Behind the desk was a huge window looking out toward the mountains north of the city. It looked like a storm was blowing in, black clouds boiling up over the ragged peaks. I shook my head, tempted to go over and touch the window material. There wasn't any of the color-shift I'd always associated with reinforced ballistic composite. If that window was standard transpex, any yahoo with a rifle could cap the fragging Ali'i, put a pill in the back of his noble skull. Hey, just wait one tick… What was wrong with this picture?
A couple of things. First of all… this shouldn't be an outside office. Unless I'd gotten myself totally turned around-possible, but not likely-this place was right in the fragging middle of the Iolani Palace's second floor.
Second, the view of the mountains I was enjoying was simply impossible from the site of the palace. Sure, you could spot the mountains… but only between corporate skyrakers, none of which appeared in the view through the "window." A sophisticated holo display, that's what it had to be-like the "window" in Adrian Skyhill's office at Fort Lewis, now that I came to think of it. The sense of deja vu gave me the shivers. I sat down in one of the visitor's chairs, and tried to relax while I waited.
I didn't have long to wait-convenient, since I couldn't relax anyway. The door behind me clicked open, and I reflexively jumped to my feet.
Gordon Ho, King Kamehameha V, had changed again. Not just his garb, although he had doffed his regalia for a set of hideously expensive casual clothes. No, his whole manner-his aura, to use that stupid word-had changed, too, as if in setting aside his royal trappings he'd set aside the strength of personality I'd sensed in the throne room. Was that strength of personality some kind of magical effect, then, incorporated into the headpiece, perhaps?
Uh-uh, I revised after a moment. The strength was still there; it glinted in his eyes. It was just that Gordon Ho made a strong distinction between ceremony and business, like any good executive.
"E ku 'u lani," I began.
Ho gestured casually for me to be seated. "I told you on the phone, it's the kahunas who are so set on the old forms, not me." He sat down in the chair behind the desk and leaned back luxuriously. Then, for almost a minute, he just watched me from under his dark brows. His scrutiny wasn't hostile-more curious than anything, I thought-but that didn't make it any more comfortable. I shifted edgily in my chair, and I felt a bead of sweat start to trace its way down my ribs. I tried to match his stare with my own, but it wasn't long before I had to drop my gaze-look at the "picture-window" behind him, at the desk, at the whiteboard, at anything but those flint eyes.
Finally the Ali'i stirred, and I felt the intensity of his gaze ease. "Mr. Montgomery," he said slowly, almost speculatively. "Derek Montgomery." He smiled. "I know a little about you, Mr. Montgomery. Born on July 22, 2019 in Seattle, Washington-it was still Washington state at that time, wasn't it? One sibling, a younger sister. Both parents killed." His tone of voice was like he was reading, though his gaze was still fixed on my face. It was only when I noticed a faint artificial glint from his corneas that I realized some kind of unit in the desk was projecting my personal data directly into his eyes. "Attended the University of Washington," he continued, "but didn't graduate. Served a tour of duty with Lone Star Security Services Corporation." He shot me a wry grin. "An abbreviated tour," he amended ironically, "after which you left the corporation on less than amicable terms.
"Since then"-he shrugged-"very little, really. Occasional hints that you might have been contracting out your services to various individuals, and even to a couple of corporations. But not much concrete data.
"Until your death, confirmed via gene typing and dental records, in 2052." A thick eyebrow quirked. "Interesting, Mr. Montgomery; I've never chatted with a dead man before."
I shrugged… and tried not to show how chilled I was by the ease with which he'd dug up background information on me. Date and place of birth, family details, employment history… all of which should have dropped out of public ken when I tubed my SIN number after my break with Lone Star. I'd always thought "zeroed" meant just that-you don't exist anymore, no connection between who you are and who you were, and no easy way of tracking down that drek after the fact. Live and learn, I suppose.
The Ali'i leaned forward. "So tell me, Mr. Montgomery, what is a dead man doing in Hawai'i?"
I hesitated. Frag it, I realized Barnard hadn't briefed me enough. Yes, I was supposed to deliver a specific message to King Kam, but what else should I or shouldn't I tell him? 'Trying to do something about that graveyard pallor," I temporized, giving myself time to think.
