Shadowrun 01 - Never Deal With A Dragon (12 page)

"Well, what?"

Addison shifted nervously. He craned his head around, looking to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. When he saw that the chapel had emptied, his face relaxed slightly. "There's . . . there's a rumor going around that Jiro was chipping when he fell."

"Chipping?" Hanae asked.

"Yeah, you know, using BTL."

Hanae put a hand to her mouth in shock. BTL stood for Better Than Life. BTL chips were supposed to be entertainment simulations that someone plugged into his head through a datajack or a special chip receptacle. They allowed one to "relive" an experience as though actually doing it himself. But the experiences were more than realistic. Unlike ordinary simsense entertainments, all BTL sensory impressions were heightened electronically, pushed into realms beyond any normal person's experience. The enhanced impressions were supposed to be unbelievably thrilling, more sensual than anything that real life had to offer. Sam didn't know if that were true, but he did know BTL was highly addictive. Users often lost themselves in the chip's world, abandoning the real world until they died of neglect or the real world intruded fatally on what they perceived.

Sam suddenly realized that a user might, lost in his false reality, stumble over a railing and fall to his death. Had Jiro? With the anniversary of Betty's death coming up, Jiro had been increasingly depressed. It was true he had done some chipping shortly after his return to Renraku, but he had stayed away from the heavy stuff. His doctor had even approved, prescribing certain chips and calling it re-entry therapy.

This put a new light on matters. Sam certainly didn't want to discuss it with Addison, nor did he want to go into the subject with Hanae around. "That's really none of our business. Besides, what difference does it make now?"

"Well, not a whole lot to Jiro. But we been thinking about the rep of the department, you know, if word got around that he was chipping, and certain parties started an investigation. You do know that
Kansayaku
Sato is coming? You know, the axman? He might . . ." As his words trailed off, the man arched his brows in a conspiratorial expression. "Well, you know. We were worried."

Worry Sam could understand, especially if someone in Addison's group needed to keep something hidden. Whatever the problem to which Addison alluded, it could not possibly be a material danger to Renraku. If it were, Addison or whoever was involved would already be running.

The mention of BTL might mean that somebody in the department had a chip habit. Lots of deckers used chips for recreation, but most knew enough to stay away from BTL. The implication that a decker was involved in the dangerous pastime could get him a black mark in his record that would affect the promotion schedule. Justifiably. No legitimate corporation wanted to trust its Matrix secrets to someone who was an addict. There were too many cases of blackmailed deckers stealing files, or crazed Matrix runners crashing systems when their delusions crossed over into the already hallucinatory reality of the Matrix. A decker who chipped would likely be canned and blackballed.

Then again, maybe the chipper had already paid the price. If Addison or one of his buddies had supplied Jiro with a chip, and if Jiro had taken his fall while under the influence, the charge would be manslaughter at the least. Sam couldn't recall any mention of BTL chips in Jiro's hospital file, but that didn't mean much. If someone had arranged for Jiro to get such a chip, that same someone might easily have been there when Jiro fell and then removed the chip before the medics arrived. Such a person would dread an investigation that might uncover his or her complicity.

Had someone in the department been running Jiro's icon when Sam encountered it in the Matrix last week? The data department would have known about Jiro's injuries, and they would have had physical access to Jiro's cyberdeck. A brain-fried decker would be impossible to hide, but a good back-up team might have been able to jack out the icon's controller before the black ice got him. Using someone else's deck was punishable by expulsion from the corporation as well as hefty fines, but that wasn't always enough to deter a dedicated hacker. But whoever had been running Jiro's icon had tampered with the Wall, which meant even harsher sanctions. If it were one of Addison's group behind Jiro's icon, they would all be subject to dismissal if their actions were discovered. They had more than enough reasons for a cover-up.

"Don't worry. Addison-
san
. I don't think there will be any BTL investigations." Even as he said it, Sam also knew that there should be. Jiro
did
have a history of chip abuse, but his hospital file contained no mention of it. Just as there should have been an investigation of Jiro's accident. On the other hand, if Addison and his cronies were part of some cover-up, the decker wouldn't be here nervously asking questions. Someone else was involved, hiding something behind the official lack of interest. Crenshaw was in security. Maybe she knew something. "We really do have to go."

