Office of Localized Segment Augmentation: Oversight, Screening, and Actuarial Review Division. The interview request was, in reality, a summons. Sato stared at the small letters on the name plaque gracing the office door. Had the source of the summons been the person who operated from this office, he would not have come. But that individual was merely a mouth and an ear, a voice to issue orders and a conduit for information of the less delicate variety. For now, Sato would play along. He nodded permission to Akabo to open the door.
Despite the multitude of desks and work stations the chamber was deserted, save for a single person seated at a computer console near the center. The room's lighting had been adjusted to illuminate only the area around the occupied seat. Hachiko leno looked up and smiled when Sato and his bodyguards entered. leno, director of the office, was short and slender. She might have been beautiful, if not for the repulsive condition of her skin, which was scabby and erupted with short dark hairs in unfortunate places. In Japan such an appearance would have banished her immediately to Yomi Island, where the changed lived in isolation, from the normal population. But this was not Japan. leno could walk the streets of Seattle or dine in almost any restaurant. There would be no official censure, only the harassment that anyone showing ork blood might encounter. leno, however, was not likely to suffer much persecution. All it took was one look into her eyes, those dark, monochromatic orbs. Despite the lack of an obvious pupil, the eyes left no doubt as to who they were gazing at; her predatory gaze could make one's skin crawl. As she must be one of the changed whose already superhuman capabilities were apparently augmented by cybernetic enhancement, only someone incautious, foolish, suicidal, or with his own finely honed edge would consider upsetting her.
'Konichiwa, Sato-san, ' she said. 'Ohayo, ' he replied, abandoning politeness in his irritation at her use of the familiar form before his staff. 'What do you want?'
She smiled at the directness, apparently enjoying his further desertion of etiquette. 'I? I am but a messenger.'
Her false air of innocent humility was offensive. 'Then give your message.'
'Very wall.' She tapped a few keys on her console and studied the screen for a moment as though to refresh her memory. 'An object of some significance has come to notice here in Seattle. I am reliably informed that it would make a wonderful present for your grandmother.'
It was not the sort of request he had expected. 'Why do you tell me this? She has her own wealth. Can she not buy this object or hire someone to acquire it? I already do much for her, and this may go beyond what she has expected of me in the past. Or is the object in some way related to last year's unfortunate loss?'
'Related, yes. But it will not lessen the loss. It is only fondness that makes your grandmother summon you in this matter. She is taking steps to assure its acquisition, but thought you would be disappointed if not involved. For you see, the possessor of this object is someone you know, a person involved in events of last year. While the object and his possession of it have no bearing on that other issue, your grandmother thought you might appreciate the opportunity to conclude formerly unresolved matters while earning her gratitude.'
There was certainly more to it than that, but only by playing along would Sato find out what. Whatever was going on, Grandmother desired this object with a greed that rivaled her appetite for information. 'Would her gratitude extend to forgiving all outstanding debts?'
'Who knows?' leno chuckled. The sound reminded Sato of a child strangling. 'I believe that she will be so enriched by this gift that anything is possible. Even for my small part, I expect a generous reward.'
But you are only a functionary. / could lose all I have built by chasing after her ends. 'Sije, does not expect me to compromise my position by pursuing this object,' leno showed her stained teeth in what passed for a grin. 'Naturally not. But she does wish your personal attention to the matter.''
'I see.' And he did. He felt inspired. The insistence and eagerness of her agent betrayed Grandmother. Anything important enough that she would mobilize him to obtain it must be worth possessing, and the gaining of it might be enough to free him from her influence. He would never be fool enough to rely on her honor or gratitude to release him, however. That would be a mistake. Instead, he would find a way to use this opportunity to turn the tables. In the end, he would be the strong man shaking off the oppressor's yoke to make the overseer do the work of the former slave. He had waited too long.
'The well-brought-up man cannot refuse the rea sonable wishes of his honorable grandmother. Give me the details, that I may do as she wishes.'