He chuckled softly at that. "Well, perhaps we'll come back to that later." He paused, then his voice changed-time for biz. "You implied you had a message for me. From whom, Mr. Montgomery?"
"Jacques Barnard," I told him. "Senior veep or something at Yamatetsu."
"I know Jacques Barnard," he acknowledged, "a fine gentleman. I assume you've spoken to him recently. Is he enjoying Chiba?"
"Kyoto," I corrected.
"Of course, Kyoto. I wonder… did you ever have the chance to see his estate in Beaux Arts?"
"I did see his exercise room… but it was in Madison Park."
"Quite. And how's his lovely wife-Marie, isn't that it?"
I sighed. "Never met his wife, don't know her name," I told him wearily. 'Two questions out of three right. Does that mean I don't win the grand prize?"
The Ali'i paused again, and his gaze seemed to pin me to the chair. "Do you always joke so much, Mr. Montgomery?" he asked quietly.
I blinked, and-to my surprise-I told him the truth. "Only when I'm drek-scared."
He smiled at that. "I think I understand." Another pause.
"All right, Mr. Montgomery, I think I can accept your bona fides."
Considerate of you, slot, is what I didn 't say. I just nodded.
"So what was Jacques's message?"
I couldn't think of a graceful way of dancing around the issue, so I just said it flat. "He wants me to reassure you that he wasn't behind the assassination of Ekei Tokudaiji."
Gordon Ho's eyebrows shot up at that. "Indeed?"
"Honto," I confirmed. "Indeed."
Then who was behind it, does Mr. Barnard think?"
"ALOHA," I stated. "Who else?"
The Ali'i smiled again. "Quite a number of people, I'd think. Tokudaiji-san was an oyabun of the yakuza, after all. But I rather think you're right about ALOHA." His hard gaze softened. "Thank you, Mr. Montgomery," he said. "You may consider your message delivered. I didn't really think that Yamatetsu was behind the matter, but it's good to receive one more reassurance.
"I'd be very interested in hearing any insight Jacques has on developments," he went on, more conversationally. "Some of my sources are already starting to report increasing popular support for ALOHA on the streets. And in the legislature the opposition party is starting to apply pressure. I'd like to be able to speak with Jacques personally, but…" He shrugged. Then his smile changed, and his gaze drilled into me again. "Perhaps you can help me with this, Mr. Montgomery," he said deceptively lightly.
Oh frag, not again…
My thoughts must have shown in my face, because Gordon Ho chuckled. "You look as though it's continuing to be one of those days."
"One of those lifetimes," I corrected.
"Not your first choice on how to spend your stay in the islands, running messages back and forth, is it?" He hesitated, and real curiosity showed in his eyes. "Just how did you get involved in this, Mr. Montgomery?"
"Just lucky, I guess." I sighed. What the frag, if anything about my involvement was a secret, it wasn't my secret, and I figured I didn't owe Barnard anything further.
So I told him the story-the short version, the one starting in Cheyenne, not the complete saga including how I'd fallen in with Barnard in the first place. Probably I shouldn't be doing this, I thought while babbling, but frag, there are times when you've just got to talk to someone. I couldn't see what practical harm it would do. Ki
ng Kam had my life in his hands anyway, and I couldn't think of any ways-well, not many ways, at least-that he could glitch things up for me worse than they already were. Besides, now that he wasn't wearing his feathered drek, Gordon Ho didn't seem that much different from me, and I felt myself drawn to like him.
(Which, truth to tell, scared the drek out of me. I'd been drawn to like Barnard, too, hadn't I? And look where that had gotten me…)
When I was finished, the young Ali'i nodded slowly. 'The direct involvement of Ryumyo is somewhat disturbing," he said slowly. (Somewhat disturbing? Understatement of the century, e ku'u lani…) "If that was Ryumyo you spoke with, of course."
"One dragon kind of looks like another," I acquiesced dryly.
"Quite." Ho paused. "But it might not have been a dragon at all. Oh, I know it certainly looked like one, but many kahunas and hermetic mages could produce an illusion that only another magic-wielder could penetrate."
I blinked at that one. That line of thought hadn't even occurred to me.
"Whether or not Ryumyo is personally involved, however, I think the ALOHA connection is fairly certain," the Ali'i concluded. He studied me speculatively for a few moments. Then he opened one of the desk drawers, extracted a small item and extended it to me. "Take this, Mr. Montgomery."
