Fade to Black

by Nyx Smith

  That whole train of thought made Rico wonder if he was sitting next to something as potentially nasty as a trapdoor spider. Farris looked and acted upset, and yet the things she was saying told him that the brain behind her dark brown eyes was alive and working just fine. Did she really believe that her husband had hired help to murder her? That much didn't make much sense.

  "Psychologists at Fuchi get personal security teams?"

  "I suppose I'm a special case. Certain people hinted that threats had been made against Fuchi, against security personnel in particular. I accepted that. Later, as I put my life back together, I began to wonder if perhaps the threat had something to do with Ansell. Perhaps he had been found out. Perhaps Kuze Nihon was using threats against me to make Ansell work for them."

  "Why would he care?"

  "You would have to know Ansell to understand that."

  "Try me."

  She seemed puzzled for a moment. Whether puzzled by the demand or puzzled that it should be made, Rico couldn't tell. She said, "Ansell doesn't respond well to coercion. He's out of his element here, so you've probably found him-easy to deal with. In the corporate environment, where he's at home, he's highly independent of mind and intensely aware of his own personal purview. He believes he should be allowed to pursue his work utterly without supervision or constraint. He views even the slightest intervention by management as a complete usurpation of his rights as a scientist. That same egocentric perspective dominates his personal life as well. A threat against his wife would be no less a threat against him as a man. It wouldn't matter if he cared whether his wife lived or died. What would matter is his power to control what happened."

  "If anybody's gonna ice you, it'll be him."

  "That would be his view. Highly simplified."

  "How does he go from spiting you to wanting to kill you?"

  "Presumably, Maas Intertech realized he was an infiltrator and began using him as such, limiting his access, feeding him false data to pass along to Fuchi. They would naturally put restrictions on his research and he would resent this. Probably, he would blame me, for if I had not encouraged his spite, he would not have gotten into a situation like that. It's all my fault, you see."

  "So he'd come after you for revenge."

  "Isn't it obvious?"

  "You make him sound like a psycho."

  "Then I haven't been clear." Farris paused, wiped at her eyes some more. "Perhaps I should explain that the desire for personal power is a defining factor in many men, just as the desire to form cooperative relationships is a factor in many women's development and personalities. Ansell is as rational a man as you might ever meet He functions very effectively in the corporate milieu. His personal power is extremely important to him, but he's not inflexible, not compulsive, in the clinical sense. At times, he deliberately exaggerates his need for control, as a ruse he uses merely to achieve a degree of control that he'll be comfortable with, knowing all the while that certain of his demands will be refused."

  "Rational men don't dust their wives."

  "If you really believe that, you've been misinformed."

  "Yeah?"

  "Rational people sometimes do irrational things. I'm explaining myself to you at length when I should probably be saying as little as possible."

  "You been threatened."

  "Yes, I know." She pressed a few curling strands of hair back from the side of her face. Her fingers gave a tremble-so slight Rico almost missed it. "Fear may be a rational response to danger, but it does not necessarily motivate rational behavior." She paused again and swallowed. "I want to cooperate fully because I'd rather you were my ally than someone I should fear. I try to avoid classic behaviors like that, and yet I find that I can't Right now, it's practically a compulsion."

  "Right now" bothered Rico a good deal less than what might be somewhere ahead of him.

  Marena Farris was going to be trouble.

  Hell, she was already trouble.

  "Was she lying?" Rico asked softly when they came out of the room onto the second floor hallway.

  Bandit nodded and said, "Yes. She lied."

  "About everything?"

  "No."

  Rico wanted to know more, specifically when Marena Farris had lied and when she had told the truth.

  Bandit wondered how to answer. Spells of detection, especially those involved with detecting truth and lies, were not like spells for casting mana bolts and fireballs, which either worked or didn't work as the caster intended. Spells for assensing truth most often yielded mixed results, perhaps because most people spoke in a mixture of truth and falsehood.

  There was also the question of whether such spells assensed the objective truth or merely the truth as the target of the spell knew it. Had Marena Farris lied in certain respects or simply recited lies she had mistakenly accepted as truth?