The data on the credstick said he was Walter Smith. Smith was the best identity in the packet Sam had obtained from Cog. So far, it had seen him through checkpoints in the Sioux Council Zone without a hitch. He was glad no challenge had come as the panzer runner's friends transported him from the hangar in the foothills of the Rockies up near Golden. Sam didn't want a record of Walter Smith entering the treaty city; Smith supposedly lived in Denver.
Though Sam was confident of the identity of Smith and each of the other three 'persons' in his pocket, he didn't want to press his luck. He planned to avoid the roadblocks and checkpoints between the zones of the partitioned city whenever possible. It wouldn't be too much of a problem. Denver's shadowfolk and street people drifted across the zones all the time. Innocent street people didn't mind being caught in a sweep that left them sitting a night or two in a detention center. Why should they? It was a way to get food and shelter. But shadowfolk couldn't afford the attention. Fortunately, most sweeps were perfunctory things, and Sam's identities would easily stand the cursory scrutiny likely from a cop's scanpad. Cog had assured him that Smith and his friends were solid, up through a third-tier backcheck. They ought to be the cost had been so high that Sam had been forced to ask Hart for the nuyen to finance the panzer run that got him to Denver. When he picked up the data at the prearranged drop, he saw that he'd be doing most of his looking in the Ute Council Zone. Most of Dodger's names were Utes or people associated with the tribe. Sam didn't want to run the zone boundary until after dark, so he had time to kill. He spent a while at a library terminal getting familiar with the city's layout. It had once been straightforward and mostly rational, but since the breakup of the United States and the partitioning of Denver, any semblance of urban planning had gone by the boards. Each zone had dealt in its own way with the rebuilding of the city. Nevertheless, it looked to Sam as though you could always tell which direction was what as long as you could get a view of the Rocky Mountains to the west.
Toward dusk, Sam's wandering led him to a park near the big, blocky building that had been the natural history museum. It was still a museum, but its exhibits now dealt almost exclusively with Indian culture. He thought about checking to see what they had on Howling Coyote, but seeing that he would need to use one of his credsticks for the admission fee, he decided against it. Too much of a tourist thing. Smith and his friends were locals.
So he sat on a sloping hill and looked out across the meadows and trees. The natural space was so extensive that he suspected it had been enlarged from the days when Denver had belonged to the United States. He had a harder time imagining a U.S. city leaving enough space to let the deer he had glimpsed roam free. The coming night was enlivening some of the animals in the nearby zoo and he heard an assortment of roars and bellows. He wondered if it was feeding time. Looking at the mixed crowds passing through the park, he knew it would be soon. For the wild animals of the streets and the human hunters that stalked the parklands, anyway.
Sam assessed the people playing at sports, jogging along the pathways, wandering along the walks, and sitting on the grass as he was. Visually, he fit in with most of the passersby. Though bolstered weapons were not universal, many of the people he observed wore them. His own Narcoject Lethe wouldn't look out of place, but that was no surprise, for he had checked the firearms regulations before leaving Seattle. What he wasn't used to seeing were the many people in leathers and synthleathers. Even with all the knots and talismans tied into the fringe of his jacket, Sam looked right at home. A lot of the locals had good luck charms hanging froTh their clothes or incorporated as paintings or beadwork. The Indian fashion craze was even stronger here than in Seattle, and the Plains Indian style more common. With the Sioux in charge of the zone, that certainly made sense.
Night was the best time for shadow work. Soon it would be time to cross into the Ute zone. But then what? He had some digging to do, but that wasn't necessarily night work. A lot of the people he wanted to talk to were probably day folk. Certainly, they held SIN numbers and went dutifully to work the way Sam once did. He didn't want to wait another day to get started, but how to do it?
Sarn wished Hart were here. She knew Denver. He sorted through the credsticks, looking for the one she had given'him. It held the entry codes to a safehouse whose address she had made him memorize. She had only told him of the one place, but Sam was sure she knew more. With Denver divided into zones, each the responsibility of a different government, a single hiding place didn't seem sufficient. Though most of Hart's background was still a mystery to him, he knew she was a shadowrunner of international repute. Not to have a refuge in each of Denver's
