Pita was hiding inside a large box, her fur on end. She peered out through a slit in the cardboard at the grimy window that led outside. Humans stared in through its broken glass, their eyes coldly scanning the room. One of them looked like Aziz; he was pointing. The others were Asian men who were only vaguely familiar. Their faces were soft, dream-fuzzed blurs.
Suddenly Pita’s world tilted as the box was upended. She sprawled out onto the dusty floor, her clawed feet scrabbling for purchase on the cement. But it was too late. Hands reached down to pick her up, clamping her tiny body firmly in their grip.
Pita bared her teeth in a hiss and twisted her body, drawing her rear feet up to scratch. Her tail lashed back and forth. She flexed her hands, revealing wickedly hooked claws. But although she could raise one paw, she was unable to move it, unable to slash. She should have been able to wriggle out of the grip of the man who held her, but she felt as if her body was moving through thick syrup.
Then a trideo set in the corner of the room flickered to life. The static shaped itself into the face of an ork. One of his huge hands held a microphone. “Hey!” he yelled into it, in a voice like amplified electronic thunder.
It startled the man who was holding Pita. At last she was able to launch herself out of his hands. She scurried for the door, which was open just a crack. But the distraction had been only a temporary one, and now the humans were closing in. In another moment the hands would close around her again. And then…
“Cat!” Pita jerked awake, her heart thudding in her chest. It took a moment or two before she remembered where she was. She looked wildly around the room at the dusty journalism diploma on the wall and the jumble of clothes in the corner. She was in Masaki’s apartment. And the time-she craned her neck to look at the digital display on the telecom-was five a.m.
She got up from the couch crossed to the window, and stared out at the Seattle skyline. Somewhere down there, in those blocks of buildings framed by glowing streetlights, was the store whose basement she had claimed as a place of refuge. And the white cat that had led her to it.
Pita hadn’t been to the basement in-how long? Nearly three days. She leaned her head against the cool window glass, staring down into the city and trying to collect her racing thoughts. Had the dream been a plea for help? Was the cat in trouble? Pita gnawed her lip. She hadn’t even given the animal a name-she thought of it only as Aziz’s cat. But she had to know if it was all right.
She briefly considered waking up Masaki and asking him to drive her downtown. But his bedroom door was closed, and his boyfriend had spent the night. Pita didn’t want to just walk in on them. Besides, she didn’t need the reporter’s help.
Her mind made up, she picked up her jacket from the floor. She reached into its pocket, then grinned as she pulled out a certified credstick. She hadn’t trusted Aziz-not entirely-and so she’d made Masaki take her to the Salish Credit Union yesterday. She’d closed the bank account he set up for her there and transferred all the nuyen into this credit stick. Just let Aziz try and take his money back now.
Slipping the credstick back in her pocket. she went to the kitchen and took a couple of Chickstix from the fridge. The processed chicken sausages were frozen, but would thaw by the time she was downtown. Even if Aziz’s cat weren’t in trouble, it would be hungry.
Pita called for a cab, then went to the lobby to wait for it. When the vehicle pulled up to the front of the building, she cast a wary eye about before leaving the apartment complex. She also took a good look inside the cab before getting in. There was no one but the driver, a bored-looking ork woman who seemed harmless enough. When she saw Pita, the cabbie gave her a toothy grin, then turned up the Meta Madness tape she was listening to.
“Hoi, kid! You goin’ to the concert tomorrow night?” she asked. She drummed her fingers on the wheel as she drove, keeping time with the scream-rock’s frantic beat.
“Maybe” Pita shrugged. “I don’t know.” With all that had happened to her in the past two weeks, it was difficult to think about such mundane affairs as rock concert.
“Yeah, I know how it is,” the cabbie replied. “It’s bad enough that the tickets are fifty nuyen a pop, but then you have to add the service fee of thirty nuyen. And you know why? It’s ‘cause humans control both the ticketing agencies and the clubs. You don’t find that kind of fee tacked on to a concert given by a human rock band. Those fraggers are trying to make out like us orks do more damage to a venue. No way. Why, it’s the humans who cause the most trouble. I had two humie kids in my cab last night who…”
Pita glanced out the window, not really listening to the cab driver’s harangue. But at the same time, she smiled. The driver had accepted her unconditionally as a fellow ork. Just as Masaki’s boyfriend Blake had.
Pita had watched the sports network with the two over a beer last night, and Blake had avidly debated Masaki about Japan’s decision to ban metahumans from the Olympic games in 2056. When Masaki carefully pointed out that orks and trolls had an obvious physical advantage over the weaker elf and human races, and that short-statured dwarfs could hardly compete in the same track and field events as longer-limbed opponents, Blake had nudged Pita with an elbow. “Back me up, kid,” he said. “We orks have got to stick together on this one.”
Pita liked the way Blake and Masaki bantered back and forth. They obviously disagreed on the topic, but didn’t let it get in the way of their relationship. It was certainly a contrast with her own parents, who, even though they were both human, had spent most of their time screaming at each other.
At last the cab pulled up around the corner from Aziz’s burned-out shop, near the alley that the cat had led Pita to. Pita slotted her credstick and keyed in a tip for the driver, then scanned the street. It was light out now, although the sun hadn’t fully risen. But the streets were still empty of pedestrians, and only the occasional car drove by. It seemed safe enough.
“I’m just going to look for my cat,” she told the driver. “I lost it here a few days ago.”
“You want me to wait?’ the cabbie asked.
Pita toyed with the credstick. What the hey; she was rich. “Sure” she said. “If I can’t find the cat I’ll come back and let you know. I’ll be going back to the address where you picked me up.”
Cracking the door, Pita stepped from the cab and hurried to the mouth of the alley. She paused at the broken window that led to the basement, and inspected it closely. It didn’t look as though anyone had touched it-the mesh was still propped up the way she’d left it. And the basement room beyond it looked the same.
She reached inside and opened the window, then slithered in through the opening. As soon as her feet hit the dusty floor, she heard a friendly mrrow? A wave of relief swept over her as the white cat emerged from behind a box, jumped to the floor, and wove a figure-eight pattern around her legs.
