jurisdictions would have left her too vulnerable. She simply hadn't shared everything with him. A hedge against the future, he supposed. He hoped it was one she'd never need. Sam didn't want to lose her. He was happy in her company, as though she were the complement to his spirit. He trusted her with his secrets. Why didn't she trust him? Was he doing something wrong? Maybe if they had some time together, away from the shadows. But that wasn't likely to happen until Janice was cured.
His own worries seemed so petty compared to what Janice was going through.
He wanted to call Ghost and find out how she was doing, but he couldn't, of course. Ghost and Janice were somewhere in Salish-Shidhe Council lands and out of regular communication. They had all agreed that would be best. No one wanted Council troops tracking transmissions. Ghost would be making irregularly spaced reports like the one that had been waiting for Sam at the drop. But those messages were so frustrating. There was no way to carry on a conversation, no way to assure Janice that he was doing his best.
The sun had vanished behind the mountains now, and night was finally settling into place. It was time to go. Sam got to his feet and started down to the path that curved around the pond. He joined the folk leaving the park, abandoning it to night and the predators who only prowled in the dark. He had so little time, and so much to do.
Neko Noguchi was pleased with himself. He had acquired information without a hitch in the acquisition run. It wasn't on the topic for which the elf paid the highest premium, but it was still eminently salable. That, however, was not the cause of his rejoicing. One did not get excited over the expected. The impending disposition of his haul was another matter. He had gotten past the middle man.
Cog had declined involvement when Neko had told the fixer's agent (unfortunately not the delightful Mo-nique) that he had come into possession of 'more of the same.' The fixer had arranged for a direct contact with the decker elf, who had asked Neko to continue his investigations, no doubt believing, as Neko intended, that tfeko meant the stuff had been acquired from Grandmother. Though his plan worked, it surprised Neko that the fixer stepped aside so easily. His fear of angering Grandmother must be very great. Cog's anger would also be real if he ever learned that Neko's latest offering had been obtained without coming anywhere near Grandmother's widespread connections. That didn't count the subject of the investigation, however, for one could not do much of anything in the world without a connection to Grandmother. But though agents and subjects were very different matters, no fixer liked to be tricked into losing his percentage.
It had been too easy, but Neko wasn't worried. Cog might get mad if he found out, but he would take no action. Neko was too good a source. A few bargains and a freebie or two would placate the fixer. 'Oil in the works,' as Cog himself liked to say. Biz was biz, one thing that Cog understood best. He wouldn't like it, but he would understand.
Neko negligently flipped the chip case as he watched the crowds. So many good little salarymen from all over the world, rushing about their oh-so-ordered lives and rubbing shoulders with the street people and the proles. He had heard that the Enclave had not always been this way. Oh, rich and poor sharing sweat, for sure. That was eternal in the cramped streets. But the' oldsters said the population had once been almost exclusively Chinese, with only the occasional foreigner.
It was hard to imagine now. The enclave had become truly international, with its balance of round Chinese faces, sleek Japanese visages like Neko's own, the angular gauntness of the Caucasians, and the occasional darkness of Africans and other Blacks become so natural a part of the city's character. How could it ever have belonged to the Chinese?
Whatever its history, Neko savored the city now. It was said that if half the Enclave's population were to come to street level all at once, they would suffocate in the closeness. It was an exaggeration, of course, but a good image for the teeming multitudes, shoulder to shoulder and always moving. All those ears, and none remained still long enough to hear. So many eyes, fixed on sights other than him. He loved it.
The street telecom by which he stood chirped. He slid away from the wall and leaned into the privacy shield. He had already installed an override on the telecom vid pickup so he couldn't be seen unless he wished to be. With a flick of a ringer, he activated the circuit. The screen remained black, but he said 'Moshi, moshi,' anyway.
'State your business,' responded a voice fuzzed with electronic distortion. A cautious one, this elf.
