahalf-witted piece of software.

“Fine, my weapon isn’t standard issue,” Isaid. “Is that any of your concern?”

“You threatened him?” the lead cop asked.

“What?” I tried to look innocent. “No, Ididn’t threaten him, I just told him to hurry.”

The second cop spoke for the first time.“Who’s the corpse?” he asked.

“I’m not…” Dad said. Then his voice gaveout, and he coughed instead of finishing the sentence.

“Guohan Hsing,” Singh said.

“He’s a potential witness in a kidnap,” Isaid, trying to reconcile the story I’d given the room with thestory Singh had made up.

“I’m not dead,” Dad said. This time he gotthe whole thing out, but so quietly I’m not sure the cops heardhim.

They didn’t care, in any case. To them he wasa body Seventh Heaven had been storing, and whether he was alive ordead was a technical detail that didn’t interest them.

“His tank glitched,” Singh said.

“Or was hacked,” I said.

“Surveillance, who’s the hostage here?” theless-talkative cop asked.

“The intruder calling herself Hu Xiao washolding Mis’ Singh at gunpoint.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “I was just trying tohurry him a little. Who wrote this piece of gritware, anyway? I’msorry to drag you two down here, guys-I guess this surveillancesystem’s a little buggy.”

“Mis’ Singh, was this woman threatening you?”the lead cop asked.

“No,” my father and Singh said in unison.

The second cop smiled at that, and loweredhis gun a little.

“May we please get this man out of here tosomeplace he can get medical attention?” Singh demanded. “This isall a misunderstanding, but that tank did almost killhim.”

“I did not detect any malfunction,” the roomsaid, and I had to agree it wasn’t a very good piece of software-itmade this statement in a flat tone, neither sulky nor defensive.That trace of emotion I thought I’d detected before was gone.

“Well, I have eyes, not just a datafeed,”Singh said. “Something glitched his tank. We need to get him out ofhere.”

“And after that Mis’ Vo wants to questionhim,” I said. I thought whoever was listening to the bugs in mygun, assuming someone was, might be amused by that.

The lead cop glanced over his shoulder at thefloater. “Any advice? Orders?”

“Neither account is entirely consistent orbelievable,” the floater said in a pleasant alto

“So everyone’s lying?”

“Or mistaken.”

“You think it’s all a misunderstanding?”

“We have insufficient evidence to concludeotherwise.”

“I don’t want to get mixed up in akidnaping,” the second cop said.

“Look, I’m the ranking representative ofSeventh Heaven here,” Singh said. “I’m telling you there’s noproblem. Go on back to the Ginza and forget about it.”

“What the hell,” the lead cop said,holstering his pistol. “That runs smooth enough for me.”

“Want us to file a bug report?” the secondasked Singh.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replied.

A second floater had arrived, I noticed. Ididn’t say anything, and tried not to let anyone see I had noticedit; it was stealthed, hiding itself in a holo that blended with theceiling.

Except it had set the holo up as acompromise, angled as best it could to fool all three of us-Singh,Dad, and me. And I was shorter and closer than they were, so myangle was different, and the image wasn’t aligned perfectly forme.

“Good enough,” the cop said. He holstered hisweapon, as well, and the two of them turned away. The big floater,the visible one, kept a lens trained on us to make sure we didn’ttry anything, and followed the two humans as they headed back theway they had come.

For a second or two Singh and I watched themgo; then Singh said, “Come on,” and started walking again. Heshifted my father around into a more comfortable position; itreally looked as if my old man didn’t weigh more than a dozenkilos.

“Just a moment,” I said. “Let me check thesafety.” I looked down at the HG-2, and at the image of the ceilingreflected on the inert diagnostics screen.

The stealthed floater was still there. Iactivated the gun’s targeting system, hoping it could find thefloater and lock onto it. Then I hurried after the maintenanceworker.

I had to be careful what I said, since I knewwe were being watched. I couldn’t even safely tell Singh wewere being watched, not with both the stealthed floater and thebugged gun listening in.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Hey, if you can really…”

I interrupted him. “You aren’t happy here?” Isaid.