Pita scooped it up in her arms, nuzzling its fur. The cat was dusty-and skinny-but otherwise seemed all right. Pita placed it on the floor, pulled the now-soggy Chickstix from her pocket, and fed them to the cat. She scratched it behind the ears while it ate, and was rewarded with a loud purr.
“You like that, hey, cat? Bet you were hungry, huh? Well you’re coming with me, back to a place where there’s plenty more of those. No more scrounging on the streets for you. This place is okay, but we’ve got something better now. At least, for a while, until Masaki decides to heave us out. Aziz might have left you on the streets, but not me. You can trust me. Nothing bad is going to happen to you now.”
When the cat had finished eating, Pita picked it up and put it outside the window. Then she climbed back into the alley. She bent down to pick up the cat…
And found that she couldn’t move. Then she was straightening, her body jerking suddenly into an upright position. One of her legs shot forward, then the other. They moved stiffly, one foot following the other in a jerking walk. Her arms were bent at the elbow, frozen in the position they’d been in when she was about to pick up the cat. She couldn’t even move her fingers-could barely blink. It felt as though she were a cartoon character in a trideo arcade, controlled by unseen hands on a clumsy keyboard console. Her mind raced as she fought to control her limbs, but they were no longer obeying her commands.
What was happening to her? Panic swirled in Pita’s mind as she realized that her body was taking her further into the alley, away from the spot where the cabbie waited. The white cat trotted along beside her, mrrowing with concern. When it stepped into Pita’s path, one of her feet knocked it aside as her body moved relentlessly forward. The cat howled in anger and ran away, a white streak that disappeared somewhere behind Pita.
Then Pita saw the man who waited for her at the end of the alley-a dreadlocked elf in a baggy jumpsuit. One hand was balled into a fist, except for two fingers. He walked these through the air, and each time a finger took a step, Pita’s legs moved. The glow sticks woven into his dreadlocks haloed his sly smile.
Pita fought even harder as she recognized the mage-and the burly yakuza sitting behind the wheel of the car toward which the mage was forcing her to walk. But even though sweat trickled down her temples and her mind ached from the strain, she was unable to pull free of the spell. As the yakuza hit a button on the dash that opened the rear door of the vehicle, Pita felt her body fold. Against her will it got into the back of the car. She winced inwardly as her head bumped against the door frame, and heard the yakuza’s rumbling growl through the perforated plexiglass sheet that separated the front and back seats of the vehicle.
“Watch Out, R.T. We’re not to damage her.”
The elf made a face at the yak, then slammed the door shut behind Pita.
Immediately, she was back in control of her own body. It spasmed in reaction to the adrenaline that was suddenly pumping through it. She scrabbled at the door, but there was no inside handle. Driven by fear, she pounded at the plexiglass that caged her in with one large fist. The yakuza ignored her, instead starting the engine as the elf climbed into the front seat beside him.
“Where are you taking me?” Pita screamed. “Let me out! I don’t have your fragging chip any more!”
The mage stared at her and his dark eyes flared. “Be quiet,” he hissed. “I may not be permitted to damage you, but I can still hurt you.” He raised a hand menacingly, his fingers curled to cast a spell.
Pita fell silent and tried to blink back tears as the car sped away into the morning.
28
Carla stepped into the plush office and automatically panned the room with her cybereye, lining up an establishing the shot. Then she caught herself. There was no point. Mitsuhama's security had forced her to remove the image-storage chip from the camera implanted in her cybereye. The eye still functioned, but the data it captured was not being recorded anywhere. Security had also removed the datachip from the recorder in her ear. They didn’t want Carla to make any record of this meeting.
Trying to hide her discomfort, she made her way to a chair that had been placed in front of a massive hardwood desk and sank into it. On the other side of the desk sat John Chang. His fingers rested lightly on the desk’s polished surface, and he looked completely composed and serene. He was a lean man, with jet black hair, manicured fingernails, and a clean-shaven jaw. He looked as if he worked out, but perhaps that was just the cut of his expensive Volachi suit. His right index finger was decorated with a heavy gold ring that featured a large diamond set into the Mitsuhama logo, and his sleek wristcom was gold-plated. The smell of his aftershave hung in the air.
He regarded Carla coolly, with rock-steady eyes. As she settled herself more comfortably in the chair, he flicked a finger toward the secretary who had ushered Carla in. The woman returned with two cups of tea, bobbed her head in an abbreviated bow as she served them, and left the room.
Carla picked up the tea and sipped at it. Jasmine. Chang was playing a waiting game, trying to set her on edge. Instead Carla half-turned, looking past the holographic models of Mitsuhama’s latest robotics line and through the windows that framed a spectacular view of Lake Washington. The sky was a patchwork of clouds; the sun slanted through the blue spaces between them, painting the lake below with light. Carla stared at the unusual effect. wondering where the spirit was now.
John Chang cleared his throat. He was obviously ready to talk.
“Your producer has informed you of MCT’s most recent acquisition.”
It was a statement rather than a question. Carla nodded slowly, watching Chang’s face. He still hadn’t touched his tea. A wild, irrational thought flew through her mind-maybe the stuff was drugged. But she shook it off. She had already entered the lion’s den and Chang had her at his mercy. There was no need for him to get heavy-handed. Not now that he had those optical chips.
“MCT Seattle will be issuing a brief press release about the purchase of KKRU shortly. Mitsuhama is pleased to get into the local communications industry. It will give our company an opportunity to test some of the new trideo technologies we’ve been developing. It’s a move we’ve been planning to make for some time.”
“Sure,” Carla said. “If you say so.” Her reporter’s training screamed at her to directly challenge this bald lie, but she held her tongue, wanting to see what would come next. She found herself framing Chang, zooming in and out, even though the effort would prove fruitless without her datachips.
“There is a second press release we want to issue,” he said, at last picking up his tea cup and sipping from it. “We’d like to use our latest acquisition-KKRIJ News-to turn it into a news story. I’ve seen your work; it’s excellent. I’ll be asking Gil Greer to assign you to handle it.”
Carla wrinkled her nose. “I don’t write puff pieces,” she said. “If all you want is a press release, why call on me? Any data hack could do it. What do you really want?”
John Chang’s smile vanished. Clearly he was not used to being spoken to so abruptly. He sat forward slightly.