'You got the spec on the first call. Along with the rules. You want transfer, or do I find another market?' That was a bluff. Neko didn't know anybody who would want the stuff. He could most certainly find someone, but the time it took would devalue the information. As always, realizing maximum profit required a fast deal. He thought he'd hosed it, but at last the screen flickered and the head and shoulders of an elf appeared in three-quarter view. The hair was shorter and styled differently from the virtual image Neko had seen, but the turn of the pointed ears, the long, straight line of the nose, and the slim line of the jaw were familiar. A datacord arced from the elf's far temple toward a spot beneath the image area. Overly cautious, this elf, but in another way bold, if he thought to break the unwritten rules of the not-place by offering a modified virtual image when he visited. Neko decided to test the sensitivity of that issue with a probe for a reaction.
'You look a bit different from your virtual image. New dye job?' he asked.
'Slave to fashion, you know,' the elf said with forced nonchalance. He remained icily calm, though. 'Verily, I'm forwarding payment,'
'Wiz. Callback in ten,' Neko told him, cutting the circuit without waiting for a response or protest. Keeping them off guard was a way to stay in control. Neko didn't like things he couldn't control.
Ten minutes later, after Neko had confirmed the funds transfer, the elf was back on the line. 'Trusting, chummer,' Neko told him. The elf smiled slyly. 'Don't think a decker like myself could not recover those funds if your offering proved false. Verily, I'm better than that.'
If the elf was a member of the club that played in the not-place, it was probably so. Neko decided to transfer the funds to hardcopy as soon as he broke connection. Better yet, he'd place the order from the next phone while transferring the now paid-for goods. 'Ready to receive?' 'Affirmative.'
'Look, chummer. I'll slot the chip and send the data hard-shelled. Code three-seven. How about you stay on the line and let me know it got through.' 'Very well.'
'Wiz.' That'll give me time to stash the loot. Neko slotted the chip and started the transfer as promised. He was pocketing half a dozen certified credsticks that had come tumbling from the delivery slot more like rolls of candy than the bottled wealth they were when the elf came back on the first telecom line. ' 'Tis received complete, and the code checks.
Contact me again in twenty-four hours. I may have further work for you.'
Neko let a little bit of his pleasure show, but concealed all of his surprise. 'Frigid. Nuyen for news is a way of life. But do me a favor, chummer. Don't change your look between now and then. You elves all look alike to us norms. I almost didn't recognize you without the shag.'
'Don't worry about my looks. The credit's good. What more do you need?'
'To do biz? Just the transfer, chummer. Yours to mine. Keep it healthy and we're in biz.'
The circuit went dead. Neko shrugged and smiled at the blank screen. You didn't have to like them to do biz.
Urdli stood in the doorway and looked across to the stretched-out form of the decker. Standing around the corner from where he lay were several medical machines gathered like mourners for a funeral. His thinness would have been suitable for an Australian, but this was a Caucasian elf, and so undernourished. But that was less of an abuse than the things implanted in the decker's body. Even the mundane should find such perversion disgusting. A chrome-headed viper kissed the port in the decker's head, while at the other end of the coiled length its tail disappeared into an artifact Estios had identified as a Fuchi 7 cyberdeck.
Teresa O'Con nor busied herself changing the intravenous drip. It seemed a waste of effort and materials. More than twelve hours had passed since the decker had touched the cyberdeck keyboard. From what Urdli had heard about such things, it must mean that the decker's brain was no longer in control, if anything remained of its higher functions. The subjective journey through cyberspace still required the physical manipulation of computer interface devices. 'Unhook the machine,' he ordered.
O'Connor looked at him with wide eyes. 'No,' she said with uncommon vehemence.
'I will wait no longer. There are questions he must answer, assuming anything is left in there.'
'Dodger's not brain-dead.' Teresa's voice betrayed her concern. Perhaps trying to convince herself, she pointed at the monitor, whose obscure graphs and numbers meant nothing to Urdli. 'There's activity at all levels.
