Realms of Light

Chapter Eight

The access log I’d snagged with Grandfather Nakada’sITEOD files wasn’t exactly long, nor was it hugely informative.There were only three entries.

An officer named Hu Xiao had accessed thefiles under the direction of the court, and had copied portions. Anote indicated that the copying was for later analysis, and thatMis’ Hu had filed a report of his findings. The report was notavailable to the public.

An analytical program named Dipsy 3 hadaccessed the files. What Dipsy had done with them wasn’t listed.Dipsy was presumably pointed at the files by the courts, same as Huwas.

And finally, someone using a NakadaEnterprises corporate account had downloaded a complete copy of thefiles. No further details were included.

That third one-if the faked death had beendone to get at the ITEOD files…

Well, no. I couldn’t rely on that. Someonemight have been subtle and gotten what he was after by crackingHu’s storage, rather than the original the cops had. Or maybe Dipsyhad been tagged for it. Or maybe the original Nakada download waslegitimate, but then our interplanetary liar had gotten at itsomewhere in the corporate nets.

But the third one was worth a look, so Iplugged back in and started doing a trace on the account.

I’d expected it to be used by the New YorkGames Corporation, the subsidiary that ran the casino and most ofthe other Nakada businesses on Epimetheus, but it wasn’t. It was ahigh-level account for officers of Nakada Enterprises itself, ormembers of the Nakada family.

I unplugged again and stared at the displayon my desk.

This was too easy.

Grandfather Nakada thought a member of hisown family had tried to kill him. I had guessed that the motivemight be connected with his ITEOD files, and here was someone whomight be a member of the Nakada family accessing those ITEODfiles.

It couldn’t be that simple. I was good at myjob, but I wasn’t that good-or rather, I couldn’t believeany Nakada could be that bad at covering her tracks. Eventhat grithead Sayuri would probably have done better than this.

Of course, that assumed there was areason to cover those tracks. Maybe whoever this was hadn’thad anything to do with the attempted murder, or the fraudulentreports of Yoshio’s death.

It also assumed that I could identify whichfamily member it was. That wasn’t a sure thing.

I had looked over the Nakada family treeduring the flight from Prometheus, but now I pulled it up andlooked again.

Yoshio Nakada was the oldest surviving memberof the clan. His two siblings, both younger, were long dead. Yoshiohad married three times and sired five children-at least, five heacknowledged-over a period of about a century, ending roughly ahundred years ago. There had been eleven grandchildren, twenty-sixgreat-grandchildren (including my old friend Sayuri), thirty-threegreat-great-grandchildren, and forty-seven great-great-greatgrandchildren, so far. I didn’t bother counting up the threeyoungest generations; half of them were just kids, and all of themwere so low on the corporate ladder that I couldn’t take themseriously as any sort of threat.

A lot of these people were dead, and therewere dozens of spouses, ex-spouses, and concubines in the mix, ofcourse.

And then there were the two collateralbranches. Yoshio’s sister Hinako had one daughter, Narumi, who waschildless, twice widowed, and still alive, but at last report wason Earth, not in the Eta Cassiopeia system at all.

The Wheeler Drive could have gotten her herequickly enough, but why would she bother? So far as I knew, she hadnothing against her Uncle Yoshio.

Yoshio’s brother Masanori had been a littlemore prolific. He had fathered fifteen children on eight wivesbefore he finally died. There were a couple of hundred descendantson that side, but most of them had no real ties to the corporateclan; in fact, most of them were working for New Bechtel-Rand orITD or other interstellars, not for Nakada Enterprises at all.

I thought I could safely ignore Narumi andmost of Masanori’s brood, but that still left quite a crowd.Figuring out which of them had a motive to do in their ancestorwould call for some processing. So would figuring out which oneshad the capability. Jiggering the old man’s personal com with afatal dream enhancement program wasn’t something everyone coulddo.

I frowned. You didn’t need to get in therewith your own hands to set that up, but you did need real-timeaccess to the family net, which meant you had to be on Prometheusat some point-not necessarily the night it went off, but at somepoint before that. I could eliminate anyone who had never set footon Prometheus.

And accessing the ITEOD files-again, youdidn’t need to be there at the time, but I didn’t see how thatcould be done safely from off-planet. The fake death reports, yeah,those could be done from Prometheus, though it would be tricky tokeep the cover on the hoax for very long, but the ITEOD downloadhad been done through the Nightside City nets. Someone had loggedon here.

Which members of the Nakada family had beenon Epimetheus recently?