“Since this is an off-the-record conversation,” he said, raising a finger to tap one closed eye, “I will be blunt. I am aware of the story that you recently put together-the one alleging connections between our research facility and the spirit causing system crashes in the Matrix.”
Carla snorted. Alleged indeed! Even with her cybereye chip removed, Chang was still being cautious. “The story that you ordered Greer to spike?”
Chang ignored her barb. “We’d like you to put a slight spin on the story.” he continued. “We’re willing to concede that the spirit was developed by a mage who was formerly in our employ. But his research was not sanctioned by MCT. You will re-edit the story so that it stresses this fact.”
“You and I both know otherwise,” Carla said. “I saw the hermetic circle in your research lab. And the memo that-”
“Both could have been fabricated,” Chang said smoothly. He cocked an eyebrow at her. “It all comes down to your personal credibility, doesn’t it? And we’ve both seen how fragile that credibility can be.”
Carla felt her cheeks start to burn. The bastard had probably enjoyed watching her personal recordings. But she wasn’t going to lose her cool. Not yet.
“You do want to continue working as a trid reporter, don’t you?” Chang asked.
Carla decided to use the only edge she had. “I have information from a well-placed source that Renraku-your competitor-has stolen your spell and is experimenting with it.” She watched for a reaction, but wasn’t really surprised when she didn’t get one. She pressed on. “You can keep a lid on your own researchers, hut not on the competition. Sooner or later-especially if Renraku’s experiments also start chewing up the Matrix-the Crash of 2029 will repeat itself. When it does, nothing can stop the story from getting out. If I don’t cover it, some other reporter will. And when they do, they’ll trace the original spirit that started it all right back to Mitsuhama.”
“Back to Farazad Samji, you mean,” John Chang said in a soft voice. “Thanks to the story you’re going to do.”
He pulled a datachip out of a drawer and slid it across the desk toward Carla. “On this chip you will find a joint statement by myself and Dr. Vanessa Cliber, director of computer operations for the Renraku Arcology. In it, we announce that we have at last discovered the cause of the virus that is currently infecting certain nodes of the Matrix: a spirit, conjured up, regrettably enough, by one of Mitsuhama’s former employees.”
Carla picked up the disk and turned it over in her fingers.
“The mage was working on a private research project during a leave of absence,” Chang continued. “A project that MCT Seattle did not officially sanction. Only when the spirit became free and killed him-and then began attacking the Matrix-did our corporation begin examining the spell that Dr. Samji had created. Because this was a task of such grave public importance, we brought in experts from around the world to work on the project-even those employed by our chief rival, Renraku Computer Systems. It was simply imperative that we find a way to bring the spirit back under control and force it to stay out of the Matrix. And so the two corporations have pooled their personnel and resources in an unprecedented effort to eliminate this threat to the world’s computer and telecommunications systems by banishing the spirit.”
“So that’s what you want me to do,” Carla cut him off. “Paint Farazad Samji as the bad guy, and MCT and Renraku as the crusading knights, riding in to clean up the ‘unsanctioned’ mess he made. Well, it’s not going to fly. You’re going to wind up looking foolish.”
She knew Chang was lying to her. Mitsuhama might try to tell Renraku that they were banishing the spirit, but she was certain the corporation would try to control it instead. If not as a magical means of accessing the Matrix, then as a parabiological weapon. She tried a lie of her own: “Nobody can control that free spirit. You’d be making false promises to the public-and they’ll be angry when it turns out you aren’t able to keep those promises.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Chang answered. His leather chair creaked as he sat back in it. “We now have someone on staff who knows the free spirit’s true name-and that’s all we need to control it. By the time that press release airs on the evening newscast, the spirit will be out of the Matrix. We’ve found a mage who can do the job.”
Things were starting to click into place. “Aziz Fader?” Carla asked. It made sense. The mage had obviously gotten the true name from Pita and used it to bind the spirit. He’d used it to kill the hell hound in a blaze of light. Now, presumably, he was going to hand over the true name in return for whatever goodies MCT Director Ambrose Wilks had promised him. Aziz had probably gotten in touch with the corporation as soon as his efforts had proven successful-and been kept busy in their lab ever since. That would explain why he hadn’t returned her calls.
Was that a hint of amusement in Chang’s eyes? He shook his head. “No. Not Mr. Fader,” he answered. “An… associate of his. She will be working with our own researchers. And those from Renraku, of course.”
Carla felt a growing sense of dread. “She”? Chang could only be referring to one person. But that was impossible. Carla had spoken to Masaki less than two hours ago, when he phoned in sick, and he’d said the ork girl was safely tucked away in his apartment. Was Masaki in on the deal, too? Carla swallowed her anger and forced herself to think logically. No. It was morn likely that Mitsuhama had forced Masaki to lie. She couldn’t even imagine what they’d used to blackmail him. Maybe the threat of violence. Once again, her imagination started to chum out unpleasant images.
Was Masaki lace-down on the floor of his apartment, even now, a bullet in his brain?
“The girl is safe,” Chang said, obviously reading Carla’s expression. “She’s much too valuable an asset to damage, although your co-worker doesn’t realize that. He, too, is unharmed.”
Carla felt a rush of relief. That was one worry down. Masaki was safe. She was surprised at how much she cared about the timid old fragger. And about the girl.
She shook her head. Caring what happened to Pita was logical-the girl was, after all, still Carla’s only chance at a big story. Not on Mitsuhama. but on the racist elements within Lone Star. It was one story that Carla’s new masters-especially with Chang's yakuza connections-wouldn’t fly to spike. It was also a story that would make NABS take notice of Carla-and get her out from under the thumb of this smooth-talking fragger.
But Carla wasn’t thinking about that now. Or at least, it wasn’t the only thing she was thinking about. Pita might be “safe,” but she was probably also terrified. Especially if Mitsuhama was holding her. She was probably every bit as frightened as Carla had been when the hell hound stood on top of her, teeth bared and ready to strike. Carla felts twinge of sympathy and wished there was something she could do for the girl.
Perhaps there was.