I reached out for the object and studied it in my palm. It was a lapel pin or badge-almost a brooch, judging by its size. Intricately worked into the likeness of the crest I'd seen behind the Ali'i's throne, it massed heavy in my hand. "Gold?"
Ho's dark eyes twinkled. "Electroplated. Sorry." He indicated the badge. "This identifies you as officially under the protection of the Ali'i, Mr. Montgomery. As far as members of the government service are concerned, it marks you as carrying my authority-some of it, at least."
I snorted. "You mean I've been deputized?"
"You might think of it that way," the Ali'i confirmed with a smile. "When you display the badge, you can expect at least some degree of cooperation from servants of the Crown-government agencies, even Na Maka'i, the police. Not the military, however." He shrugged. "You might even find that Tokudaiji-san's security personnel will think twice before gunning you down if they see that," he added thoughtfully. "After all, Tokudaiji-san was a servant of the Crown, in his own way, and his help did not go unreciprocated."
I looked skeptically down at the badge in my hand. Maybe the Ali'i was right, maybe Tokudaiji's samurai would feel some kind of… I don't know, patriotic loyalty to the Crown or some drek… and decide not to pulp me if they saw this. Maybe not. I certainly wasn't going to depend on it I'd made the mistake of thinking a badge could protect me during an earlier phase of my career, and it hadn't taken me long to realize how fragging wrong I was. Still, it couldn't hurt. I nodded thanks to the Ali'i and pinned it onto the collar of my shirt.
Ho's eyes never left my face. "I wouldn't force you into a situation that you find uncomfortable…"
I finished the thought for him "… But you do want me to get word to Barnard that you're trolling for ideas." I sighed again. "Yeah, okay, I'll see what I can do… If it doesn't mean too much exposure." Frag, intermediary again. Why oh why don't people ever learn that killing the messenger just isn't a good idea?
"I appreciate that, Mr. Montgomery. Now-" Ho stopped as a knock sounded on the door. "Hele mai."
The door opened, and a functionary-not Ortega, though he could have been the gray-faced man's Polynesian half brother-stepped into the room. "Kala mai ia'u, e ku'u lani," he began, then noticed me for the first time and clammed up on the spot. He looked at the Ali'i with a "what the frag do I do?" expression on his face.
Gordon Ho chuckled. "This man is in my confidence," he told the functionary quietly. "You have a report for me?"
"'Ae, e ku'u lani," the older man said with a bobbing nod. "I luna o ka Puowaina."
"In English, please," the Ali'i said sharply.
The functionary looked almost as scandalized as Ortega had in the throne room. Just to make sure he got the idea, I pulled back the lapel of me jacket Ortega had loaned me, so he could spot my deputy's badge nice and clearly.
He spotted it, all right, and I could see in his eyes just how little he thought of the whole thing. But at least he managed to control himself. "Ae, e ku'u lani. Yes, O my royal one, of course.
"The"-he shot me a sidelong look, and I could see him mentally editing what he'd been about to say-"the incidents on Puowaina seem to have escalated, e ku 'u lani. The most recent one is quite disturbing-that's how the chief of Na Maka'i describes it, 'quite disturbing.' The… level of activity is more intense."
"But nothing could come of it, correct?" Ho asked.
The functionary looked really uncomfortable… and not just because of my presence, suddenly. "The kahunas think not, e ku'u lani."
"Think not?" Ho sounded surprised.
"That's what they told me, e ku'u lani."
"Interesting. Na Maka'i are continuing their investigation, of course?"
"Yes, e ku'u lani, they have the area sealed off."
"Good." The Ali'i nodded approval. "Do you have anything more to report?"
"Not at this time, e ku'u lani."
Thank you, then." Ho dismissed him with a nod.
Once the functionary had shut the door behind him, me Ali'i leaned back in his seat and shook his head.
"What was that about?" I asked.
Ho sighed. "Puowaina," he said, then waited.
"Punchbowl," I said after a moment.
"That's right," he confirmed. He turned in his chair and pointed to an area of the holo "mountains" behind him. "There. Puowaina, just north of the city. Its name means 'Hill of Sacrifices,' referring to the old religions. It seems as though someone is taking that name a little more seriously than they might."
