Cyberpunk (41 page)

Payne shuffles his feet, clears his throat. “I’m, uh, taking the

Tupelov down to Seattle tonight, to pick up a new load of summer boys,

and I was thinking, if you didn’t already have travel plans...”

I smile. “Sure.” That’ll give me some time. There were a few things

I was wondering how I was going to tell Payne about. Like the bomb in

the racial screening program that blows open a door for anyone named

Washington, Jackson, or
*
berg. (Fudges their transcript, too; makes ‘em

look like goddam Aryan geniuses!) And the secret trapdoor that will let

Payne browse through all of Gary’s confidential email.

Payne nods, affirmative. “Right. See you at the strip at 1700, then.”

He nods again, walks away.

I watch him leave, and smile. There are some things he needs to

know, but I don’t think I’ll tell him about SLOW_BLEED just yet.

That’s the leech I put in the financials. Nothing obvious; nothing

indiscrete. I’ve gotten a lot better at timing since my cyberpunk days.

I’ve learned about patience.

Two years. In two years, Gary will be bankrupt, and the Academy

Cyberpunk 1.0
220

©1982, 1998 Bruce Bethke

will be owned lock, stock, and barrel by the Ernst Von Schlager

Memorial Trust. Eventually I’ll have to tell Payne that he’s the trust

fund administrator.

Some day. But not today. I’ve got a lot of loose ends left to wrap up:

Dad. My mother. Rayno. Georgie. Some day I’ve got to find out what

happened to all of them.

But I can worry about all of that tomorrow. For today, for right
now
,

this is Cadet Captain Michael Arthur Harris, logging out and powering

down.

Mission complete, Colonel.