“I’ll wrap a news story around your press release,” she told Chang. “I’ll make it the best you’ve ever seen, and will vilify Farazad Samji as much as you like. On one… no, on two conditions, First, that you remove that foul little spirit from Mrs. Samji’s home and agree not to persecute her further-by withholding her husband’s pension, for example”
“It’s already done,” Chang answered. “We at MCT Seattle am not entirely heartless, after all. The Samjis will be provided for, despite the harm that Farazad has caused. It’s simply good corporate public relations.”
“And second, that I be allowed to talk with Pita.”
“I do not think that will be possible,” Chang began.
“Listen,” Carla said, leaning forward and using her firmest voice. “You need me. You own KKRU now, and could hire any of the reporters there to put together your news story. But I’m the station’s top investigative reporter, and the public knows it. If I commit to this piece, I can’t go back on it later and say it was all a lie. It would ruin my credibility-just as surely as the recordings on those chips would.”
“Let me see Pita, or I won’t do your dirty work for you.”
Chang sighed, exchanging his polite mask for a weary frown. “We really do wish to bring the spirit to heel, Ms. Harris. It has the potential to become an enormous economic liability to us. It is completely unsuited for the task for which it was originally conjured. If Wilks had listened to his researchers, all of this unpleasantness might have been avoided. He’s just lucky that he came up with that trideo footage in time, proving that the spirit could be controlled. Otherwise…
“What trideo footage?” Carla asked.
“The shots that Mr. Fader took of himself calling the spirit. He tried to pretend that he had bound the spirit to himself, and that his little demonstration in the Chrysanthemum Tower had been entirely his own work. But he did a clumsy job of editing the girl-Pita-out of the footage he shot as 'proof' of his power over the spirit. Our deckers were able to salvage pictures of her from an unwiped memory sector, and we determined that she was the one we really wanted. It was then just a matter of using the right lure and picking her up. And once again, I assure you that she is unharmed.”
Carla blinked. Pita was the one who’d sent the spirit to kill the hell hound? But Aziz had said… No. Aziz had lied to her, all along. He’d sold the kid out-and now he’d been cut out of the loop. Mitsuhama had probably paid him a small finder’s fee for the girl, then sent him on his way.
“I still insist upon seeing Pita,” she said. She forced a smile. “What harm could it do? If she really is safe.”
Chang sighed. He considered for a moment before answering. “Very well,” he said at last. “It might prove useful, after all. She’s somewhat… reluctant… to assist us. Perhaps you can talk her into it.”
He gave Carla a stern look. “If you try any tricks, it will be your credibility on the line-and on the air. Just keep that in mind when you talk to her.”
29
Pita sat on a padded chair, gripping its cushioned arms. She could smell the plastic hood that was wrapped tightly around her head and face, and the lingering perfume of one of the people who had come into the room earlier. And she could feel the warm stream of air from a beat vent overhead. But otherwise, her senses were completely blocked. The hood covered her eyes, and soft pads over her ears delivered a steady white-noise hiss. The sound made it impossible to think, let alone hear anything.
This must be the magemask that the other prisoners had warned her about, back when Pita had been in jail. She could see now why the cops used it. She felt completely disoriented, cut off. There was no way she could call to Cat, or hear Cat’s comforting purr. Her world had shrunk to a few tactile sensations and a dark, static hiss.
They hadn’t tied her up this time. They’d simply hustled her into this office, put the hood on her head, and shut the door. She’d explored the room by feel, gradually navigating her way around its table, chair, and couch, and trying the locked door. She’d even tried to remove the hood-only to find that each time she tugged on it, the static in her ears cranked up suddenly, making her dizzy and weak, if she let it alone, the sound returned to a bearable level. And so she sat in the empty room, trying to calm her breathing and slow her racing heart.
She didn’t know where she was, but she could guess. They’d driven across the Intercity 90 bridge to Bellevue, then to a two-story building whose walls were completely covered in ivy. She’d been hustled in past some heavy-duty security at the front door, through a series of hallways, and past a large room whose floor and walls were covered in strange symbols. This had to be a magical research laboratory of some sort. One owned by Mitsuhama, the corporation whose goons had been on her case since the beginning of this thing.
From time to time, people came into the room. They would turn down the noise generated by the hood and fire questions at Pita. They seemed to know everything that had happened the night before last. About how Aziz had attracted the attention of the spirit, and how Pita had directed its actions, They were even able to describe the motions the two had gone through and the hermetic circle in the abandoned convenience store, They’d found the burned hell hound in the Mitsuhama office tower, and had figured out that Pita had ordered the spirit to do the job. Odd, how they kept referring to this as a “demonstration” rather than the rescue mission it had actually been.
But the people questioning Pita didn’t seem to understand exactly how she had used the spirit’s true name-despite the fact that they knew it was burned into her arm. Hell, that was something Pita herself didn’t understand. Somehow, she had watched as the spirit flashed its way across the city, and had directed it against the cops who had killed her friends. But she certainly wasn’t going to volunteer that information. Not to the mages who kept questioning her. She was in a tight enough spot as it was, without admitting to assaulting two cops.
The mages wanted her to summon the spirit and give it a different command this time. She was to order it to stay away from the Matrix. But even if Pita had the guts to face the spirit again, she wasn’t sure she would be able to do what the corporate suits wanted. The Matrix was a complicated thing for someone like her-a high school drop-out-to describe. All she knew was that it was a bunch of computers that were somehow linked to one another; she’d flunked out of Basic Tech and didn’t even really understand how a telecom worked. But no matter how many times she tried to tell them this, they weren’t willing to listen. They wanted her to do it right now, today, as soon as possible. And they promised her that if she tried to turn the spirit against them, she’d be dead. No matter how many of its employees she fried, Mitsuhama would get her in the end. The corporation was huge, with connections in every city and plenty of magic and money to back it up. Cross Mitsuhama, and she’d be dead meat. She could count on it.
Pita lifted her head as the door opened. She knew better than to charge toward the doorway; the last time she’d tried, a pair of thick arms had wrapped around her, forcing her back into the chair. Then her nose caught a whiff of perfume. Where had she smelled that fragrance before?
Hands fumbled at the plastic hood that covered her face. The white noise died away, and then the hood was tugged free. Pita blinked, unable to focus in the brightly lit room. Footsteps receded, and the door clicked shut But someone was still in the room with her.