He glanced back at me, puzzled. Then helooked thoughtfully along Row 6.

He might not see the floater, but he knew wecould be heard. The surveillance system might be stupid, but it wasprobably bright enough to record everything, and sooner or later itwould send those recordings to someone or something thatwasn’t stupid.

It probably had enough recorded already toget us both sent for reconstruction if anyone decided to push.There was no point in pretending we were complete innocents.

But we didn’t want to say anything that wouldget us moved to the top of the priority list, either.

“No, I’m not happy,” he said. He waved at thedreamtanks around us. “Look around. You know what people call us,all of us who work here?”

I knew. “Corpsefuckers,” I said.

“That’s right,” he said angrily. “You look atthis son of a bitch I’m carrying. Never mind that he’s not dead,you think anyone would want to screw that?”

I didn’t want to look at him. I wanted toremember my father as a human being, not a dessicated ruin. “Idon’t think anyone means it literally,” I said. “It’s just… itseems creepy, working with all these comatose dreamers.”

“It is creepy,” Singh agreed. “Not tomention boring-no one’s buying dreams anymore, not when the city’sabout to fry, and I’m nothing but a back-up system, watching themachines tend a bunch of losers nobody cares about. You knowsomething, Mis’ One-With-the-Gun? I’ve had enough of it. If you canget me somewhere I can find a better job, I’ll do whatever you wantwith this Guohan Hsing. Do you know where you’re taking him?”

“I’m headed for American City on Prometheus,”I said. “Or maybe Alderstadt.”

“Either one sounds good to me.”

“What…” The voice was a dry whisper, but weboth heard it. “Who are you people?” my father asked.

“My name’s Minish Singh,” the paunchy guysaid, without stopping. I hoped he knew where he was going. “Untilmaybe five minutes ago I was the second shift maintenance crew forSeventh Heaven Neurosurgery.”

“What are you doing with me? This isreal, isn’t it?”

“As real as it gets,” Singh replied.

“Why? I paid for a lifetime contract!”

“Ask her,” Singh said, nodding over hisshoulder toward me.

Dad struggled to turn his head to look at me,but the neck muscles weren’t strong enough. Singh shifted his holdto help, and my father stared at me.

“You look familiar,” he said at last.

“Good to know,” I answered.

“You look… how long has it been?”

“Long enough,” I said.

“You’re Carlie, aren’t you? Or… Ali? Or agranddaughter?”

“Right the first time,” I told him.

“Carlie?” There was a sort of wonder in hisvoice-and apprehension. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” I snapped.“Seems to me you already did it for me!”

“You… you might want revenge for dumpingyou,” he said. “I thought… I’ve…” He began coughing again, andSingh thumped him on the back as if he was burping a baby.

Then we were at a door, and Singh pressed histhumb on the screen and the door slid open, and we were in aservice corridor, black plastic all around. I glanced up where Ithought the stealthed floater probably was, but I couldn’t spotit.

I’d want to do something about that.

I tapped my wrist to call for a cab, thentold Dad, “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If I wanted you tosuffer, you’d be suffering. You think no one can tamper with thesoftware here? Anything can be hacked, you know that.”

“We need to find street access,” Singh said.“The cabs can’t get in here.”

“So get us out,” I told him.

“Where are you taking me?” my father asked,as Singh turned left and trotted down the corridor. Dad’s voice wasstill weak, every word coming with an effort.

“Prometheus,” I said, hurrying to keep up.“Where you can go right back into a dreamtank. Don’t worry, I’m nottrying to get you to take your life back; I just don’t trustSeventh Heaven to keep things running after the city’s fried.”

“Is your mother there? On Prometheus?”

“What? Of course not. She’s been out-systemfor years.”

“Then why?”

I wasn’t any too sure of that myself.“Because someone offered to get you off-planet, and it seemed likea good play at the time,” I said.

“But we dumped you.”

“I know that, you bastard,” I said. I couldfeel my eyes welling up. “God damn it, I know that. But you neverasked whether we intended to dump you.”