Realms of Light

Chapter Two

I buzzed into American City around 18:00, to givemyself a little time to look around.

Strange place. Lots of pink glass, detachedhomes, two- or three-level malls. Bigger than Alderstadt, muchbigger; bigger than Nightside City ever was, even before the dawngot too close for comfort.

In Nightside City the Tourist Trap, thecentral business district, was always ablaze with light, thestreets awash in advertising, holos and neon and stardust. It was aconstant barrage of color and motion. The streets were always fullof people and floaters, despite the wind. The outer parts of thecity were darker and quieter, but the Trap never was.

In Alderstadt, the whole city was dark andquiet-at least at night. People stayed inside, maybe because of thecold; floaters were heavily regulated, and nobody advertised morethan two stories above street level. Biggest ad I ever saw therewasn’t much more than three meters high, a display out front of anexotics restaurant.

I’d gotten used to the low-key approach; mylast few years in Nightside I was out in the burbs, and then I’dbeen in Alderstadt ever since.

American City was the Trap turned inside out.The streets and shells and burbs were blank and silent, but to getanywhere or do anything you had to use the malls, and inside themalls the electronic circus was at full output. The air buzzed withfloaters, stardust bloomed above every doorway, holos beckoned onevery side, and the walkways were jammed.

Made me feel homesick.

Not that Nightside City ever went in soheavily for pink. That was American City’s favorite color, no doubtabout it. And of course there wasn’t any wind in the malls.

At least the malls were warm.

First Street was malled. I strolled down theright-hand traffic lane watching the displays, admiring the way thefloaters picked out the best-dressed people in the crowd for theirpitches. That made it pretty clear why some of the really richpeople I’d met didn’t show it.

The floaters ignored me-I couldn’t afford todress well, and probably wouldn’t have bothered to anyway. I gotthe lightshows, though, and the directional pitches, and the scenttraps. There was one place almost lured me in, a neurochemicaljoint-it wasn’t that their own pitch was so great, though the odorswere just fine, but I was distracted by a beefcake show across thecorner and wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Theyprobably had some sort of subliminals going; I was right at thedoor when I realized I didn’t want to go in.

After that I picked up the pace, and got tothe Sakai building around 19:30.

I wasn’t there for the meeting yet, I justwanted to scout out the place, see if there really was any chancefor an ambush. I figured I’d look it over, get some dinner, lookaround town a little more, and still be at the meet a few minutesearly.

Didn’t happen.

I strolled up the black glass corridorbetween a bughouse and a gene boutique and found the lobby-big roomwith blue carpet, pink ceiling, and more of the black glass walls.A line of floaters was hanging along one side, right up by theceiling.

The minute I set foot in the room one of thembeeped me-a slick blue and silver one, general purpose, veryglossy. The rest ignored me, just hung there, but this one zippedover.

“No names,” it said, “I know who you are.You’re early.”

“Damn it, I’m not here at all,” I said. “Notyet.” I looked over at the line of floaters; they were shifting alittle, closing up the gap my buddy had left.

“Don’t confuse me,” my glittery little friendsaid.

“Then don’t talk to me,” I told it. I turnedto go.

It fizzed for a second, then called,“Wait!”

I gave it the three-finger curse. “The hell Iwill,” I said, and started walking.

It followed me. I’d half expected that.

My hand wasn’t too far from the butt of theHG-2, but I didn’t really have any intention of drawing on thelittle buzzer. You can’t outdraw a floater unless it lets you.

I didn’t really have a good reason for beingso hostile to the little machine; I just didn’t like how littlecontrol I had over the situation. It knew who I was; I didn’t knowa thing about it. It could follow me; if I tried to follow it, itcould just sail up out of reach, or probably outrun me on thelevel. And it could shoot me, if it was armed, but I wouldn’t beable to shoot it unless it was ordered to let me, or unless Icaught it totally off-guard.

I blew a floater apart once, more or less byboth those methods, and it felt pretty good at the time, but Ididn’t care to try to do it again.

And besides, I didn’t really have anythingagainst this one.

Yet.

So I let it follow me, and I didn’t sayanything. I just walked back out into the mall and down a fewstorefronts and ducked into a bank.

The human staff was off-duty, but the tellerswere up and running, and a few customers were wandering about. Oneor two glanced up at the floater, but nobody said anything.

I paused and looked about, and reconsidered.Banks are big on security. Not a good choice.

I turned and went back out on the mall, andthis time I found a clothier.

“I’d like a private booth,” I told the entryclerk. “I need to check some measurements.”