“Pita? Are you all right?”
Pita gasped as she recognized the person. “Carla!” she croaked. “What are you doing here? Did they capture you too?”
The reporter crossed the room and sat down in the chair next to Pita’s. She didn’t look as though anyone had roughed her up. Her tailored jacket and skirt were unwrinkled, and her dark hair was held back in a neat braid. Her makeup hadn’t even smudged, and her face held a composed smile. But that was hardly unusual. The only time Pita had seen Carla looking even slightly flustered was after the yaks had gunned Yao down and were chasing after Masaki’s car. And even then her clothes hadn’t been mussed. At least, not much.
“I’m here because I asked to see you, Pita,” Carla said. “1 wanted to talk to you.”
Pita squinted at the reporter. The glare of light from the white walls still hurt her eyes. She was finding it difficult to concentrate, but the reporter didn’t resist her and she was able to insert a catlike claw and tease out what was uppermost in Carla’s thoughts. What she found there startled and angered her. “So you’re working for Mitsuhama now, huh? Then why the frag should I talk to you?”
Carla caught her breath. “How did you-?” Then the corners of her mouth turned down. “It’s true I’m working for them,” she answered. “But not willingly. And I really did come here to make sure you’re all right.”
She was telling the truth. Pita retracted her mental claw from Carla’s mind. “But you can’t do anything for me.” She scuffed the toe of her running shoe against the floor. “No one can. I’m stuck here until I do what they want-until I talk to that fragging spirit again. They don’t care drek about me-just about what I can do for them. And if I agree, they’ll only kill me when I'm done. When they don’t need me any more.”
Pita could see from Carla’s expression that the reporter didn’t need to be convinced that Mitsuhama saw people as disposable. The corporation’s goons had killed Yao, and his only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time-standing in the way of something the corporation wanted back. And they’d burned down Aziz’s shop without a second thought. The only reason they were keeping Pita alive was because she was valuable to them. Or at least her arm was, anyway.
She stifled the urge to scratch the burn. The mages who had talked to her seemed to be convinced that only she could “read” the true name that had been seared into her flesh. But if she stalled too long and they figured out how to decipher that code themselves, they might decide that everything but her arm was expandable.
“Pita, listen to me.”
Pita returned her attention to the reporter.
“Mitsuhama doesn’t just want the spirit kept out of the Matrix,” Carla said. They’ll want to do more research on it. And that means they have to keep you alive. You’re the only one who can control the thing. You’re the one in charge of it. And Mitsuhama knows that. Listen,” she said, leaning closer. “I know they’ve treated you badly-I saw the magemask you were wearing when I came in. They’ve tried the stick approach so far, but I’ve persuaded them that the carrot is more effective. They’re willing to pay you thirty thousand nuyen if you cooperate. And to release you afterward.”
Pita looked up. Thirty-K nuyen? That was as much as her father made in a year. She’d be rich! She’d have her own apartment, nice clothes, maybe buy a car But then reality set in. The corporation had done nothing but manhandle and bully her so far. Why the frag should they actually pay her, once they got what they wanted? And what else would they make her do with the spirit? Probably force her to use it to kill. The one taste Pita had of that power had been enough. She hadn’t been able to smell the cops skin crisping as the spirit licked across their bodies, but she’d seen the terror in their eyes. It was hard enough to do that to someone she hated, never mind geeking some innocent person. She didn’t want any part of that deal. At any price.
“Do you really believe they’ll give me the money and then just let me go?” she asked Carla.
“Of course,” the reporter answered. But her head moved a fraction of a centimeter to the left and right. The body language in the head shake was clear. The real answer was no. “And in the meantime, I’ll be working on your behalf, keeping tabs on you: We still have that story on Lone Star to do, after all.”
Pita sat for a moment, thinking. Was there no way out? She stared at the reporter, watching as the pupil of Carla’s cybereye dilated and contracted independently of her real eye. At first she was angry at the thought of the reporter shooting trideo of her without her permission. Even though they were pirate broadcasters, the guys at Orks First! had been up-front about the fact that they were shooting trid, Anwar’s bulky, antiquated camera had been especially hard to miss. Pita wondered where he was now. And then, all at once, she saw a way out.
“Tell Mitsuhama that I’ll do it,” she said carefully. “I’ll control the spirit and give it new commands. But only if it’s covered-live-by Orks First! Trideo.”
A grin was growing on Carla’s face. “A live trideo broadcast? That’s good. Now you’re thinking like a reporter, kid. They won’t dare continue to hold you here against your will-not while the cameras are rolling. And well keep the live broadcast going until you’re out of here and have reached somewhere safe.”
Safe. Pita mulled the word over. Would she ever really be safe? She was just one kid up against a huge corporation. But at least she could buy herself some breathing time. And some temporary freedom. All she had to do was confront an immensely powerful magical creature and explain a concept to it that she herself didn’t really understand. Piece of cake.
“Is there anything you want?” Carla asked. “Anything I can get you?”
“Yeah,” Pita answered. “Tell those yak fraggers not to put that hood back on me. And tell them I’m hungry. I want a sushi burger, some deep-fried noodles, a Growlie bar, a can of Fizz, a medium Wide Wedge pizza with everything, some…
“Slow down!” Carla said. “I'm sure they’ll bring you whatever you like, once you’ve agreed to cooperate. But first you’d better tell me how to get in touch with Orks First!’
30
The Orks First! pirate adjusted his tripod-mounted portacam and peered through the range finder. Anwar was wearing jeans and a fringed Tribal Wear shirt, and had a red scarf knotted around his head. He even had an eye patch. It was a dull silver, rather than the traditional black pirate patch, and full of electronics. While his portacam was rolling, it would provide him with a direct feed, showing exactly what the camera was capturing. Pita couldn’t image how he could watch both it and the real world at the same time and not be disoriented and stumble about. But the double vision didn’t seem to bother him in the least, even though the equipment was brand new and he must still be getting used to it.
Anwar stepped in front of the camera and touched the audio feed in his ear. “Hoi Alfonz! You gettin’ a feed? Give me a code-blue signal if it’s comin’ through.”
