Chang ignored her barb. "We’d like you to put a slight spin on the story." he continued. "We’re willing to concede that the spirit was developed by a mage who was formerly in our employ. But his research was not sanctioned by MCT. You will re-edit the story so that it stresses this fact."
"You and I both know otherwise." Carla said. "I saw the hermetic circle in your research lab. And the memo that—"
"Both could have been fabricated." Chang said smoothly. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "It all comes down to your personal credibility, doesn’t it? And we’ve both
seen
how fragile that credibility can be."
Carla felt her cheeks start to burn. The bastard had probably enjoyed watching her personal recordings. But she wasn’t going to lose her cool. Not yet.
"You do want to continue working as a trid reporter,
don’t you?" Chang asked.
Carla decided to use the only edge she had. "I have information from a well-placed source that Renraku—your competitor—has stolen your spell and is experimenting with it." She watched for a reaction, but wasn’t really surprised when she didn’t get one. She pressed on. "You can keep a lid on your own researchers, but not on the competition. Sooner or later—especially if Renraku’s experiments also start chewing up the Matrix—the Crash of 2029 will repeat itself.
When it does, nothing can stop the story from getting out. If I don’t cover it, some other reporter will. And when they do, they’ll trace the original spirit that started it all right back to Mitsuhama."
"Back to Farazad Samji, you mean." John Chang said in a soft voice. "Thanks to the story you’re going to do."
He pulled a datachip out of a drawer and slid it across the desk toward Carla. "On this chip you will find a joint statement by myself and Dr. Vanessa Cliber, director of computer operations for the Renraku Arcology. In it, we announce that we have at last discovered the cause of the virus that is currently infecting certain nodes of the Matrix: a spirit, conjured up, regrettably enough, by one of Mitsuhama’s former employees."
Carla picked up the disk and turned it over in her fingers.
"The mage was working on a private research project during a leave of absence." Chang continued. "A project that MCT Seattle did not officially sanction. Only when the spirit became free and killed him—and then began attacking the Matrix—did our corporation begin examining the spell that Dr. Samji had created. Because this was a task of such grave public importance, we brought in experts from around the world to work on the project—even those employed by our chief rival, Renraku Computer Systems. It was simply imperative that we find a way to bring the spirit back under control and force it to stay out of the Matrix. And so the two corporations have pooled their personnel and resources in an unprecedented effort to eliminate this threat to the world’s computer and telecommunications systems by banishing the spirit."
"So that’s what you want me to do." Carla cut him
off. "Paint Farazad Samji as the bad guy, and MCT and Renraku as the crusading knights, riding in to clean up the ‘unsanctioned’ mess he made. Well, it’s not going to fly. You’re going to wind up looking foolish."
She knew Chang was lying to her. Mitsuhama might try to tell Renraku that they were banishing the spirit, but she was certain the corporation would try to control it instead. If not as a magical means of accessing the Matrix, then as a parabiological weapon. She tried a lie of her own: "Nobody can control that free spirit. You’ll be making false promises to the public—and they’ll be angry when it turns out you aren’t able to keep those promises."
"That’s where you’re wrong." Chang answered. His leather chair creaked as he sat back in it. "We now have someone on staff who knows the free spirit’s true name—and that’s all we need to control it. By the time that press release airs on the evening newscast, the spirit will be out of the Matrix. We’ve found a mage who can do the job."
Things were starting to click into place. "Aziz Fader?" Carla asked. It made sense. The mage had obviously gotten the true name from Pita and used it to bind the spirit. He’d used it to kill the hell hound in a blaze of light. Now, presumably, he was going to hand over the true name in return for whatever goodies MCT Director Ambrose Wilks had promised him. Aziz had probably gotten in touch with the corporation as soon as his efforts had proven successful—and been kept busy in their lab ever since. That would explain why he hadn’t returned her calls.
Was that a hint of amusement in Chang’s eyes? He shook his head. "No. Not Mr. Fader." he answered. "An . . . associate of his. She will be working with our own researchers. And those from Renraku, of course."
Carla felt a growing sense of dread. "She"? Chang could only be referring to one person. But that was impossible. Carla had spoken to Masaki less than two hours ago, when he phoned in sick, and he’d said the ork girl was safely tucked away in his apartment. Was Masaki in on the deal, too? Carla swallowed her anger and forced herself to think logically. No. It was more likely that Mitsuhama had forced Masaki to lie. She couldn’t even imagine what they’d used to blackmail him. Maybe the threat of violence. Once again, her imagination started to churn out unpleasant images.
Was Masaki face-down on the floor of his apartment, even now, a bullet in his brain?
"The girl is safe." Chang said, obviously reading Carla’s expression. "She’s much too valuable an asset to damage, although your co-worker doesn’t realize that. He, too, is unharmed."
Carla felt a rush of relief. That was one worry down. Masaki was safe. She was surprised at how much she cared about the timid old fragger. And about the girl.
She shook her head. Caring what happened to Pita was logical—the girl was, after all, still Carla’s only chance at a big story. Not on Mitsuhama, but on the racist elements within Lone Star. It was one story that Carla’s new masters—especially with Chang’s yakuza connections—wouldn’t try to spike. It was also a story that would make NABS take notice of Carla—and get her out from under the thumb of this smooth-talking fragger.
But Carla wasn’t thinking about that now. Or at least, it wasn’t the only thing she was thinking about. Pita might be "safe." but she was probably also terrified. Especially if Mitsuhama was holding her. She was probably every bit as frightened as Carla had been when the hell hound stood on top of her, teeth bared and ready to strike. Carla felt a twinge of sympathy and wished there was something she could do for the girl. Perhaps there was.