"Yeah, sure, man." Addison stepped back, a nervous smile flickering over his face. "Well, thanks anyway, Warner. You're an O.K. guy."

Sam hurried out the chapel door. Hanae, unquestioning, tried to keep pace, but after a few steps, she gave up. Sam raced ahead, anxious to catch Crenshaw. Scanning the park surrounding the chapel, he failed to spot her. Then she appeared from behind a hedge, walking along a path and almost out of sight. He ran after her.

At the sound of his footsteps, the woman looked back, but did not stop walking. Sam raised his hand and started to hail her, but she pivoted away and quickened her pace. She turned when the path branched at the statue of Chief Sealth and passed out of sight behind some trees.

Sam ran after her. His breath started to come hard. He was too fat, too out of shape for this. He skidded, trying to turn as he reached the intersection of the paths. Baffled by what he saw, he let momentum carry him into the statue. Leaning on the pedestal and puffing, he stared. The path Crenshaw had taken was empty.

There were no turnoffs that she could have reached in the time it took him to get this far. She must have left the path. She had deliberately eluded him. Why?

He wouldn't find the answer today. He had no hope of tracking her through the park. Crenshaw surely knew more than enough tricks to evade his amateurish pursuit.

She had been there when Betty Tanaka died and shared captivity with him and Jiro. Crenshaw had felt enough . . . what? affection? loyalty? curiosity? to come to Jiro's funeral. She had seen Sam and must have known he wanted to talk with her. Why had she fled?

It didn't make sense. There just weren't enough hard facts. All he had were possibilities. He was beginning to suspect that maybe he didn't want to know what was real and what was polite fiction or an outright lie. He had grown up believing that truth was important, but he was starting to suspect he wouldn't like the true story.

Someone was hiding facts connected to Jiro's death. Possibly someone within Renraku Corporation itself. Someone, perhaps an ambitious executive, was practicing deception for personal ends, twisting the corporation to suit his or her own plans for individual power.

Listen to me. I sound like dupe of the week from Channel 23's
"
Confessions of a Company Man
."

Sam wanted to laugh it off, but could not. He had seen too many signs of something rotten. How much of what he had taken for granted was deception? He was still mulling over the matter when Hanae came panting up, her face flushed. Sam could tell that it was simple exertion and not anger. Concern and worry wrinkled her brow.

"Why did you run away?"

"I didn't. I saw Alice Crenshaw. I wanted to talk to her about Jiro. She knew him, too. I was trying to catch up to her, and she deliberately avoided me. She knew I wanted to talk to her, and she walked away. Just like the rest of the company, avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you, Sam," Hanae said softly.

It was true. She had been very good to him, always available with a soft shoulder. Why did he have doubts about his feelings for her? As always when he wanted to ease his discomfort, he embraced her. Hanae snuggled close, seeming well satisfied with the physical security of his arms. She hadn't yet noticed that he did not relax the way she did. Or if she did, perhaps she put it down to the tensions affecting him for as long as they had known one another. He certainly had complained about it enough.

"My life is a dead end here," he said, knowing it was an old line.

"Don't talk like that, Sam." Distress was evident in her voice. "Renraku is our home."

"Some home. They pen me in. I never get good assignments. They've lowered my security rating. It's a dead end."

He felt her tense up within his arms. She always said she liked him best when he was happy, that she would do anything to make him that way all the time. He wanted to believe that. Even more, he wanted to believe she could do it. When he felt the yearning for her comfort, he wanted to fulfill her expectations, to be the man she wanted him to be.

"I could accept all that, if they would just let me contact Janice. They know what happened to her. Why won't they tell me?"

"They must have a good reason."

Sam wasn't so sure. Not anymore.

Hanae seemed not to notice his lack of response.