Akina Nakada, for one. She was the only onewho had been here openly on family business.

But all the tourists in the Trap-there mighthave been a few Nakadas in that crowd.

And I didn’t really know it was a familymember who had accessed the ITEOD files; it could have been someother corporate officer. There were plenty of trusted people whoweren’t part of the clan-Vijay Vo, for one, or Grandfather Nakada’saide, Ziyang Subbha.

Or maybe someone had been acting as an agentfor someone higher up, someone who could tell her how to accessthat account. Any of the older members of the Nakada family couldhave arranged that, from the old man’s surviving children-therewere two of the five still alive, a son named Ryosaku and adaughter named Kumiko-all the way down to the dozens in Sayuri’sgeneration.

Agent or principal, if I could find out whowas using that particular corporate account when the ITEOD fileswere accessed, I might have a real lead on the assassin-or I mightnot.

I did what I should have done sooner, andbeeped Nakada’s ship. “Incoming data,” I told it. “Store it andback it up, maximum security, for access only by myself or YoshioNakada.” I hoped that would keep it away from any back doors thatother Nakadas might have installed, but I wasn’t really all thatvery concerned, since after all, most of what I was sending wasstuff my mysterious conspirators presumably already had. I told mydesk to transmit its entire content, old and new. A spaceship wouldhave enough capacity for that, I was sure.

Now I’d have everything somewhere relativelysafe, and if I managed to get my head blown off, or found myself onthe dayside again, at least Grandfather Nakada would have somethingto show for his investment, even if most of it was his own ITEODfiles.

While that was transmitting I sat back andtried to think, which was what I was doing when the front doorbeeped and I heard someone say, “Damned squatters.”

I sat up. I hadn’t heard that voice in over ayear, but I knew who it had to be. I must have tripped an alarmsomewhere, and my old landlord, George Hirata, knew someone was inhis building.

He should have known who I was, though. Thedoor knew. That’s why it let me in.

I tapped a command, and as the door’s vidfeed appeared on the desk I said, “Hello, Mis’ Hirata.”

He looked up at the cam, scowling. It wasdefinitely Hirata.

He had two cops with him, though; I hadn’texpected that.

I’d left my gun on the ship, since I hadn’tthought I could take it into the Ginza with me. One cop had aweapon in his hand, though I couldn’t tell whether it was a stunneror something more lethal. This was not going to be a situationwhere I could play tough.

“Who the hell are you, using Hsing’s ID?” thelandlord demanded.

“I’m Carlisle Hsing,” I said. “It’s myID.”

“Hsing is on Prometheus,” Hirata said. “Oroff-planet, anyway.For all I know she’s on Cass II or Earth orFomalhaut II. Who are you really?”

He could hear me, but he couldn’t see me; theentryway didn’t have a proper screen. And of course, I could havefaked the image if there were one.

“It’s really me, Mis’ Hirata,” I said. “Icame back for my brother.” Before he could say anything else, Iadded, “I know I don’t have any right to be here, but I needed acom, and you didn’t change the codes. I’ll be happy to pay you halfa month’s rent.”

I love expense accounts.

“Now I know you aren’t Hsing,” hesaid. “She wouldn’t have offered more than three days.”

“I’ve done well on Prometheus, Mis’ Hirata.Come on up and see for yourself.”

“We’ll do that.” He stormed up the stairs,out of range of the door cam.

I opened the door between the office and thecorridor, to make it clear that I was being open and honest, and afew seconds later there was my old landlord with two city cops,charging in to confront me.

I wasn’t exactly being confrontational,though; I was standing there with my hands over my head, and mytransfer card in one hand, ready to tab the rent.

Mis’ Hirata didn’t waste any time; he reachedout for the card, and as I handed it over he said, “So it isyou. What the hell are you doing back here?”

“Working,” I said. “Investigators who knowanything about Nightside City are scarce on Prometheus. Guy inAmerican City hired me to check out a few things.”

“And he paid your fare?”

“Fares are cheap right now, if you’re comingfrom Prometheus.” Which was true, even if it didn’t apply in mycase. I didn’t want good old George getting any clever ideas if hefound out my client was rich enough to have his own yacht.

“I’ve heard that,” Hirata grudginglyadmitted, as his reader accepted my card. “They sure aren’t cheapleaving, though.” He looked up from the reader. “You said half amonth’s rent?”