After listening for a moment, he waved a hand to catch the attention of those who had gathered in the room. “Okay,” he told them. “I’m set. We can start any time you like.” He turned to address the Mitsuhama and Renraku executives directly. “Just one warning. I’ll know if you break the patch to the KKRU transmitter, If I don’t get a steady feed of codes from my ah… associates… I’ll know the broadcast has gone off the air or has been tampered with. So no funny stuff, huh? We want this livecast to go smoothly.”
Pita stood between two suits, shuffling her feet uncomfortably. A cluster of executives had been assembled in the research lab where the spelleasting would take place. Behind them, mages put the finishing touches on the hermetic circle, placing the elements in their positions and making sure the lines were intact.
One of the executives-a slender Asian fellow with a gold ring and wristcom-nodded at the ork reporter. “We too will have associates watching the broadcast, if the voice masking slips and reveals any copyrightable spell material, we’ll pull the plug.”
“Agreed.” the ork rumbled. Then he turned to the mages. “Ready?”
They nodded, and he raised his microphone. It looked slender as a twig in the ork’s massive hand. He turned to face the camera as a red light winked on.
“This is Anwar Ingram, comin’ at you live from the Mitsuhama Computer Technologies secondary research laboratory in Bellevue. We’re here today with an exclusive Orks First! interview with a young ork by the name of Patti Dewar. This previously unknown magical talent has been chosen to head up a joint magical experiment by MCT Seattle and Renraku Computer Technologies.
“You’ve probably already seen the story that KKRU’s Carla Harris aired earlier today, about the plans by these two corporations to stop a renegade spirit that has used its energies to cause damage to the Matrix by shutting down systems and wiping data left and right. Now Orks First! brings you the dramatic fruits of this labor-live! For the first time ever on trideo, you’ll see the spirit that has been wreaking havoc all over the city. Not only that, but at the conclusion of the spellcasting we’ll follow Patti to the Street Savers shelter for street kids, where she will be turning over to the charity the 30,000 nuyen fee she is being paid for today’s magical services, and where she’ll be working over the next few months to ensure that this credit is properly spent.”
Yeah, Pita thought. Spent on me. The “donation” to the shelter was just a means of ensuring that the corp actually paid out what it had promised. Mitsuhama would took bad, if they stiffed a charity. Once the nuyen was transferred to Street Savers, a friend of Anwar’s who worked at the shelter would place it in an account that Pita could draw upon. The five thousand nuyen she’d have to leave untouched in the account would be a small price to pay for his help.
The pirate newscaster paused to listen to his audio feed, then stepped behind Pita and the suits. He laid a hand on the shoulder of one of the executives, an Asian man with an air of strained dignity-which strained even further as Anwar’s grimy hand crinkled his expensively tailored jacket.
“This is John Chang, vice president of MCT UCAS and president of MCT Seattle. He’s agreed to accompany Patti to the shelter and help her make the presentation.”
Pita nodded to herself. That was good. With the suit coming along for the ride, nobody would dare try to kill her on her way to the shelter.
“I have?” Chang’s eyes widened. But he recovered quickly and smiled broadly at the portacam. “Yes. That’s right. I’ll be pleased to make the donation on behalf of Mitsuhama Computer Technologies.”
The pirate shifted his hand to an equally uncomfortable-looking executive who stood on the other side of Pita, a man with thinning gray hair and a pompous expression. “And this is Donald Acres, project manager of the Renraku Arcology. Like Mr. Chang. he’s agreed to join Patti in making the presentation at Street Savers. Renraku has pledged to meet Mitsuhama’s donation with one of its own, and will also be contributing thirty thousand nuyen to the shelter.”
Pita looked up. This was something new. She didn’t know who had thought of doubling the payout-but it was brilliant.
Acres eyes narrowed in what was almost a wince. But he recovered as quickly as Chang had. “I’d be pleased to.” he said, albeit a little stiffly.
Anwar squatted in front of Pita and held the microphone up for her to speak. “I’m sure Patti would like to thank both corporations for their generosity. Isn’t that right. Patti?”
Pita stammered a little, then smiled widely, for once not ashamed of her oversized canines. “I’m very happy to have this opportunity to help Street Savers, Auwar,” she said, playing along. “And to work for a charity that really helps kids like me. You can come and interview me at the shelter. To see how I’m doing.”
“That I will, Patti,” the pirate chuckled. “I’m sure everybody in the Underground will watch your progress avidly. You’re a celebrity, as of tonight.”
Anwar motioned the executives to one side, then did a voice-over while the mages put the finishing touches on the hermetic circle that would form a protective barrier around them while they helped her to summon the spirit. While the executives and other observers scurried into another room to watch through a thick, warded glass window, the mages showed Pita where to sit. Anwar continued his monologue, reiterating Carla’s earlier story about how the spirit was using its energy to tear gaping holes in the programming of the Matrix. But instead of dwelling on how wonderful it was that the two corps were pooling their resources to fight the thing, he focused on Pita’s role in what was about to unfold.
It was embarrassing, really. And a little hard to believe. Pita would be a celebrity once this was over. Assuming it worked. The corporations were taking a big gamble. What if she couldn’t do it? She licked dry lips and tried to calm the fluttering in her stomach as technicians attached bio monitors to her temples, upper left chest, and wrists. Additional sensors were attached to her arm beside the burn mark, and then all was ready.
Three of the mages positioned themselves at the center of the circle. They sat cross-legged, holding hands in a ring around Pita. One was a young Asian elf with a crew cut and a suit that hung sloppily on his lank frame, as if he had dressed up in his father’s clothes. The other two were a blond human woman in a white lab coat with a bright red Mitsuhama logo over the pocket, and a Native Amedcan in a beaded leather jacket with the words “Renraku: Interface With the Best” emblazoned across the back.
The Amerind smiled at Pita reassuringly. “Null perspiration, kid,” he whispered. “Nothing to worry about.” Then he, like the other two mages, snuggled welder’s goggles over his eyes.
Pita glanced at Anwar, who was using a remote to lower his auto-adjust tripod. The round glass eye of the lens seemed to be staring at Pita, boring into her thoughts. She closed her eyes, shutting it out and concentrating. The three mages had spent the afternoon with her, running over the steps of the spell, discussing the wording of the command Pita would give the spirit when it arrived. She toyed with the idea of probing their thoughts, to make sure they hadn’t left anything out. But she was afraid that she would find that they were as nervous as she was.