It gave me a cheerful little chirp and said,“Certainly, Mis’. We’ve coded Number Four just for you.”

“I’m taking my floater in with me,” I toldit.

“I’ll tell the door,” it said. “Catalog’s allset on the big screen, any time you’re ready.”

Damn thing sounded like it was smirking. Ihate that sort of smart-chip clerk.

I looked up to be sure Ol’ Blue-and-Silverwas still there, which it was, and I beckoned for it to follow me,then I marched across the display floor to the fitting rooms.

The door to #4 had a pink stardust auraaround it, just to make sure I could find it. It itched a bit whenI walked through it; I think my symbiote must have been sensitiveto the static field.

The door waited until the floater was inside,then it slid shut. The big holoscreen was showing a montage ofmodels in fancy gowns, any of which would have looked like a tenton me.

“Privacy,” I told it. “And kill the displayfor a moment.”

I don’t know if it was smarter than the entryclerk, or what, but the room’s software didn’t say a word, justblanked the screen and lit up an aura around the measuring chip.The screen over the door displayed the word PRIVATE in flowing pinkscript.

I picked up the chip for the sake ofverisimilitude, and then asked the floater, “What the hell were youdoing there so early?”

“I could ask you the same question,” it said.“I was told to go there and wait for you when I finished my regularduties for the day. I got done at 16:48. Waiting doesn’t botherme.”

Its tone made it quite clear that it wantedan answer to the question it hadn’t actually asked.

“I was checking the place out,” I said.“Wanted to see what it was like. I didn’t expect anyone to be therewaiting for me.”

“Shall we return there now?” it asked.

“No,” I said.

It thought that over for a second, and thenasked, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t like that place,” I told it.“That line of floaters makes me nervous. Who put ‘em all there? Areany of them armed? Look, I wasn’t expecting to talk to a floater,and I certainly wasn’t expecting to talk to anyone anywhere thatpublic; I figured whoever it was would meet me there and we’d gosomewhere else to talk. So I met you, and we came here, and it’sstill a couple of hours before our appointment, but I’ll talk toyou here if you want.”

“You’re being paranoid,” it said. “I likethat.”

“Fine,” I said. “Then talk.”

“I’m not your client, Hsing,” it said. “Idon’t even know what he wants you for. I was told to meet you andlook you over, and if I approved to bring you to him. I’ve met youand looked you over, and I approve.”

“So you’re going to take me to him?”

“If you’ll come, yes.”

“Then let’s go,” I said.

We went, back to the Sakai Building, and upto the tenth floor.

Then I waited in a lounge, watching waves ofgreen and blue chase each other across the furniture, while thefloater went on into the inner sanctum. No holoscreen. No attendantsoftware. No floaters. I sat.

It was maybe ten minutes before the floaterreappeared through a holographic wall.

“Hsing,” it said, “you’ll have to leave yourgun.”

I didn’t say anything for a minute, juststared at it.

“You’re not the only one around here who’sparanoid,” it added helpfully.

“Hell,” I said with a shrug. I pulled out theHG-2 and laid it on a table. I considered turning it on, withorders to refuse handling by anyone but me, but decided that waspushing it. It was just a gun. If it got nervous and blew someone’shand off I could catch some serious grit.

I did say, “It better still be here,untouched, when I get back.”

“It will be,” the floater said.

I wasn’t particularly happy about leaving thegun, but it wasn’t any great disaster to give it up. I still hadplenty of other gadgetry on me.

The big difference-which my mystery man wasprobably well aware of-was that almost everything else I carriedwas defensive, rather than offensive. And the rest of my offensivearsenal, such as it was, was relatively easy to defend against,while stopping an armor-piercing round from the Sony-Remingtoncould be a challenge.

Taking the gun and leaving the rest was apretty fair balance between courtesy and caution on my host’s part,and I could live with it.

Then at last I was shown into the otherroom.

It was a small room, maybe three meterssquare. The walls were covered with shielding-not built-in stuff,but the heaviest portable shielding I’d ever seen in my life. Theyweren’t passing anything I could see-certainly no visible light,and nothing that registered on any of the pocket equipment I hadjacked in. My symbiote wasn’t telling me anything, either. Thefloor and ceiling were shielded, too. I was inside a black box.

Once I was inside the floater extended agrapple and slid shut another panel, closing the box. I wascompletely sealed off from the outside world. Some of mytransponder-based stuff objected; I overrode it.

The only illumination came from the floater,which had stepped itself up from running lights to moderate outputand shifted from monochrome to full spectrum; the effect waseerie.