"Sacrifices?" I asked.
The Ali'i nodded. "It's not unheard of, unfortunately," he admitted. "Hawai'i has its fringe cults, just as the UCAS does. In the first eight years after I assumed the throne, there were half a dozen… incidents of that kind. Animal sacrifices-dogs and pigs, mainly, the sacrificial animals most commonly used in the old faiths. Usually, the sacrifices would be just that and nothing more: some unfortunate animal with its throat slit, then burned. Once or twice, there were hints that someone was trying to link magical activity with the sacrifices-incomplete hermetic circles and things of that sort." He shrugged. "My kahunas assured me that the people conducting the rituals were totally deluded. The magical trappings would never have worked.
'Things change, though," he went on quietly. "Have you ever given any thought to the fact that fringe religions- crank religions, you could say-become more pervasive when a people is troubled? It's true," he confirmed with a nod, "check it out yourself. UFO fever a century ago, during the height of the cold war. The proliferation of psychics and spoon-benders in Russia after the collapse of the USSR. The 'Church of Christ, Geneticist', during the throes of the VITAS epidemic. The fascination with reincarnation during the 'teens…"
I nodded at that one. I remembered reading once that two-count 'em, two-scam artists had built careers on their claims that they were the reincarnation of proto-angst rocker, Kurt Cobain.
"The Brotherhood of the Eternal Now," the Ali 'i was going on, "in the years before the Treaty of Denver. The Universal Brotherhood-that perversion-when 'future shock' really hit the UCAS. And here? Here, we've got the people sacrificing dogs and pigs and goats up on Punchbowl." He smiled wryly. "I suppose I might take it as a criticism of my rule."
"It's becoming more common, then?" I suggested.
"Precisely. Six or seven times in the first eight years of my rule. Then, in the past two years… would you care to guess?" I shook my head. "Seventeen incidents. No," he corrected himself quickly, "eighteen now." He sighed. "Crackpots."
For some reason I suddenly didn't feel so sure about that. "Your chief of police seems to be taking it more seriously." I pointed out.
"It's his job to take it seriously… if only
because the people behind the sacrifices might decide to… to graduate… from dogs and pigs."
I waited, but the Ali'i didn't continue. Well, if a king chooses not to share all his thoughts with you, what the frag can you do? After a few moments Ho smiled. 'Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Montgomery," he said warmly. "I've enjoyed our discussion. Please, make what efforts you can to communicate with Mr. Barnard. And please stay in touch, to inform me of anything you should learn. Agreed?"
"What about contact procedures?"
"Here." He handed me a mylar business card-no name or address, just an LTG number. "This node will transfer you to my private line, wherever I happen to be. If for some reason I'm unavailable, no one else will answer." He hesitated. "Be aware that I can't vouch for the complete security of the relay." He grinned wryly. "My military intelligence traffic-analysis teams have been a little zealous of late."
"Agreed," I told him.
King Kamehameha V pressed a concealed button on his desk, and seconds later a functionary arrived to escort me out. I traded in my jacket and tie to Ortega for my Man-hunter, and then I jandered out of the Iolani Palace. The Ali'i's deputy badge was a comforting weight in my shirt pocket I figured that wearing it openly might attract too much attention, but I certainly wanted it close to hand.
What the frag was I supposed to do now? Contact Barnard-that's what Ho wanted… but for the moment, at least, I felt like keeping a nice, safe distance from Yamatetsu and all the other megacorporations.
As if by magic, my eyes were drawn to the hills overlooking the Honolulu sprawl. There was Punchbowl- Puowaina. What the frag, I didn't have anything I really needed to do at the moment, did I?
I turned my back on the palace and went looking for a bus stop.
15
I remembered a little bit about Punchbowl-Puowaina- from my data search on the suborbital. Apparently, as the Ali'i had implied-it used to hold one mega-important place in the ancient Hawai'ian religion. It was up on Puowaina- Hill of Sacrifices-mat the old Hawai'ians used to cack their human sacrifices to placate their gods. Who were those sacrifices? Volunteers? Criminals? Virgins bred specially for the task (what a fragging waste)? "Prisoners of war" from other islands? Search me, chummer. All I knew was that it came to an end with the haoles-the priests and missionaries and pineapple plutocrats-who moved in and "civilized" the place, of course.
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