It was hard to make out the girl’s form against the bright flames, but Peter thought she wore a green leather jacket and had long, purple-dyed hair.
“She’s just a child,” Kathryn said with quiet horror.
“Don’t you watch the news?”
“Just the financial reports.”
“Exactly.”
“I’d say you two are in a real rough part of town,” the girl said loudly.
“I think I can handle it,” Peter told her.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Peter pointed his pistol high, and Kathryn placed her hand on his arm. “Don’t cramp my style,” he whispered.
Behind him and Kathryn came a raking sound of metal on metal.
Lowering his gun, Peter mustered his most nonchalant voice. “Ah, sounds like a light machine gun. Mounted probably.”
Peter was impressed that Kathryn didn’t let off any fear.
“We’re looking for Zero-One-Zero,” she said.
Peter sucked in a deep draught of frustrated breath. “We shouldn’t play all our cards,” he said softly.
“They might know where he is,” she answered. “If they do, we can cut a deal.”
“I can get you to Zoze.”
“Zoze?”
Peter figured it out. “Zero-One-Zero,” he said smugly.
“Thank you Mr. Crime, Inc.” Kathryn turned to the girl. “How much?”
“Nothing,” the girl said. “Zoze pays us for bringing in clients.”
Kathryn smiled, impressed and pleased that the rules were so practical. “See?”
The girl had no patience. “Hey, do you chummers want to go or not? I could be breaking stuff!”
“Yes,” Peter called. “Lead on.”
The girl in green led them through the streets of the old Loop. Though Peter realized someone was following them, he decided not to look around for their tail; it wouldn’t be polite.
The girl brought them to the remains of the Carson, Pirie, Scott building. Snowflakes floated among the shattered display windows. Inside the building were no lights; it looked deserted.
“This it?”
“Yup, Just go inside, they’ll take care of you.”
“What about you?”
The girl pointed to a camera mounted amid the intricate grill work on the second floor, and Peter saw the warmth of its electronics and a dim red light blink on and off. “I’ve been logged. Zoze won’t know how much he owes me until he sets up the job. It’s all on a commission basis. Prevents me from trying to roll the rich folks on my own.” She glanced at Kathryn and checked out her clothes, envy shining in her eyes.
“What do you do here?” Kathryn said, her voice revealing both embarrassment and concern.
“Survive. What do you do outside?”
“The same, I guess.”
“But it’s easier than here.”
“I bet it is, too.”
“Nice clothes.”
Peter looked down at the girl. She was small, but wiry, probably as fast as a processor and able to wriggle out of the tightest spots. Nonetheless, he found her severely lacking in what it would take to survive. He’d been a year older than she when he first hit the streets, but he’d had the advantage of a huge body with natural dermal armor. What chance did this gutterpunk have? He’d give her no more than four more years. Tops.
Then he noticed a glint of silver on her temple. Was she a decker? That would certainly give her an edge. Decking was a valuable skill.
Kathryn looked up at him. In the dim light he saw her face plead with him to do something.
What? Adopt the child? As if she’d let him protect her anyway.
“Come on. Let’s get to your fixer.”
“By the way,” said the girl as they stepped toward the deserted store, “you guys looking for a decker?”
“Decker?” asked Kathryn. “One of those computer pirates?”
“Dog, what plane of existence you from, lady?”
“Maybe we will need one,” said Peter. “We don’t know yet, but we’ll keep you in mind.”
“Hey, chummer, you don’t act like most trolls I know.”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know… How you speak. It’s better.”
“Thanks. I’ve read a lot.”
“Really? That’s wiz. I just read titles of files and stuff. Breena, my squeeze. She’s a mage. She reads all the time. I like pictures. You ever seen a Soorat?”
“Georges Seurat?” asked Kathryn.
“Yeah, George Soorat. I love his stuff. All dots. Like primitive comp graphics.”
“Did you say you’re a decker? One of those computer pirates?” repeated Kathryn.
The girl placed her hands on her hips, feisty and endearing. “Yeah, me. You got a problem with that?”
“No, she doesn’t have a problem with that.” Peter touched Kathryn lightly on the shoulder and turned her toward the store. “We’ll be in touch. All right?”
The girl smiled. “Wiz, chummer.”
They stepped into the abandoned store. The doors had been torn out years ago, and the snow floated in as Peter and Kathryn entered. When the light from outside died after their first few steps, they stopped walking.
“Now what?” Kathryn asked.
“Don’t know….”
A tight spot of light crashed into his eyes, and Peter held up his hands before his face.
“Yeah?” called a gruff voice. “What you want?”
“I’ve got a client of Zoze’s here,” Peter said, blinded because of the bright light. He was so nervous he wanted to break for cover, to take his gun in his hand and simply face off against an enemy.
“My name is Kathryn Amij. I already have a contract with Mr. Zero-One-Zero, and an emergency has come up. I’d like to have Mr. Zero-One-Zero help me in some other matters.”
“It’s getting late.” The speaker was quite cranky.
“It’s an emergency. I’ve got to speak to him now. People are trying to kill my companion and myself.”
“Well, let me call up.”
