Steel Rain (33 page)
"I will call the moment we find anything."
Machiko rides the elevator to the ninth-floor dining room. The hour is late, but Nagato Tower operates twenty-four hours and that includes the dining room. Machiko eats a brief "supper" and then rides to the suite reserved for GSG and lies down to rest. But her spirit will not cooperate. So much has happened in so little time. She has visited the heights of the corporate overworld and the lowest depths of the street. Four nights ago she rose from sleep to meet the onslaught of an assassin. Everything since then swirls through her mind like a vision of kaleidoscopic confusion, evolving into utter chaos.
She turns to a telecom, but the Urban Blitz Nightly News immediately reports, ". . . at least fifty-seven people tragically lost their lives earlier tonight as the result of a terrorist-style attack at the Chrysanthemum Palace Hotel in Coney Island, Brooklyn . . ."
She checks in with Ryokai via commlink, then rides down to ground level and steps outside.
The night is cool, Park Avenue South is busy with traffic. Machiko walks. Few people move along the broad sidewalks at this hour, for although the district is well-patrolled by NYPD Inc. and others, and no part of Manhattan ever truly seems to sleep, the district is not without problems. Those few who are out and about stay in groups and move briskly. They keep to the brilliant lights of the avenues, shunning the darker confines of cross-streets.
The wisdom in this becomes apparent as Machiko reaches Thirty-sixth Street. Before the renaissance stonework of the Pierpont Morgan Library rages a brawl attended by at least ten or twelve uniformed police. The strobing turret lights of their patrol wagons and sedans glance off the mirrored windows of high-rises and the chrome-faces of skyscrapers, illuminating the night like incandescent blue fire. Who they fight does not become clear until Machiko draws near.
Something has climbed from its grease pit to spread its stain along Thirty-sixth Street.
He wears tight synthleather slacks and tall boots, and both bear the lime and azure slashes of the Ancients. Above the waist he is nude, displaying the wall of thorns tattooed onto his gleaming, sweat-soaked flesh. The datajack set into his shaven skull and the wild maniacal gaze of one riding a persona-chip psychosis high tell all that need be told, in so far as Machiko is concerned. That and his aura, rippling with violence, a repugnant living presence clearly visible on the astral.
Three police lie sprawled on the sidewalk. Five others are down, injured but not yet disabled, looking to Machiko as she pauses just three meters from the center of the conflict.
"Now a serpent," says the Ancients ganger, grinning at her. "What fun."
As he says these last words, he attacks. Like a sudden barrage of bullets, quick and full of devastating power, punching, kicking, smashing. One blow smashes the window of a police sedan, another seems almost to explode, driving a path through the air. Machiko evades each point of impact, turning, bending, side-stepping. Her hands and arms, like coiling serpents, mislead and deflect the blows that follow up. And always there is another blow, another strike, snapping, flashing toward her.
They remain engaged for several minutes. The ganger fills the air with a heat signature that blazes with heat. He grunts and growls like a ferocious animal. And then he sends a fist at her face that misses by a significant margin, and, for one moment, tips him slightly off-balance.
Machiko clasps his forearms and urges him further off-balance. Like a man falling feet-first onto a steeply pitched incline, the ganger runs staggering into the armored flank of a patrol wagon.
He stumbles back, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, and then crumbles.
Five NYPD officers seize him, put him in cuffs.
Onlookers hoot and applaud. One panting officer haltingly expresses gratitude. Machiko bows and continues down the block to Madison, then south toward Twenty-ninth and Nagato Tower. A satisfying exercise, an exercise her spirit yearned for, an affirmation of the Chairman's New Way. To some small degree, it will likely aid relations between Nagato Combine and NYPD, Inc. Yet, Machiko rebukes herself. She is a fool for wasting time. For walking the streets when her enemy awaits her, somewhere, perhaps somewhere very near, within the very ranks of Nagato Combine.
It is difficult to imagine such a despicable traitor existing. Few real traitors have ever come to light. People are not always perfectly satisfied with their positions in Nagato Combine, but generally, in Machiko's experience, differences can be worked out.
It is nearly dawn when Machiko wakes, slumped on a sofa in the GSG suite of Nagato Tower. Her left vambrace vibrates, her commlink beeps.
"We have made a disturbing discovery," says Maeda Komachi.
Machiko takes the elevator down. She finds Maeda-san amid the gray-paneled cubicles belonging to the programmers and analysts of Network Administration. Maeda-san gives quick instructions to an eccentric-looking group of ten, then turns to Machiko as the ten hasten to various cubies.
"It appears we have a phantom host," Maeda-san explains. "I am in the process of summoning my entire department to deal with this, Machiko-san."
Machiko asks, "How is this related to my inquiry?"
"It must be related."
"Please explain."
"Well, whether it is evidence of treason is not for me to say, but it is certainly indicative of illicit and illegitimate use of network resources."
"What is this 'phantom host?' "
Maeda-san frowns, and says, "In a sense, it is a virtual computer. A simulation. To discourage illegal intrusions, many computer systems have installed software systems that put up a false front or a mask that simulate all the functions of the native host, or actual computer operating systems. Like the native host, the simulation has access nodes and datastores, but nothing done to the simulation can affect the native host. And usually all the data in the stores of the simulation are watered down or filtered in certain critical respects so as to be of no use to illegal intruders."
"And such a simulation has been found in the node for the Chairman's estate?"
Maeda-san hesitates, glancing at Machiko, then bows and says, "Excuse me, Machiko-san. I would say yes, but there is no single 'node' for the Chairman's estate. Network resources at that site include such things as the Chairman's personal mininet, terminal nodes for the Senior Executive Information System, access nodes into the local telecommunications grid and various portions of the Nagato private grid. This phantom we have found is running on the Chairman's personal mininet, and at this early stage I can only guess at what it is intended to do."
