Tails You Lose (35 page)
As Night Owl watched the sky cab take off, she pondered her next move. To defuse the bomb—to live—all she had to do was induce an alpha state four times and get Kageyama to snap her out of it at exactly the right moment. The waking up part was simple enough, blit entering an alpha state at precisely the right second was going to be fraggin' hard. Night Owl doubted if even a Zen master could do that. Maybe with biofecdback equipment—but that wasn't something she could get her hands on in the short minutes she had left.
Even though she had the code, Night Owl was just as fragged as she'd been before. If she wanted to live, she needed help.
Then a thought struck her: maybe Alma could help. At least she had a countdown timer in her cybereye; maybe that would give her an edge.
With a start. Night Owl realized that she didn't even know how many minutes she had left. Turning back toward the elevator, she stabbed the call icon.
As soon as consciousness returned, Alma felt eyes upon her. Her eyes snapped open and, during the second it took her to figure out who was staring at her and where she was, her body tensed into a ready posture. Then she saw it was just Kageyama—that she was in the same bedroom in his condoplex. She started to relax, but the intensity of his eyes communicated a sense of urgency.
She placed her cybereye in countdown mode and saw that she had only twenty-six minutes remaining before the bomb inside her head would explode. The countdown was still ticking. She sat up, adrenaline pumping through her. What had Night Owl been doing all this time?
As if answering her silent question, Kageyama spoke. "Night Owl says there's a bomb inside your head, but that she's discovered the sequence to disarm it," he said. "You need to enter an alpha state for precise periods of time: one minute, then forty-five seconds, then thirty seconds, then fifteen seconds. Each alpha state must be followed by a period of normal brain wave activity that lasts exactly the same period of time as the alpha state that preceded it."
Alma nodded. Of course! Now that she knew the answer, it seemed simple—in theory. "But I've never even meditated," Alma protested. "And I don't suppose you have a biofeedback machine handy."
Kageyama shook his head.
"Then how will I know if I've managed to produce an alpha wave pattern, let alone time it?" Alma asked.
"You have to make your mind empty and still, to slow your thoughts. As you do, your breathing and pulse will slow. When that happens, squeeze my hand. I'll begin timing you and will tap you on the shoulder at the appropriate moment." He lifted an antique mechanical stopwatch with an engraved silver case.
Alma shook her head at the archaic tech. "Thanks, but no. I'll rely on my retinal clock instead."
"But that could distract you—"
"I'm not going to argue." She activated the countdown and saw that just nineteen minutes remained. "Please—be quiet. I haven't got much time."
Alma closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, but all she could focus on was the counter, slowly ticking down toward zero, and Kageyama hovering anxiously near her shoulder. She tried to empty her mind, but stray thoughts kept jumping back into it like unruly children. As the countdown reached the ten-minute mark, she felt tears well in her eyes.
"It's not working. I can't—"
Kageyama was standing less than a meter away, his chest at Alma's eye level. As soon as she saw his pendant, she knew the answer to her problem.
When she'd held the Fu Coin earlier, she'd felt an overwhelming sense of bliss. For precisely as long as the coin had made direct contact with her bare skin—exactly one minute, by some strange twist of fate—her brain had been in an alpha state. That was what had put the countdown on hold before—what had bought her the extra minute of life. She could use the Fu Coin's magic to induce an alpha state. All she had to do was touch the coin for the prescribed periods of time. It was as simple as that.
"Kageyama," she said in a strained voice. "Your
pi
stone—quickly!" Not waiting for him to unfasten the chain, she snatched it from his neck, breaking the chain, and unscrewed it as quickly as she could. Despite the compensating efforts of her move-by-wire system, her hands were trembling.
There—the pendant was open. Alma held up the coin . . .
Both her eyes and Kageyama's widened in surprise in the same instant. It wasn't the Fu Coin that Alma held in her fingers. It was one of the coins Kageyama had given her earlier, to cast the I Ching. Alma stared at it for a long moment, stupefied, and then realized there was only one way it could have gotten there.
"Night Owl," she and Kageyama both whispered. Then Kageyama chuckled, as if at some secret joke.
"I don't see anything to laugh about!" Alma exploded. "The Fu Coin could have induced an alpha state. Night Owl's greed has just condemned us to death!"
Kageyama laid a hand on hers. Alma tried to jerk her hand away, but Kageyama held on tightly. His grip was surprisingly strong. Wired reflexes taking over, Alma raised her free hand to strike him. Before she could, he scooped up one of the two I Ching coins that remained on the table and held it up in front of her.
"I was prepared for this eventuality," he said. "I suspected that there might be others after the Fu Coin and that Night Owl would know who they were. She didn't disappoint me. Thanks to her, one more would-be thief has been thrown off the scent."
"What the frag are you talking about?" Alma asked heatedly. She didn't even realize that she'd slipped into street slang until she saw Kageyama's bemused glance.
Kageyama nodded at the wall where the two-dimensional Kelvin shimmered, watching. "Night Owl's friend Miracle Worker isn't the only one who can cast illusion spells. It was also Kelvin's specialty. This is the real Fu Coin, cloaked behind an illusion. The coin that Night Owl just sold was a fake. I hope she received a good price for it."
Alma suddenly realized where Night Owl must have gotten the information about defusing the bomb. Someone, somehow, had retrieved it from PCI's computer system and sold it to her.
"I think Night Owl got exactly what we needed," she said with a smile. "Now pass me the coin; our time is running out."
Only six minutes remained on the countdown—even if she entered an alpha state this instant, Alma would have only seconds to spare.