  "What did she lie about?" Rico asked.

  Bandit replied, "Take your best guess." He was no multiphased lie detector, and he disliked trying to function as one.

  Rico grimaced, seeming displeased.

  "Your wife says you volunteered for the program."

  Surikov frowned, looked unhappy, even angry. "Volunteered? I did nothing of the kind. I was ordered to enter the program! I had no choice whatsoever."

  "They musta had some kind of hold on you."

  "A hold? Of course they had a hold! If I'd refused them, I'd have ended up in the Antarctic somewhere, running computer-directed tests on plankton."

  Surikov looked and sounded like he would have considered that a real tragedy, and Rico could believe it. He'd heard this kind of talk before. People like Surikov grew up on the inside of the corporate infrastructure. They didn't know any better. When the Master Suit gave orders, nobody disobeyed. You did what the bosses told you or you suffered the consequences. Even a slag with serious ego problems wouldn't want any black marks on his record because that would be bad for his career. And corporates didn't seem to see much difference between the words "life" and "career."

  If one went down the toilet, the other followed.

  "You said you were snatched outta Fuchi Multitronics."

  "Is there a difference? I was given no options. Whether I was kidnapped or thrust out upon my path, I had no choice. I was badly used. The morality of it is identical."

  There was a difference, though. Fuchi might try to retrieve Surikov in either case, but this was not just "either" case. In this particular case, which was the only "case" that really mattered, L. Kahn had claimed that the client wanted to retrieve the subject of a kidnapping, and if that was a lie-as Surikov and his wife both claimed-then Rico had every right to call off the deal with L. Kahn.

  Suddenly, his course seemed surprisingly clear.

  If he got out of this alive, he'd have to make some kinda statement, a statement about fixers who lied.

  Something L. Kahn would not like. Something people would hear about.

  "You got two options," Rico said. "You go where your husband's going, or you wait till I'm ready to let you go." Marena Farris watched him from the bed in the second-floor bedroom with eyes that got really big and round and an expression that seemed as expectant as it was fearful. "Does that mean ... you will let me go?"

  "Not till I'm ready."

  "But you will let me go, eventually?"

  "When the time's right."

  Farris slumped a little, lifting a hand to her face, closing her eyes. "It's so hard to believe you won't just kill me," she said in an undertone. "But that's what you're saying, isn't it? You're not going to kill me?"

  Rico clenched his teeth. "I don't do murder."

  Farris gasped. She did that a couple of times, head down, hand still over her face. Maybe she was crying. Soon, she lifted her head and wiped at her eyes. "Where is Ansell going?"

  "It ain't settled yet."

  "You're not taking him back to Fuchi, are you?"

  Rico wondered if he should tell her. His first instinct was to say nothing. She didn't need to k
now. It did make him wonder, though. She'd just tried to kill the slag and now she wanted to know what was happening with his life?

  Before he could decide what to say, Farris said, "You should bring him back to Fuchi."

  "Why?"

  "It's the best environment for a man like Ansell. It really is. I'm not saying that just because I happen to work there. Fuchi's research facilities are the best, and the research program is tailored for scientists of Ansell's ability. I don't really think he'll be happy anywhere else."

  "That's his problem," Rico said. "His decision. Your decision I already laid out for you. Which is it?"

  "If you aren't taking Ansell to Fuchi, I'd rather you just let me go. Someplace safe. Near a telecom."

  Right.

  * * *

  "She ain't going with you."

  "She isn't? Why not?"

  "Because that's her decision."

  Surikov frowned, then looked at Rico expectantly. "You've got the guns," he said, quietly. "You could force her."

  Rico clenched his teeth. "I don't think so."

  "I could make it worth your while."

  "Forget you even thought it."

  * * *

  "What about Marena Farris?"

  Rico looked up as Piper pulled another soyburger out of the wave and turned to the micro-sized kitchen table. You'd think that in an ork safehouse, the kitchen would be the biggest part of the house. Not so. Rico finished chewing on a mouthful of burger, and said. "We're gonna hang on to Farris a while."