In the box with me were two chairs, two ofthe strangest chairs I’d ever seen, rigid and angular, and made ofa material I didn’t identify at first-wood. With seats of some kindof woven string.

They looked, and presumably were, positivelyancient. Antiques. Real second-millennium stuff. They looked out ofplace in that box of shielding.

Sitting on one of the chairs, and the onlyother thing in there besides the floater, the chairs, and myself,was an old man. A very old man. He went better with the chairs thanwith the box, but not very well with either one. He wore a simplered robe, and I could see no equipment at all. A dimple under hisear had to be a com jack, but it was camouflaged beautifully. Hishair was white and thinning, his face wrinkled-if he’d everbothered with cosmetic surgery, he was past that point now. Noornamental wiring, no colorants, not so much as an earring.

I’d seen that face before, on the holo and instills, but I’d never met him before, never spoken with himdirectly. This was Yoshio Nakada. Grandfather Nakada, head of theNakada clan, chairman of Nakada Enterprises.

“I am honored, Mis’ Nakada,” I said,bowing.

“Carlisle Hsing,” he said. “Please sitdown.”

I sat on the other chair; it creaked as ittook my weight, and the seat felt rough and unyielding beneath me,not reshaping itself at all, though the woven stuff gave veryslightly. It was like sitting on some random object, rather than achair.

“My floater tells me you are a cautiouswoman,” Nakada said.

I gestured at the shielding. “I see you’re acautious man.”

“I need to be,” he said, “in my position.Mis’ Nakada, last year you became involved with mygreat-granddaughter Sayuri.”

He didn’t say it like a question, but Itreated it as one.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Naturally,” he told me, “I had youthoroughly investigated after that.”

“Naturally,” I agreed. I hadn’t reallythought about it, and I certainly never noticed any investigation,but it made sense, and he had the resources to do the job right,without buzzing me.

“I would like to ask you a question,though.”

I noticed the floater gliding forward, sothat it could get a good look at my eyes when I answered whateverit was I was about to be asked. I didn’t say anything.

“Have you ever had any contact with anymember of my family, other than Sayuri and myself?”

That was not the question I had expected, butit was an easy one.

“Not that I know of,” I said.

“Another question, then. Have you ever hadany contact with Sayuri other than during that unfortunate affairon Epimetheus?”

“No.” I’d have liked to have given a moreinteresting answer, but the single syllable really covered thewhole thing.

“Have you ever before had any contact withme?”

“Not directly,” I said. “I tried to contactyou about Sayuri last year, but I wound up dealing entirely withflunkies.” I wondered if he were worried about clones, frauds,mindwipes, or what, that he didn’t know himself whether we’d beenin touch before.

I wondered if Ziyang Subbha would haveresented being called a flunky. I suspected he was pretty high upin Nakada’s organization.

“Are you carrying any recording devices ormicrointelligences?” Nakada asked.

“Yes,” I said. I didn’t see any point inlying.

He glanced up at the floater.

“She’s either telling the truth or she wasready for this,” it said.

The old man sighed.

“Life is so complicated,” he said, “and thereis so little we can trust. Everything we do, there is some way tointerfere. Everything we think we know, there is some way it couldbe faked, or some way it could be changed. Mis’ Hsing, you did me aservice last year-for reasons of your own, I know, and I wouldhardly expect otherwise. You did me a service in regard to littleSayuri, and I saw no purpose there beyond the honest andstraightforward.”

“I did it for the money,” I said. I didn’twant the old man to think I was some kind of idealist. I have somestandards, but I’m no philanthropist.

“Is anything more straightforward?” He almostsmiled. “And yet you did not betray our secrets in pursuit of moremoney. You kept your word. You live a simple life, by my standards,and you have shown yourself to be of use. I have decided to trustyou.”

“Thanks,” I said, not without a hint ofsarcasm.

“I need to trust someone,” he went on, “and Icannot trust anyone in my family, nor in all my corporation, noranyone associated with them. I cannot trust anyone who has livedlong on Prometheus, for my family and Nakada Enterprises areeverywhere here. Even picking someone at random, from all those onthis planet, the odds are that she would be tainted. So I haveturned to you, an Epimethean and an outcast who has shown herselfto be a competent investigator.”

“Fine,” I said, “so that’s why you picked me.So what’s this problem that you can’t trust anyone with?”

He hesitated, and then said, “Mis’ Nakada,someone is trying to kill me.”

That was not really very startling, given hisposition, and I was about to say so when he added, “Someone in myown family, I think.”