There was a brief pause. Peter heard low whispers coming from somewhere to the right and up. Maybe someone looking down on them from a balcony.
“All right. He’ll see you. Hang on.”
The light remained on and pointed at them. From the right came the sound of someone leaping down steps. Or maybe an escalator. It had a metal sound to it.
A few moments later a voice spoke from no more than three meters away. Peter saw a red blob about a meter and a half tall. “Drop your weapons. All of them.”
Peter reached under his jacket, pulled out his pistol and dropped it to the floor.
“And you.”
“I’m a CEO. Not an assassin.”
Laughter. “All right.” Into the spill of the light walked a dwarf. He picked up Peter’s gun.
“Kill the light!” the dwarf shouted.
The spot went out, and the dwarf turned on a flashlight.
“Hi,” said the dwarf, and he turned the beam under his chin so they could see him. He had a thick white beard, and the low light accentuated his deeply lined face. “The name is Changes, Miss Amij. A pleasure. And you, sir?”
“Profezzur,” said Peter, deciding to keep his identity a secret.
“Very well. If you’ll follow me.” As the dwarf lowered the beam of light, Peter saw it glint off the barrel of a submachine gun, which hung on a strap over the dwarf’s shoulder. The dwarf turned and kept the beam on the ground, allowing Peter and Kathryn to follow him to the base of an escalator. Drops and streaks of dried blood spotted the floor.
Peter thought it odd the dwarf would turn his back on them.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Changes said. “My men are watching you with low-light scopes. Needless to say…. Well, it’s so needless I won’t even say it.”
They walked up the escalator, then went about ten meters forward. The dwarf stopped and said, “Might want to close your eyes.” He ste
pped behind them and shut thick double doors. Then he pulled out a fist-sized box covered with buttons, pressed one of them, and fluorescent lights flickered on overhead. The three of them stood beside a bank of elevators.
“Better,” said Changes. He turned to Peter and Kathryn, and in a tone that revealed how much he loved to explain things, he told them, “We have the most trouble with the neighbors at night. We’ve found that as long as we don’t leave a trail of light showing them where we hang out, they usually leave us alone.”
He pressed another button on the box and glanced toward the elevator. The doors of one of the elevators slid open. “After you.”
17
Zero-One-Zero greeted them when they stepped off the elevator. He held his hand out to Kathryn, and she shook it. “Pleasure to meet you in person. A true pleasure.”
Zoze was an obese black man. His large, round head was completely bald and as smooth as a bullet. He turned to Peter and smiled, as if they shared a secret past, better left unspoken in front of the lady. He never looked directly at Peter, but instead took furtive peeks. He seemed a man in complete control of himself—happy and devious.
“You’re a man of the streets, I see,” Zoze said. “Good. I like men of the streets. Come.”
He waddled down the hall toward an open doorway, Peter and Kathryn following him. The dwarf brought up the rear.
Frighteningly white walls crowded a large conference room, putting the sterility of Peter’s room to shame. The hard wood floor reflected the overhead lights like a mirror. The furniture, made only of chrome and glass, dissolved into the spotlessness of the area.
No dust. No objects. No stuff.
The only ornamentation in the room was a glass bowl filled with glass marbles sitting on a small glass table near the glass doors. Peter knew with a sudden flash that no one fidgeted with the marbles. They remained as they were. If they were dusted, someone was responsible for putting them all back the way they had been.
Zoze gestured to a chair at the end of the table. “If you would, my friend, it’s been reinforced to handle someone built as impressively as you.”
Peter took the chair, and Kathryn took one near him. Zoze sat at the other end of the table. Peter noticed that on the table near Zoze rested a small silver box.
“Soykaf?”
Peter shook his head. Kathryn nodded.
“Changes?”
The dwarf slipped on a pair of white gloves and walked over to a cabinet built into the wall, which opened to reveal a kitchen area. He pulled a stool out from the cabinet and got busy with the coffee.
“Now,” Zoze said, placing his hands in his lap, “what can I do for you? I can tell you now, Miss Amij, that the shadowrunners I hired for you have made no progress in tracking down Dr. Clarris.”
“First, we would like you to step up the efforts to find Dr. Clarris.” Kathryn’s voice was crisp and clear.
“Oh?”
“Yes. We must find him quickly. Peter can help.”
“Can he?” An amused smile cracked Zoze’s round face in half.
“Yes. Second, our lives are in danger.”
Zoze leaned in, pleased and curious. “Because of this search for Dr. Clarris?”
“Indirectly.”
“I was asked to kill Miss Amij for the Itami gang,” Peter said. “I was a member of the gang up until”—he glanced at his watch—“two hours ago.”
Zoze’s eyes widened. Peter couldn’t tell if it was because of fear or interest. “I see.” A smile formed on his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be the Profezzur, would you?”
Peter nodded, embarrassed. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Who hasn’t?” He turned to Kathryn and laughed knowingly. “And what do you want me to do about this new development?”
Peter turned to Kathryn. She looked back at him.
“We don’t know,” she said, turning to Zoze. “We thought you might have some ideas.”
He laughed. “I see.” The dwarf served Kathryn and then Zoze their coffee. “Do you have any other enemies at this point?”