  "How come, boss?" Shank asked.

  Rico watched the ork devour a burger in one bite. "Because we don't have to let her go yet."

  "And if Fuchi comes, we'll have a hostage."

  Rico didn't like that word, didn't like hearing Piper say it. Taking a hostage had never been part of his plan. He wanted to let Farris go, right now. And he would, except...

  "Corporates use everybody." Piper said, delivering more food to the table. "It's only right that we should use them. They should know the terror and violence that ordinary people live with every day. They should know what it's like to live in constant fear of death. What it's like to be considered valueless."

  "Nobody's gonna lay a hand on her."

  "Fuchi won't know that That's the point, jefe."

  The real point was subtler. Rico felt sure of what had to come next, but he had doubts, serious doubts, about Surikov and Farris, and especially about Farris.

  No one spoke chiptruth-no way, no how. Everybody lied to at least some degree. The question was did he have as much of the truth as needed to go ahead? Rico had the feeling he was missing some essential part of the puzzle, some basic truth that would make everything crystal clear if only he had the sense to see it. Maybe it was just paranoia. He had no choice but to proceed with making a deal with Prometheus for Surikov, it was that or sit on his butt, and yet he couldn't help wondering if something Surikov or Farris might be holding back would cast everything, the whole situation, in a brand new light.

  Let Farris go? Sure, he'd let her go, just as soon as he knew that nothing she knew could hurt him or the team or the deal for Surikov. That would cost her time and inconvenience and maybe a whole lot more, but she owed Surikov that, that much at the very least. In another situation, she'd be heading into court on charges of attempted murder. Here, she was getting off easy, no matter what happened.

  "This run's turning into a freaking nightmare," Thorvin growled. "I don't trust either one of the freaking fraggers, Surikov or Farris."

  "Shut up and eat," Shank remarked.

  "Eff you, ya freaking trog."

  "Short an' squat."

  "Anybody wants out," Rico said, "say it now. We're gonna be up to our necks in guano before this is done."

  "Ain't we already?" Shank said.

  "No one wants out," Piper said. "We're with you, jefe. You know that."

  "Yeah," Shank said, with a nod. "Sure."

  Rico looked at Thorvin. The rigger hesitated, about to take a bite of soyburger, then looked at Rico out the corner of his eyes. "Miss a chance to kick some corporate butt?" he muttered. "You must be freaking dreaming, ya freakin'..."

  Rico nodded.

  Point made.

  23

  The brownstone on Treadwell looked like an armed camp. Six cutters stood on and around the steps leading up to the front door. Three of them held submachine guns in the open. Three more stood inside the entranceway, two armed with assault rifles, the third with a light machine gun.

  Things were getting real all over.

  As always Mr. Victor waited at the center of the house, in the garden. He invited Rico to sit. The houseboy brought coffee.

  "I have many more inquiries for the services of your team," Mr. Victor said. "I have intimated that you might be available in the near future, and at prices exceeding twice your usual rates. I have been answered only with enthusiasm. Let me know the moment you are prepared for more work. I will have a job for you that very day."

  "Gracias," Rico said. "That's good to know."

  "You do not seem pleased, my friend."

  "I got problems."

  "As do we all," Mr. Victor replied. "We live in troubled times. How may I help you?"

  Rico said, "The job for L. Kahn is as good as a snatch. Surikov and his wife both tell me that he went to Maas Intertech as an infiltrator. A spy. That ain't how L. Kahn told it. He said Maas Intertech stole Surikov away. So either he was lying or his client was lying. Either way, the deal's off."

  Mr. Victor's expression turned grave. "There will be repercussions," he said. "I regret that under the circumstances I am not able to intervene on your behalf."

  "You didn't contract for the job," Rico replied. "It ain't your problem. I just want you to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing."