"I’ll wrap a news story around your press release." she told Chang. "I’ll make it the best you’ve ever seen, and will vilify Farazad Samji as much as you like. On one ... no, on two conditions. First, that you remove that foul little spirit from Mrs. Samji’s home and agree not to persecute her further—by withholding her husband’s pension, for example."
"It’s already done." Chang answered. "We at MCT Seattle are not entirely heartless, after all. The Samjis will be provided for, despite the harm that Farazad has caused. It’s simply good corporate public relations."
"And second, that I be allowed to talk with Pita."
"I do not think that will be possible." Chang began. "Listen." Carla said, leaning forward and using her firmest voice. "You need me. You own KKRU now, and could hire any of the reporters there to put together your news story. But I’m the station’s top investigative reporter, and the public knows it. If I commit to this piece, I can’t go back on it later and say it was all a lie. It would ruin my credibility—just as surely as the recordings on those chips would.
"Let me see Pita, or I won’t do your dirty work for you."
Chang sighed, exchanging his polite mask for a weary frown. "We really do wish to bring the spirit to heel, Ms. Harris. It has the potential to become an enormous economic liability to us. It is completely unsuited for the task for which it was originally conjured. If Wilks had listened to his researchers, all of this unpleasantness might have been avoided. He’s just lucky that he came up with that trideo footage in time, proving that the spirit could be controlled. Otherwise . . ."
"What trideo footage?" Carla asked.
"The shots that Mr. Fader took of himself, calling the spirit. He tried to pretend that he had bound the spirit to himself, and that his little demonstration in the
unharmed."
Carla blinked. Pita was the one who’d sent the spirit to kill the hell hound? But Aziz had said . . . No. Aziz had lied to her, all along. He’d sold the kid out—and now he’d been cut out of the loop. Mitsuhama had probably paid him a small finder’s fee for the girl, then sent him on his way.
"I still insist upon seeing Pita." she said. She forced a smile. "What harm could it do? If she really is safe."
Chang sighed. He considered for a moment before answering. "Very well." he said at last. "It might prove useful, after all. She’s somewhat . . . reluctant ... to assist us. Perhaps you can talk her into it."
He gave Carla a stern look. "If you try any tricks, it will be your credibility on the line—and on the air. Just keep that in mind when you talk to her."
Pita sat on a padded chair, gripping its cushioned arms. She could smell the plastic hood that was wrapped tightly around her head and face, and the lingering perfume of one of the people who had come in to the room earlier. And she could feel the warm stream of air from a heat vent overhead. But otherwise, her senses were completely blocked. The hood covered her eyes, and soft pads over her ears delivered a steady white-noise hiss. The sound made it impossible to think, let alone hear anything.
This must be the magemask that the other prisoners had warned her about, back when Pita had been in jail. She could see now why the cops used it. She felt completely disoriented, cut off. There was no way she could call to Cat, or hear Cat’s comforting purr. Her world had shrunk to a few tactile sensations and a dark, static hiss.
They hadn’t tied her up this time. They’d simply hustled her into this office, put the hood on her head, and shut the door. She’d explored the room by feel, gradually navigating her way around its table, chair, and couch, and trying the locked door. She’d even tried to remove the hood—only to find that each time she tugged on it, the static in her ears cranked up suddenly, making her dizzy and weak. If she let it alone, the sound returned to a bearable level. And so she sat in the empty room, trying to calm her breathing and slow her racing heart.
She didn’t know where she was, but she could guess. They’d driven across the Intercity 90 bridge to Bellevue, then to a two-story building whose walls were completely covered in ivy. She’d been hustled in past some heavy-duty security at the front door, through a series of hallways, and past a large room whose floor and walls were covered in strange symbols. This had to be a magical research laboratory of some sort. One owned by Mitsuhama, the corporation whose goons had been on her case since the beginning of this thing.
From time to time, people came into the room. They would turn down the noise generated by the hood and fire questions at Pita. They seemed to know everything that had happened the night before last. About how Aziz had attracted the attention of the spirit, and how Pita had directed its actions. They were even able to describe the motions the two had gone through and the hermetic circle in the abandoned convenience store. They’d found the burned hell hound in the Mitsuhama office tower, and had figured out that Pita had ordered the spirit to do the job. Odd, how they kept referring to this as a "demonstration" rather than the rescue mission it had actually been.
But the people questioning Pita didn’t seem to understand exactly how she had used the spirit’s true name—despite the fact that they knew it was burned into her arm. Hell, that was something Pita herself didn’t understand. Somehow, she had watched as the spirit flashed its way across the city, and had directed it against the cops who had killed her friends. But she certainly wasn’t going to volunteer that information. Not to the mages who kept questioning her. She was in a tight enough spot as it was, without admitting to assaulting two cops.
The mages wanted her to summon the spirit and give it a different command this time. She was to order it to stay away from the Matrix. But even if Pita had the guts to face the spirit again, she wasn’t sure she would be able to do what the corporate suits wanted. The Matrix was a complicated thing for someone like her—a high school drop-out—to describe. All she knew was that it was a bunch of computers that were somehow linked to one another; she’d flunked out of Basic Tech and didn’t even really understand how a telecom worked. But no matter how many times she tried to tell them this, they weren’t willing to listen. They wanted her to do it right now, today, as soon as possible. And they promised her that if she tried to turn the spirit against them, she’d be dead. No matter how many of its employees she fried, Mitsuhama would get her in the end. The corporation was huge, with connections in every city and plenty of magic and money to back it up. Cross Mitsuhama, and she’d be dead meat. She could count on it.