“Let’s put that in credits,” I said warily. Iglanced at the cops, who had yet to say a word; one of them waspointing a stunner at me, and the other had a hand on the butt ofhis gun, though it was still more or less in its holster. “I don’twant any misunderstandings.”

“Four kilocredits?”

I stared. “That’s half a month’s rent?Since when?”

“Since the tourist rush drove up prices.”

“That’s grit, Hirata, and you know it-if youcould get anything like that kind of money, this place wouldn’thave been empty since I left.”

He sighed. “Fine. Two?”

“It’s still robbery, but that’s the nationalsport around here, so what the hell. Two kilocredits, not a bytemore.”

“Hey, I’ve got expenses, Hsing.” He keptlooking at me, but he moved one shoulder, and I got themessage-he’d have to pay off the cops.

Two kilocredits ought to more than coverthat, though. “Life’s tough all around,” I said.

He tabbed the reader, then pulled out my cardand handed it back. I was tempted to run a balance check rightthere, but decided there was no reason to piss him off. And afterall, it wasn’t my money.

“Next time,” he said, “beep me if you want ashort-term rental.”

“Next time,” I replied, “you might want tochange the door codes when a tenant moves out.”

“I’ll do that, Hsing. In fact, I’ll do itright now, as soon as you get out of here.” He glared.

“Then I’ll let you get on with it.” I loweredmy hands and headed for the door. The cops stepped aside; the taserwas lowered. I nodded to them. “Good to see you, boys. Hope you’llhave a lucky night.” I glanced back over my shoulder at Hirata.“Enjoy your credits, George. I hear the New York has the bestpay-outs in the Trap.”

I trotted down the stairs and out onto thestreet, where the wind whipped my hair into my eyes. I’d let itgrow out some back on Prometheus; they don’t have the same windsthere that Nightside City has. Hell, they don’t have anythingclose-half the time you can walk down an open street inAlderstadt and there’s no more wind than there is indoors. Maybeless, if “indoors” includes a decent ventilation system. Prometheusdoesn’t have the planetary convection cycle Epimetheus does. Iturned my back to the wind and tapped my wrist for a cab.

I was still waiting when Hirata and his copscame out of the building; they barely glanced at me as they turnedand marched away down Juarez. They had just turned the corner whenmy ride finally swooped down.

“The port,” I told it.

“There’s a surcharge from Westside,” the cabreplied.

“Since when?”

It didn’t answer audibly. Instead a displaylit up with a notice that the city hereby accepted the petition ofthe Transit Association for higher fares between low-traffic areas.It was dated nine days ago.

“The port’s a low-traffic area?” I asked.

“That’s what the regulations say.”

“I didn’t pay a surcharge on the wayout.”

“It doesn’t apply if you start or end in theTrap.”

“Fine.” I slid my card in the slot. “Take meto the port.”

“Yes, Mis’.”

Wind and cops and high prices-I was feeling agood bit less nostalgic about Nightside City as the cab lifted offand swung around to the south.

Hirata had interrupted me before I had reallyhad a chance to look at what was actually in Grandfather Nakada’sITEOD files, or do anything to identify whatever it was that hadchased me away in the middle of my download. I wanted to get onwith that; the sooner I knew whether I had any chance of doingNakada’s job, the better.

I also wanted to see if I could find justwhere my father was stashed, and I wanted to talk to CaptainPerkins about getting ’Chan off-planet. I decided there was noreason to hold off on that conversation, and used my wrist com tobeep the good captain.

He answered instantly, as if he’d beenwaiting for my call. “Mis’ Hsing,” he said. “Something very strangeis going on.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. But I don’t think I should talk aboutit on the air.”

“Then don’t. I’m on my way there now.”

“Good! Is there anything I need to haveready? Will we be lifting off?”

“No, I still have more to do here,” I said.“We won’t be going anywhere for awhile. If you could have somethingready to eat, though, I haven’t had a bite since I left theship.”

“Of course. I’ll have supper waiting. Justfor you?”

“Just for me.”

“I’ll see you, then.” He ended the call.

I stared at my wrist for a moment, trying toguess just what sort of strangeness had Perkins worried. Had thatthing that chased me off the net followed my transmission back tothe ship? Had one of the Nakadas planted something aboard? The shipwasn’t fully sentient, but it was pretty bright, bright enough tofly itself if it had to, and that meant there were a million waysto sabotage it.

Or maybe it was nothing to do with the case.It occurred to me that someone might have noticed a dead man’syacht turning up on Epimetheus. Were a bunch of floaters hangingaround, asking Perkins for interviews? Were the cops demanding toknow how he got the ship?