  "Of course," Mr. Victor said. "I understand completely. You know which is the honorable path, my friend. The man of honor takes responsibility for his own acts. He faces the consequences for what he must do. However, there must be some way in which I can aid you. Be candid."

  "You could talk to Prometheus Engineering."

  "In what regard?"

  "That's where Surikov wants to go. He likes their style, some guano like that. Surikov's supposed to be a real hot property. Some hotjack scientist. I figure we could get a finder's fee."

  "Call it a delivery charge."

  "Sí. Whatever."

  Mr. Victor seemed to consider briefly, then said, "Perhaps I can do you this service. Let me see what I can arrange. Excuse me for a few moments."

  "Sí, Gracias."

  "De nada."

  Rico got up and walked around the perimeter of the garden. He made a point of gazing mostly at the ground or up at the tree limbs and birds overhead, anywhere but toward the table at the center of the garden. Mr. Victor wanted to do his biz in private. Rico had no problem with that. None whatsoever.

  Maybe twenty minutes passed before a servant came to lead Rico back to the table. Mr. Victor invited him to sit with a brief gesture. "As it happens," Mr. Victor said, "I have a contact in a position to negotiate on behalf of Prometheus. They are interested in obtaining your man. He is known to them by reputation. They are also interested in his wife."

  "She don't wanna go to Prometheus."

  "I understand. I merely held out the possibility of the wife being part of the deal. It is no matter. Your fee will approximate what you would have gotten if you had finished the job for L. Kahn."

  "You know that? what I agreed to?"

  "My friend, it is my biz to know such things."

  Rico nodded. If he had hesitated a moment to think, he could have saved himself a question. Mr. Victor had contacts, lots of them, practically everywhere it sometimes seemed.

  Had anyone else spoken like this, alluding to privileged info of this type, Rico might have pulled a gun, forcing a confrontation from which there would be no turning back. Mr. Victor he could trust Mr. Victor understood honor and knew when to speak and when
to keep his mouth shut.

  "This price is acceptable to you?" Mr. Victor asked.

  Rico nodded. "Absolutely."

  The portable telecom on the table bleeped. Mr. Victor picked up the handset, telling Rico, "Un momenta, par favor."

  Rico began to get up, but Mr. Victor motioned for him to remain seated. The phone call lasted maybe half a minute, then Mr. Victor broke the connection and said, "All is arranged. Pickup will be this evening. Your man must pass a DNA and retina scan prior to transfer. Payment will be made in certified credsticks. I trust that is also acceptable?"

  Mr. Victor was only asking as a courtesy. It wasn't necessary. Rico nodded. "Muchas gracias"

  "De nada. My friend, once this job is done, you will come and see me and I will have a real job for you. Mucho dinero. Your are into the big time, now. Serious nuyen. Congratulations."

  "There's one other thing I need."

  "And what would that be?"

  "A meet with L. Kahn. It has to be by telecom."

  "That is easily arranged." Mr. Victor replied. "Allow me to ask what matter you will discuss."

  Rico put it on the line.

  * * *

  By the time Ravage was finished, Willy Hogan had several cracked ribs, two broken arms, a broken leg and his face was practically unrecognizable, battered and drenched in blood. Hogan's wife and child shrieked from the bedroom doorway. The others crowding this tenement apartment in Sector 11, a mix of orks and norms, waited motionless, silent.

  This was Hogan's payment for taking nuyen and providing no information for it.

  L. Kahn watched without really watching. He had other matters on his mind. Hogan, a former Fed, a supposedly skilled technician, had been just one of the many ways in which L. Kahn had arranged to keep tabs on the team hired to extract Ansell Sunkov from Maas Intertech. The client had ordered multiple backup, and L. Kahn had delivered, yet every one of those backups had met failures of varying degrees.

  The mission assigned to the backups was simple: track the runners who had Surikov, be prepared to move in if anything went wrong. How difficult could that be? L. Kahn had little patience for incompetents or self-styled experts like Willy Hogan. Even less when he was feeling , pressure from above. He had ambitions. He would not be scammed by the many jokers and con artists running around the Newark plex.