"When Sato-
sama
gets here, you'll see that things will change. He'll need you to get the project going, and he'll surely help you. After all, he is Aneki-
sama
's assistant and Aneki-
sama
was your mentor. Renraku takes care of its own. All your trials will have been for a good reason. Sato-sama will help you."

Like he helped in Tokyo?
"I don't think so."

"You must try, anyway."

Sam forced a smile. "All right."

Alice Crenshaw closed the door to the outer office, shutting off the protests of the security director's receptionist. The little twit should be used to her barging in on the director by now.

The director's aide, Jhoon Silla, stood halfway between the door and the director's desk, eclipsing Crenshaw's view of his master. Silla was dressed in his usual immaculate red jumpsuit, the gold Renraku logo and captain's star gleaming on his collar. His white Sam Browne belt gleamed softly in the indirect lighting of the lushly appointed office. The intense young man was rigid, stretched to the edge of action; his hand was under his holster flap and resting on the butt of his pistol.

"Very protective," she said as she advanced. "But slow. You should have been at the door before I closed it."

Tadashi Marushige sat back as she stepped around Silla. The security director folded his hands on his desk and gazed at her expressionlessly. He, too, wore the company's undress military uniform, the collar showing insignia of the exalted rank of general in the Renraku military forces. Crenshaw never knew Marushige to wear his undress uniform except to review the elite Red Samurai guards. When Marushige was in a military mood, he usually forsook his power suits for simple fatigues.

"You're early," Marushige observed as Crenshaw lowered herself into the armchair to the left of the desk.

"Useful habit."

Marushige's stare was suitably venomous.

"Feel free to continue," she offered, knowing that her insolence annoyed him.

"Quite all right," he said coldly. "I was just finishing up, anyway."

He called Silla forward with a gesture. The aide began to gather maps from the desk and shuffle them into a folder. From the far side of the desk, he produced a briefcase and slid the packet into one of its compartments. Crenshaw sat quietly, turning her head to watch as Silla crossed the room to stand the case on the floor and take up a position by the door. She noted the uniform hats and topcoats hanging behind Silla; their presence indicated that an operation outside the arcology was in the offing. Curious. She resolved to check with her sources as soon as the meeting was over.

She turned back to find Marushige waiting silently, watching her with his dark brown eyes. He said nothing. Finally, she surrendered to his patience.

"I'm not the only one running ahead of schedule today." The director's response was a nonverbal grunt that she took as a request to elaborate. "I thought you might be interested to know that your eleven A.M. meeting is moving itself up. Our friends from the Special Directorate are on their way."

"Interesting." If Marushige was surprised, he didn't show it, though Crenshaw suspected he was ignorant of the development. He had obviously been deeply involved in the planning session with his aide and would have left orders not to be disturbed. "And knowing that I would wish you to attend the meeting, you dropped what you were doing to come at once."

Crenshaw ignored the sarcasm in the director's voice. "Of course."

"Very commendable."

Praise from him, even delivered sarcastically, was unusual. Crenshaw kept her face calm, her body language unaffected by the surprise. She reached into her inner coat pocket and removed her cigarette case. Casually, she removed one of the brown-wrapped cylinders and lit it from the hot spot on the case's lining.

Marushige smiled tightly through the entire operation. When Crenshaw had exhaled her first lungful of smoke, he opened a drawer, took out a crystal ashtray, and slid it across the desk.

"In fact, your entire record here at the arcology has been commendable," he said in a soft voice. "Have you been enjoying your stay in Seattle?"

"It ain't Tokyo."

"Ay, yes. You have spent most of your long career working out of the Tokyo office."

Crenshaw didn't care for the way he said
long
. It sounded too much like a retirement speech. "We both know my record. What's the point?"

"Your
record
is the point, Crenshaw-
san
. Both your performance here and your previous experiences in Japan make you the most suitable candidate for a very special job."

Drek! The little fragger has finally found a job that I won't be able to pass on
.
He's so pleased with himself that it must be a suicide run
. She took a long drag from her cigarette, letting the dry heat sear through her lung tissue to warm her body.
I didn't think he had the nerve to try that
.