“If you can hurry,” I told the cab, “doit.”

“Yes, Mis’.”

I didn’t notice much of a change, but wereached the port a little more quickly than I’d expected, so when Itabbed the fare I added a juicy tip.

“Thank you for using Midnight Cab and Limo,”the cab said. “Shall I wait?”

“No.” I waved it off.

The cab closed up and buzzed away, and Imarched across the field to Grandfather Nakada’s littleplaytoy.

I’d been at least partly right, I saw-therewere floaters hovering around the ship, about half a dozenof them. I wished I had my gun. I pretended to ignore them as Iwalked up the steps and into the airlock.

They didn’t ignore me, though. Two ofthem swooped down to barely-legal distance and began haranguing me.Since they were both talking at once, and each one kept cranking upthe volume in an attempt to drown the other one out, I didn’t catcheverything they said, but one was demanding to know who I am andwho had authorized me to board the Ukiba, while the otherwas asking questions about Yoshio Nakada’s private life.

The others were watching me, too; one of thempositioned itself ahead and above me for a good shot of my face. Ireally wished I had my gun.

The outer door had opened as I approached;once I stepped through it slid closed, locking the floaters out andcutting off the shouting of the two that had been questioning me. Iexpected the inner door to open, but it didn’t; instead there was ahum, and my symbiote informed me that I was being scanned.

“That your idea, Perkins?” I asked theair.

“I’m afraid so, Mis’ Hsing,” his voiceanswered. “I think I need to be very careful right now.”

I couldn’t disagree. “Well, hurry it up,” Isaid.

Perkins didn’t reply, but the green lightcame on and the inner door slid aside. I stepped aboard.

Perkins wasn’t in the entry. I went on up tothe main lounge and found him there, jacked into the pilot console.He turned to look at me, but didn’t unplug.

“Mis’ Hsing,” he said. “Do you know what’sgoing on?”

“It depends how you mean that,” Ianswered.

“That data you sent-that’s Yoshio Nakada’sdeath files,” he said. “And all the nets here say he’s dead.”

“I know,” I said.

“But they say he died a couple of days beforewe left Prometheus, and I saw him alive in American City. Hebrought you aboard the ship. Did he die while we were en route, andthe reports have the date wrong?”

“He isn’t dead,” I said. “At least, I don’tthink he is.”

“But they all say he is, and you havethe death files.”

“Someone faked the reports from Prometheus toget those files,” I said-which I didn’t know to be fact, butit was definitely a promising theory.

Perkins still looked troubled. “Are yousure?”

“Reasonably.”

“You don’t think that could have been animposter we saw in American City? A simulation, maybe?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” he said unhappily. “I’venever seen a hologram that realistic before.”

“You still haven’t,” I assured him. “That wasthe real Yoshio Nakada.”

“You’re sure?”

“I could smell him,” I said. “Couldn’tyou? I’ve never heard of a simulation that good.”

Of course, I had only spoken to him face toface in a heavily-shielded secure room where it would have beeneasy to set up a projection with vid, audio, and smell, andthen very briefly on the ship, another controlled environment. Ididn’t mention that; I didn’t think it would be a positivecontribution to the conversation. I was fairly sure, though, thatif that had been a projection I spoke to, either time, somethingwould have shown up on my recordings as being off, and nothinghad.

Not to mention that I had never yet seen aholographic projection that was completely convincing. Forthat you needed a feed over wire, not just visual input.

I was not totally ruling out thepossibility that Yoshio really had been dead all along and I hadbeen hired by an impostor, but I didn’t think it was likely. Whywould anyone bother? Those interplanetary transmissions would havebeen much easier to fake than our face-to-face meeting.

It wasn’t something I wanted to argue aboutwith Perkins, though, so I spoke as if I was absolutelycertain.

“So he’s still alive?”

“He was when we left, anyway. Now, what arethose floaters doing outside?”

“They’re reporters,” he said. “I’ve beentelling them I couldn’t talk to them, but they won’t go away.”

“Why are they there in the first place?”

He looked astonished, as if I had just saidsomething so spamming stupid he couldn’t believe it. “Mis’ Hsing,they think Mis’ Nakada is dead.”

“Yes, I got that.”

“This is his private yacht. It’s registeredin his name, and our flight path is on record. So far as they know,we took off in a dead man’s ship. They want to know why.”

I blinked.

“Oh,” I said, feeling slightly foolish. “Ofcourse they do.”