"How could this phantom have been installed without your knowledge?"
"It is partly a result of the network design, Machiko-san. You must bear in mind that Intrusion Countermeasures utilize system and network resources. If we use the most powerful IC available to us in every node and in such quantities as to yield us an impregnable fortress, our systems will never be comprised, but we will get no work done because no resources will be available. The Chairman's mininet is not itself heavily defended or routinely monitored by Network Administration. It is, however, defended by the mainframe responsible for
the
Senior Executive Information System. A decker of sufficient expertise to slip through this mainframe undetected could, once into the Chairman's mininet, do practically anything he or she might want. That at least is my guess. To make sure we are not compromised any worse than we already have, I have initiated measures to enhance our total network security posture."
Indeed, even as the two of them converse, more people are coming in, conferring with others and moving to various cubicles. The urgency on their faces is plain. Those passing near Machiko walk briskly and keep their eyes averted.
Machiko asks, "Would it be correct to say that the purpose of this phantom host would be to deceive anyone who might be watching as to how the Chairman's mininet is being utilized?"
Maeda-san frowns, looking very grave. "I can imagine no other purpose, Machiko-san. Certainly, if there had been any legitimate purpose for creating the phantom I would have been informed long before now. This should not have been done without my personal authorization."
"Could it have been done by someone from outside Nagato Corporation?"
"It is certainly within the realm of possibility. It would require expert knowledge and support, but it could be done."
"Could it have been done by one or more of our own people?"
Maeda-san appears to consider this for several long moments. Finally, she says, "I have great confidence in my managers, Machiko-san. They know my people. I believe I would have had some indication before now if someone in my department is responsible for this."
Machiko has little on which to evaluate Maeda-san
's
opinion, but that is of no immediate concern.
Duty commands her next move.
The room in Brooklyn is small, enclosed by pastel-shaded panels and adorned with a pair of black-framed paintings. The lacquered floor resembles sandalwood. Honjowara
-sama
sits cross-legged in a kimono-style robe at a small black table bearing the remains of breakfast. He faces a pair of open panels, which, like double doors thrown open, provide a view of the small but spectacular garden. Machiko is well aware that this room, the Summer Garden room, is Honjowara
-sama
's favorite part of the Yoshida
-kai
headquarters building. He has breakfasted here many times. It is not unexpected to find him here.
What is unexpected, in Machiko's experience, is that she would find Kuroda
-sensei
seated across the table from Honjowara
-sama
. But this of course is becoming the surprise that no longer surprises. She has encountered
sensei
more frequently in the last four days than in the four weeks immediately preceding. She has seen more of him now than in the last several months.
"Machiko."
Honjowara
-sama
invites her with a gesture to sit beside Kuroda
-sensei
. She bows and moves to the table and goes to one knee. She gives the report that duty demands, telling all that Gordon Ito has told her, and what she has learned from Maeda Komachi. "Thus, we are under attack from both within and without. White Octagon may be only a pawn, their activities a tactic of deceit, in the campaign to seize Nagato debts. It therefore seems all the more crucial that we find Gamma, determine his true objectives, and ascertain whether he is his own master."
Honjowara
-sama
pays close attention until her last word is spoken, then looks to the open door-panels providing a view of the garden. He gives no clue as to what he is thinking, and his silence soon becomes oppressive, weighing heavily on
Machiko's spirit. Perhaps Honjowara
-sama
has some secret information that proves she is wrong, all wrong, that she is a fool, her efforts vain. The idea brings her a sickening sense of dismay.
A few birds whistle from the garden, the first birds Machiko can recall having heard since before last winter. How lucky are the birds—free of the troubles of metahumanity!
"This riddle will never be solved," says Kuroda
-sensei
, "unless the flower is laid bare."
Machiko puzzles over this. She supposes that
sensei
refers to Gamma, or possible traitors, or more generally to the repugnant "flower" of racism, anti-meta hatred, that rises like so many poisonous weeds from many innocuous-looking gardens. Perhaps he wishes to interrogate the members of White Octagon personally, to lay bare their deepest secrets. Yet, Machiko is forced to reconsider her thoughts when Honjowara
-sama
glances at Kuroda
-sensei
, and says, "Do not speak in riddles, old friend."
"I speak of Gamma,"
sensei
replies. "And all that has gone unsaid."
Honjowara
-sama's
expression abruptly turns incandescent, his voice fierce with rage. "You were told
never
to
refer
to
this
!"
Machiko tenses, surprised, but Kuroda
-sensei
merely bows politely, and says, calmly, "In ancient days, a lord went hunting at Nishime. He grew angry and drew his sword, scabbard and all, and used it to beat one of his servants, a warrior. But his hand slipped and the sword fell into a ravine. The warrior, seeing this, leapt into the ravine after the sword, retrieved it, and returned it to his lord. It is said that this demonstrates loyalty and honor."
Honjowara
-sama
gazes fixedly at Kuroda
-sensei
. He appears to spend many moments gaining control of his
anger. Finally, with settled spirit, he says, "You know the
danger. If this matter were to become generally known."
What matter? Machiko wonders. What are they talking about?
"The greater danger lies now in silence," says Kuroda
-sensei
. "From outside the forest of your daily concerns. This is clear."
"And the opportunity presents itself."
"Indeed. It lingers very near."
To Machiko, it seems then as if some unseen signal passes between the two men. Honjowara
-sama
looks from Kuroda
-sensei
to the door at his right, an interior door resembling a rice-paper panel. "Sashi," he says.