As the mages began their chant, something soft and warm settled on Pita’s lap. She opened her eyes, startled, and saw that her lap was empty. Yet if she reached down, brushed lightly with her fingertips against the air, she could feel the soft fur of a cat. Closing her eyes again, she stroked the air-and was rewarded with a vibration that set her fingertips tingling. In her mind’s eye she saw a rainbow-colored cat sitting in her lap, gazing up at her with glittering eyes of gold.
Pita concentrated on the feel of the radiant fur beneath her fingers, and focused on Cat’s, throbbing purr. It flowed up from her fingertips and along her arm, then into her chest. From there it radiated outward until her entire body was softly vibrating.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Begin,” a voice beside her urged.
Pita raised her arm, concentrating on the patch of red where the spirit had burned its true name. She felt the hairs there rise, and the skin begin to warm. She pictured her arm as a cyberdeck screen, flashing a single word over and over again: “Come. Come. Come.” At the same time, her lips parted. A word was on her tongue-a word she could neither pronounce nor understand. A name.
Slowly, the room began to brighten, and Pita felt a warmth on her head and arms. She turned her closed eyes toward it, savoring the spirit’s presence like summer sunlight. Even Anwar’s whispered. “Oh my God!” didn’t faze her.
Now she could feel the heat intensifying, could see a bright whirl of light through her closed eyelids. The welder’s goggles they’d given her hung about her neck. untouched. She didn’t need to wear them, didn’t need to open her eyes to see the spirit. Not when she and it were…
One.
This time, she felt no fear. Cat was close by, a warm presence in her lap. And the spirit was a familiar echo in her sluggish mortal mind. Play? it whispered in a voice as quick as a flash of sunlight on metal, It tugged at her, seeking direction.
Pita looked around her, saw only a vortex of spinning fragments of light. They spread in an infinitely wide rainbow, shading from a deep violet that she felt more as a hum than a color, to an intense crimson that blazed with heat. Individual photons spun crazy spirals around her, cutting the air like brilliant dervishes. She was captivated by their beauty, swept up in their dance. The spirit seemed to be trying to tell her something, trying to communicate. Its words rushed past at a frantic pace that no mortal mind could comprehend. If only she could understand its message, Pita knew that she would be conveyed to the source of all light, the source of all…
Her brain sluggishly sent out a signal that-had nanoseconds not been crawling along like seconds-would have caused her to shake her head.
She struggled to form a word-thought. Not the convoluted command that the mages had instructed her to give, but a single message: Go.
The spirit paused for a nanosecond, then blazed brightly with anger. No. Stay. Play.
Pita felt a wash of horror as she realized what she’d done. When she’d controlled the spirit before, she’d been responding to the call of her totem. Like a cat playing with its prey, she’d directed the spirit to use its destructive energies against the cops. It had enjoyed the experience, and now wanted to repeat it. And it didn’t care who the target was. Pita had unleashed a monster-one that would strike out at the innocent, as well as the guilty.
She tried again. Leave.
The burn on her arm began to throb in time with the light that strobed overhead. The sensation drew Pita back toward her body, back toward herself. The spirit flared with laughter, tilted and spun…
The purring. Concentrate on the purring. Centering herself, wrapping her will around the calm place that Cat had created for her. Pita lashed out. She raked the spirit with claws, tore at it with her teeth. Her hair was on end, was on fire, but she didn’t care. She used the throbbing in her arm, blending anger with calm, blending hot fire with icy determination. Summoning every ounce of her will, she screamed at the thing one last time: GO HOME!
Something snapped.
Pita fell into her body from an impossible height. Down, down into darkness. When she opened her eyes, the laboratory was in utter darkness, except for a tiny red eye that stared at her. Then the portacam’s auto-light came on. washing Pita with a beam of light. She threw up her arm to shield her eyes-and saw that her skin was whole. Healed. The pale pink scar of the spirit’s burn had utterly vanished.
The room’s lights came on then, and everyone started talking at once. Dimly. Pita was aware of the three mages leaping to their feet, of executives rushing into the room and congratulating them with slaps on the back and hearty handshakes. Anwar was standing somewhere beside her, talking excitedly into his microphone and helping Pita to her feet.
“It’s too soon to tell yet, folks, if the spellcasting was successful,” he touched the audio pickup in his ear, listening to it. “The reports are only just starting to come in from the deckers who are monitoring the Matrix. But you saw what happened here today, live on Orks First! trideo. The spirit is under control. And it took an ork to do it.”
Pita murmured something in response to Anwar’s questions, then staggered. She was bone weary; wrestling with the spirit had utterly drained her. When someone else reached out to steady her, she clasped the proffered arm. And looked up into the face of John Chang.
“Well?” he whispered, pulling her off to the side and out of camera range. “We saw you control the spirit. It responded beautifully. How did it react to the new commands?”
“I didn’t give it those commands,” Pita whispered back.
“What?’ Donald Acres had also crowded close, and now was sputtering with rage.
“What do you mean you didn’t-” He broke off as Anwar homed in, thrusting his microphone up to Pita’s mouth.
“I banished it,” Pita answered. “I sent the spirit home-wherever that might be. It’s never coming back.”
Chang’s face went pale. “But that was the only… We weren’t able to bind any of the other…” His hand clenched Pita’s shirt. “You were supposed to-”
“Yes?” Anwar asked, shifting the microphone. “Is there anything you’d like to add, Mr. Chang?”
The executive shook his head, hid his discomfort with a smooth smile, then abruptly turned away.
The pirate broadcaster wrapped a heavy arm around Pita’s shoulders and walked her toward the camera. Technicians scurried along after Pita, peeling off the sensors that had been attached to her skin.
“And now we’ll take you to the Street Savers shelter,” Anwar announced as he lifted the camera from its tripod and held it at arm’s length. “I’ll be broadcasting live all the way there as Patti tells us the story of how she came to learn the magical skills that enabled her to banish rogue spirits.” He turned. “Mr. Acres? Mr. Chang? This way please.”