“A man on my board of directors. He found out that I’d helped Clarris and that I threw the company off the trail in its search for him.”
“That’s bad.”
“It is?”
“These two forces could well cripple you economically.”
“They could?”
“Yes, indeed.”
Peter was amazed at how calm the man was as he ticked off the potential pitfalls that awaited Peter and Kathryn. Peter had never thought of someone freezing up his bank accounts. The threats he’d faced had always been bullets, not electric impulses.
“The first thing we’ve got to do is get the money the two of you possess into accounts safe from the hands of Itami and Cell Works.”
“I don’t have enough money to make it worth the time,” said Peter.
“You’ll set up dummy accounts?” asked Kathryn. Peter suddenly felt ignored.
“Yes. We’ll transfer your funds as quickly as possible. There’s usually a ceiling on the amount you can withdraw in a given time frame, but we’ll dump a program into your account that’ll pull out the dollars the second it’s officially okay to make the next withdrawal. Seconds will count on this one. It’ll cost you. Twenty percent of everything withdrawn, you lose.” He looked at her fixedly. “All right?”
Kathryn paused, and Peter could see her mentally clicking off the dollars she’d be handing over to Zoze. But it was either that or risk losing it all.
“Yes.”
“Fine,” Zoze said. His face revealed no pleasure, but Peter was certain the man was leaping for joy inside his plump body. As the fixer reached over to a small red stud on the silver box, the sleeve of his jacket caught on the tip of his coffee cup.
A bit of coffee spilled onto the glass table.
Zoze looked down at the spilled coffee and froze. An expression of silent horror crept up over his face, starting at his neck, crawling up his chin, over his cheeks, making its way over his eyes and stopping at his forehead. He looked at the coffee as if it were a thing alive—a dangerous monster that might leap off the table and kill him.
The dwarf turned from the counter and saw what was happening. Quickly grabbing a towel, he jumped off the stool and rushed over to his employer’s side. With a bit of effort he reached up and wiped the spilled coffee off the table.
Zoze remained frozen, still looking down at the table with obvious terror, even after the dwarf pulled back. The dwarf stuck his head under the table, spotted a bit of a coffee smear, reached back up, and wiped off the last bit of the liquid.
As soon as the table was cleaned off, Zoze blinked once and then completed the movement of his hand toward the button on the box.
Peter and Kathryn looked at one another; Kathryn raised an eyebrow.
When Peter looked back at Zoze, he saw a keyboard made of lights appear inside the glass of the table in front of the man.
“I’m going to take care of the money first. After that, however, the two of you should consider dropping your identities and getting new names and IDs. I don’t know what your long-range plans are, but if you’re going to be pursuing Dr. Clarris, you’ll have to stay in Chicago. The shadowrunners I have on the case have determined that, wherever Clarris is, he hasn’t left the city. If you’re going to be staying here, you can’t be yourselves any longer.”
“I want to be me,” said Kathryn.
“Kathryn Amij,” said Zoze coldly, “has a contract out on her by the Itami gang. Believe me, you don’t want to be her.”
“What about my company?”
Zoze stared at her as if she were a single-celled creature he’d never seen before. Then he said, “Let’s take care of the money first.”
His fingers started to fly over the glass keys. The thickness of the fingers belied their practiced command of the keyboard.
“I’m going to put one of my better deckers on this. But I’ll need some information, if you
don’t mind.” He waited a moment, then said, “Good, he’s awake. Very well, your mother’s maiden name?”
The questions went on for about ten minutes. Kathryn had to pull out her pocketbook to get her account information. It was all very dry and straightforward, much like opening a bank account.
At the end of the questions, Zoze said, “We’re going to put it all into an account under the name of Jesse Hayes. We have several accounts we keep open for situations like this, and that one is currently available.”
“Would that be my name if I changed it?” Kathryn asked the question with distaste, but curiosity as well, as if warming to the idea.
Zoze laughed. “No, no. The Hayes account is temporary. Just a convenient place for shuttling the funds into. We’ll have to move them quickly to another account—one we’ll make in the next hour.”
He paused and pressed his hands together. “But now we come to the matter of leaving behind Kathryn. And, of course, you, Profezzur. Is that an official handle or just a nickname?”
“Nickname.”
“And you’ll want to change your name as well?”
Peter had to think about it. Eddy, along with a lot of other people in the gang, knew his name. Electronic money transfers had been put into an account with his name. They knew who he was. Things would be easier if he dumped his ID and re-tagged himself.
But if he did that, if he became someone other than Peter Clarris in name as well as in form, what would remain? His whole quest for the last dozen or so years had been to return to his former identity. If his researches were sound, and he actually was going to be able to transform his body back to human, who would he be by the time it was all done?
“Peter?”
He snapped out of his reverie, Kathryn’s voice drawing him like a spirit calling him from a dangerous dream.
“What?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure. Sorry.”
“Well? Do you have a decision? Are you going to re-tag?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I assume, Miss Amij, that you’ll be financing this?”
She looked to Peter, then to Zoze. “Yes.”
05 - Changeling Page 15