even sure what some of those things are or how they work, but hey, I know what a battery is. It’s been hours now. So I don’t think your backup people even know where you are.”
She said nothing.
“See,” he said, “you’ve really blown it bad. You got caught by a total amateur, and now you’re in a hostage situation that could go on indefinitely. I got enough water and noodles and sardines to live up here for days. I dunno, maybe you can make a cellular phone-call to God off some gizmo implanted in your thighbone, but it looks to me like you’ve got serious problems.”
She shuffled around a bit inside the bag and looked away.
“It’s got something to do with the cablebox over there, right?”
She said nothing.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think that box has anything to do with me or Eddy Dertouzas,” Lyle said. “I think it was probably meant for Eddy, but I don’t think he asked anybody for it. Somebody just wanted him to have it, probably one of his weird European contacts. Eddy used to be in this political group called CAPCLUG, ever heard of them?”
It looked pretty obvious that she’d heard of them.
“I never liked ’em much either,” Lyle told her. “They kind of snagged me at first with their big talk about freedom and civil liberties, but then you’d go to a CAPCLUG meeting up in the penthouse levels, and there were all these potbellied zudes in spex yapping off stuff like, ‘We must follow the technological imperatives or be jettisoned into the history dump-file.’ They’re a bunch of useless blowhards who can’t tie their own shoes.”
“They’re dangerous radicals subverting national sovereignty.”
Lyle blinked cautiously. “Whose national sovereignty would that be?”
“Yours, mine, Mr. Schweik. I’m from NAFTA, I’m a federal agent.”
“You’re a fed? How come you’re breaking into people’s houses, then? Isn’t that against the Fourth Amendment or something?”
“If you mean the Fourth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, that document was superseded years ago.”
“Yeah…okay, I guess you’re right.” Lyle shrugged. “I missed a lot of civics classes…. No skin off my back anyway. I’m sorry, but what did you say your name was?”
“I said my name was Kitty Casaday.”
“Right. Kitty. Okay, Kitty, just you and me, person to person. We obviously have a mutual problem here. What do you think I ought to do in this situation? I mean, speaking practically.”
Kitty thought it over, surprised. “Mr. Schweik, you should release me immediately, get me my gear, and give me the box and any related data, recordings, or diskettes. Then you should escort me from the Archiplat in some confidential fashion so I won’t be stopped by police and questioned about the dye-stains. A new set of clothes would be very useful.”
“Like that, huh?”
“That’s your wisest course of action.” Her eyes narrowed. “I can’t make any promises, but it might affect your future treatment very favorably.”
“You’re not gonna tell me who you are, or where you came from, or who sent you, or what this is all about?”
“No. Under no circumstances. I’m not allowed to reveal that. You don’t need to know. You’re not supposed to know. And anyway, if you’re really what you say you are, what should you care?”
“Plenty. I care plenty. I can’t wander around the rest of my life wondering when you’re going to jump me out of a dark corner.”
“If I’d wanted to hurt you, I’d have hurt you when we first met, Mr. Schweik. There was no one here but you and me, and I could have easily incapacitated you and taken anything I wanted. Just give me the box and the data and stop trying to interrogate me.”
“Suppose you found me breaking into your house, Kitty? What would you do to me?”
She said nothing.
“What you’re telling me isn’t gonna work. If you don’t tell me what’s really going on here,” Lyle said heavily, “I’m gonna have to get tough.”
Her lips thinned in contempt.
“Okay, you asked for this.” Lyle opened the mediator and made a quick voice call. “Pete?”
“Nah, this is Pete’s mook,” the phone replied. “Can I do something for you?”
“Could you tell Pete that Lyle Schweik has some big trouble, and I need him to come over to my bike shop immediately? And bring some heavy muscle from the Spiders.”
“What kind of big trouble, Lyle?”
“Authority trouble. A lot of it. I can’t say any more. I think this line may be tapped.”
“Right-o. I’ll make that happen. Hoo-ah, zude.” The mook hung up.
Lyle left the beanbag and went back to the workbench. He took Kitty’s cheap bike out of the repair stand and angrily threw it aside. “You know what really bugs me?” he said at last. “You couldn’t even bother to charm your way in here, set yourself up as my roommate, and then steal the damn box. You didn’t even respect me that much. Heck, you didn’t even have to steal anything, Kitty. You could have just smiled and asked nicely and I’d have given you the box to play with. I don’t watch media, I hate all that crap.”
“It was an emergency. There was no time for more extensive investigation or reconnaissance. I think you should call your gangster friends immediately and tell them you’ve made a mistake. Tell them not to come here.”
“You’re ready to talk seriously?”
“No, I won’t be talking.”
“Okay, we’ll see.”
After twenty minutes, Lyle’s phone rang. He answered it cautiously, keeping the video off. It was Pete from the City Spiders. “Zude, where is your doorknocker?”
“Oh, sorry, I pulled it up, didn’t want to be disturbed. I’ll bring the shop right down.” Lyle thumbed the brake switches.
Lyle opened the door and Pete broad-jumped into the shop. Pete was a big man but he had the skeletal, wiry build of a climber, bare dark arms and shins and big sticky-toed jumping shoes. He had a sleeveless leather bodysuit full of clips and snaps, and he carried a big fabric shoulderbag. There were six vivid tattoos on the dark skin of his left cheek, under the black stubble.
Pete looked at Kitty, lifted his spex with wiry callused fingers, looked at her again bare-eyed, and put the spex back in place. “Wow, Lyle.”
“Yeah.”
“I never thought you were into anything this sick and twisted.”
“It’s a serious matter, Pete.”
Pete turned to the door, crouched down, and hauled a second person into the shop. She wore a beat-up air- conditioned jacket and long slacks and zip-sided boots and wire-rimmed spex. She had short ratty hair under a green cloche hat. “Hi,” she said, sticking out a hand. “I’m Mabel. We haven’t met.”
“I’m Lyle.” Lyle gestured. “This is Kitty here in the bag.”
“You said you needed somebody heavy, so I brought Mabel along,” said Pete. “Mabel’s a social worker.”
“Looks like you pretty much got things under control here,” said Mabel liltingly, scratching her neck and looking about the place. “What happened? She break into your shop?”
“Yeah.”
“And,” Pete said, “she grabbed the shock-baton first thing and blasted herself but good?”
“Exactly.”
“I told you that thieves always go for the weaponry first,” Pete said, grinning and scratching his armpit. “Didn’t I tell you that? Leave a weapon in plain sight, man, a thief can’t stand it, it’s the very first thing they gotta grab.” He laughed. “Works every time.”
“Pete’s from the City Spiders,” Lyle told Kitty. “His people built this shop for me. One dark night, they hauled this mobile home right up thirty-four stories in total darkness, straight up the side of the Archiplat without anybody seeing, and they cut a big hole through the side of the building without making any noise, and they hauled the