He walked Pita toward the exit, Chang and Acres fumed as they followed the two orks out of the lab and into the Street, occasionally turning their grimaces into a smile for the camera that Anwar was carrying. Surrounded by bodyguards, they climbed into sleek corporate vehicles.
Anwar helped Pita into the taxi that was waiting outside the research lab’s door.
“Your friends have told me, Patti, that your talents are entirely self-taught. I understand that you’re a cat shaman?”
Pita nibbed her throbbing temples, then noticed the driver of the taxi. It was the ork woman who had chatted with her-when? only this morning?-about the Meta Madness concert. The woman turned around and gave Pita a toothy grin.
“Hoi kid,” she said. “I found your cat.”
A white bundle of fur launched itself over the seat and into Pita’s arms. Purring loudly, the cat nuzzled against Pita’s chin, then sniffed at the shirt pocket where the Chickstix had been. One yellow and one blue eye peered up at her as the cat let out a questioning mrrow?
Pita stroked the animal, dumbfounded by the turn of events. What a coincidence that the taxi that had come to take her to Street Savers just happened to be driven by the woman she had met this morning! But then she started to mull it through. Even if the cabbie had found Aziz’s cat, she wouldn't have driven around all day with the animal in her car. She’d have returned it to Masaki’s address, and he would have contacted Carla, who would have.
She smiled at Anwar, who confirmed her suspicions with a wink. The lens of the portacam whirred as he shifted the camera to take in both Pita and the cat. “So,” he said into the microphone. “Tell us about your cat. Do you use it to work your magic?”
Pita laughed. She was starting to understand how the news business worked.
31
Carla watched as Wayne put the finishing touches on the Lone Star story. Despite the fact that everyone she’d interviewed had been busy covering their own asses, the story drove one point home. Pita wasn’t just some street-trash ork kid any more-she was the brilliant young shaman who had single-handedly driven the spirit from the Matrix. It didn’t take a genius to realize that, had the cops gunned her down with the rest of her friends that night, the Crash of 2029 would have repeated itself, with devastating results to the world economy.
As a result of Pita’s fame, offers were pouring in from Seattle ork families who wanted to offer her a home. There was even a handful of telecom messages from handsome young orks who saw Pita as their means of escaping the Underground, either as her personal bodyguard-or as her spouse. For now, however, Pita was still living at Masaki’s. She said she liked it there-that she especially enjoyed talking with Blake, Masaki’s burly oak partner. Carla snorted. She wouldn’t be surprised if the two adopted Pita. It would do Masaki good-give him someone else to fuss and worry over.
Carla leaned over Wayne’s shoulder and drew an imaginary box with her finger on the monitor. “Put the image of Pita describing what happened to her that night into a crop box here, and superimpose it over a slow pan of the street where the shootings occurred,” she instructed. “Then we’ll dissolve to the leaked ballistics report that matches of caliber of the slugs found in the bodies with the weapons inside the patrol car. Superimpose the graphics of the squad car’s weaponry over it, and roll the lethality stats beside it.”
Wayne nodded and went to work, cutting and pasting images with a digital stylus and manual commands entered via keyboard and palette-paste mouse. Carla watched as he cut to her interview with the two cops: Corporal Larry Torno, and Private Renny “Reno” Mellor. They looked pathetic, lying in hospital beds with their faces and hands bandaged and intravenous tubes feeding liquids into their arms. Their burns were officially caused by the crash of their patrol car, and the resulting fire. But that didn’t explain the regular pattern of burn marks across their faces and hands, or how the burns had gone to third degree even though the vehicle’s automatic extinguishing system had cut in immediately after the vehicle caught fire.
Carla didn’t for one moment believe their claim that the accident had been caused by extremely bright headlights shining at point-blank range in through the squad car’s tinted and glare-proof windshield. She knew what the real cause had been. But she hadn’t used it in her story.
Both cops claimed to have been nowhere near the spot where the ork kids were gunned down, despite the fact that their on-board computer nav-log for that evening showed clear signs of tampering. Chief of Lone Star Police William Louden was denying any sort of Lone Star coverup, and was claiming that Torno and Mellor were the only “bad apples” on the force. When Carla asked whether any other Lone Star officers were involved in the murders of street kids he shut the interview down entirely. She had hoped that her story would prompt a full-scale investigation into racist elements within the, police corporation. But that had obviously been a pipe dream.
Carla instructed Wayne to cut the officers denials short with a dissolve to the gruesome file pictures of the kids who had been murdered that night. They deserved the air time. Not those lying Lone Star fraggers.
She followed the file footage with the interview she had done with the leader of Seattle’s Humanis Policlub. At least she’d gotten him to admit that the cops were former members of the organization. But then he insisted that they had been tossed out of the group months ago for being “too radical,’ and that they had been acting on their own initiative. More ass covering.
Carla sighed. “Wrap the story with the comment by the Ork Rights Committee member who lost an eye in Friday’s confrontation in front of Metroplex Hall,” she instructed. “That should give Chief Louden something to answer for, at least.”
As Wayne finished the piece by tagging on Carla’s sign-off, Pita entered the editing booth. She hopped up on a table and watched as the completed story was replayed, swinging her feet. The white cat poked its head out of her jacket, where it had been hiding. The kid seemed to take the mangy little creature with her everywhere these days. The cat stared at the screen as if assessing the story, its mismatched eyes darting back and forth as images moved across the monitor.
“Well?” Carla asked, turning to the girl. “What do you think?’
The ork girl tilted her head to rub a cheek across the top of the cat’s head. A contented purring filled the editing booth. Carla couldn’t tell if it was coming from the cat-or the girl.
“We like it,” Pita said softly. “It won’t bring Chen and the others back, but maybe it’ll stop some other kid from getting geeked.”
Carla forced a smile. In the larger scheme of things, it seemed as if nothing had changed. Lone Star still had its quota of had cops, the corporations were denying all responsibility for the spirit and instead reaping the rewards for having saved the Matrix from a repeat of the Crash of 2029, and Carla was stuck under Mitsuhama’s thumb for the rest of her career.
But at least Pita had come out of this all right. One day, the kid would realize that the world was still just as tarnished as it ever had been. But for now-for today at the very least-the future looked shiny and new.
“Yeah, kid,” Carla answered. “I hope so.”