Kageyama pressed the Fu Coin into her hand, clicking the knob of the antique stopwatch as he did so. As its magic flooded through her body, Alma sank into the most rapturous bliss she had ever known—for sixty seconds precisely.
Then again, for forty-five seconds . . .
Then for thirty seconds . . .
Then fifteen . . .
Night Owl awakened slowly, feeling as if she had been drugged. Something was wrapped around her head and face, pinning her ears against her scalp. Her cheeks stung in several places, and the tips of her ears were burning. Her eyelids felt thick and puffy, and her mouth was dry. A strange metallic taste lingered on her tongue.
Reaching up, she touched the wrappings around her head and realized what they were: bandages. Frag! Alma must have had the REM inducer removed. But if she had, why wasn't Alma the one who had just woken up? Had removing the REM inducer backfired on Alma, shutting her down permanently and leaving Night Owl in control of their body?
Night Owl sat up and looked around. She lay on a narrow bed with hospital-style railings on either side, in a small room that looked like a clinic recovery room. A door in one wall opened onto a tiny bathroom; another door—one with a lock on it—looked as though it might lead out into a hallway. Soothing music drifted through the air, and sunlight slanted in through windows that had a slight gold tint.
The view out the window was magnificent: a wide expanse of harbor with blue water that sparkled in the sunlight, colorful buildings that climbed the slopes of the North Shore, snowcapped mountains cloaked in lush green forest, and above it all, a turquoise-blue sky tufted with white clouds. To the west, the clouds were stained a bright orange and red by the setting sun. It was obviously late afternoon—hours after the time when the cranial bomb was supposed to have gone off.
"Congratulations, Alma," Night Owl said with a chuckle. "You did it. Assuming this isn't heaven, we're still alive."
For the first time that Night Owl could remember, she had awakened during a day when it was not raining. She stretched out a hand until the sunlight caught it and savored the warmth on her skin. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let out a contented sigh.
Like a bubble working its way up through thick, cloying liquid, a whisper of worry found its way into Night Owl's mind. She suddenly realized that she had no reason to feel this way. Alma had undergone some sort of surgery and locked Night Owl in a room—and Night Owl had no idea why. She should feel worried, apprehensive—even fearful. Instead she felt . . . happy?
It must be the drugs from the surgery. That had to be the answer.
Lowering one of the railings on the bed, Night Owl swung her feet over the side. She found that she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt: whatever the chopdoc had done to her, it hadn't involved the rest of her body. She crossed to the bathroom and peered into the mirror above the sink. The heavy wrap around her face and head was a bandage, just like she'd figured. Reaching up for one end of the gauze, she slowly unwound it.
Her ears were the first things to appear from beneath the wrapping. Night Owl was surprised to see that they now had delicate points, like an elf's.
When the rest of her features were revealed, her eyes widened in wonder at the changes she saw. Her cheeks were wider, her chin more pointed, and her lips thicker. Even her eyes were different. They now had a full epicanthic fold, giving her a distinctly Asian appearance, and the irises were a glittering gold, instead of the familiar brown.
Night Owl was used to seeing a different face staring back at her each night. She never left her apartment except in full Beijing Opera makeup, and she varied the design each evening, to suit her mood. But this time, the mask that stared back at her out of the mirror couldn't be wiped off. Faint red lines—the marks of a laser scalpel—showed where a surgeon had inserted collagen, shaved away cartilage, or tucked and folded skin. This mask—one of Alma's choosing, not Night Owl's—was permanent.
Night Owl slowly shook her head, wondering what Alma was up to now. Perhaps the biggest surprise was that she still felt no fear.
A cellphone was lying on the counter beside the sink, next to Alma's I Ching coins. The memo-alert light was blinking red. Night Owl picked up the phone, thumbed the memo function icon, and read the words that scrolled across the monitor.
HELLO, NIGHT OWL. THANKS FOR FINDING THE CODE TO DEACTIVATE THE CRANIAL BOMB AND PASSING THE DATA TO ME THROUGH KAGEYAMA. THAT WAS WELL DONE. I'M GLAD YOU DECIDED TO TRUST ME—FOR BOTH OF OUR SAKES.
I REALIZED, AFTER DEACTIVATING THE BOMB, THAT KNOWING THE CODE GAVE ME THE ABILITY TO HAVE THE REM INDUCER REMOVED. I DECIDED NOT TO FOR ONE SIMPLE REASON: I OWE YOU MY LIFE. IT SEEMED DISHONORABLE, SOMEHOW, TO "UNPLUG" YOU, ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU'RE REALLY JUST A PART OF ME. BESIDES, I THINK WE MAKE A PRETTY GOOD TEAM. THERE AREN'T MANY SECGUARDS OUT THERE WHO CAN PROVIDE ROUND-THE-CLOCK PROTECTION, WITH ONLY TWO FIFTEEN-MINUTE BREAKS PER 24 HOURS.
AS A RESULT OF WHAT YOU DID, I CAN NEVER GO BACK TO MY JOB AT PACIFIC CYBERNETICS. THE POETIC JUSTICE IS THAT YOUR "CAREER" AS A SHADOWRUNNER IS ALSO OVER, UNLESS YOU WANT THE DRAGONS TO FIND US AGAIN. BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN WE'RE NO LONGER PRODUCTIVE. AKIRA HAS OFFERED US A JOB AS HIS BODYGUARD. HE'S EVEN OFFERED TO HELP US GET IN TOUCH WITH THE MISSING SUPERKIDS FROM BATCH ALPHA. MAYBE SOMEDAY WE CAN EVEN HOLD A "FAMILY REUNION." BUT ALL THAT LIES IN THE FUTURE.
