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 concerts.
"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.
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—KKRU 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?"