Realms of Light

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Too late for that,” Singh muttered.

  “No, it isn’t,” I said. “I could drop the two of you, you could tell the authorities I had you at gunpoint the whole time and you never wanted to cooperate, and you could take Mis’ Hsing here back to his happy fantasy life in the tank.”

  Singh looked at me. “And what do you do?”

  “I get back to the port and head for Prometheus, and hope my rich friends there can buy my way out of this mess.”

  “And what about those?” He pointed.

  I followed his finger to where the two big black floaters were following us at a frighteningly small distance, maybe ten meters behind our cab. “Oh,” I said.

  I didn’t know who sent those two, which meant I didn’t know what they would or wouldn’t interfere with. They might not let me dump anyone, or flee anywhere.

  There was no sign of the Ginza cop floater, though. That was something. I wondered whether the black ones had disabled it somehow, or whether it had realized it was outmatched and backed down, or whether it had been called back by the casino management.

  Any of those was possible.

  Who had sent the black floaters? Were they helping me, or just keeping me for themselves?

  I didn’t think Yoshio had sent them. If he had, wouldn’t they have told me? But if he hadn’t, who had? Was someone from the New York tracking me? If so, was it at Vo’s direction, or without his knowledge?

  Or was someone keeping an eye on the Seventh Heaven dreamtanks?

  Nakada floaters, according to the cab. And it was presumably a Nakada who had used the back door into Seventh Heaven’s data. If someone was keeping an eye on them, it was a Nakada, or at any rate someone with access to the clan’s inner workings.

  And someone with access to the clan’s inner workings had tried to kill Grandfather Nakada. Someone had made copies of the old man’s ITEOD files, including back-ups of a dozen high-ranking Nakadas.

  I didn’t think Vo had anything to do with it.

  It might all be coincidence. It might be unrelated intrigues or corporate espionage. I didn’t think that was the way to bet it. It looked to me as if it was all part of the same conspiracy, and the only coincidence—if it was a coincidence, and not somehow connected—was that the dream company involved happened to be the same one that had my father tucked away in their tanks.

  Dreams—someone was monitoring the top dream company on Epimetheus, and someone had tried to kill Yoshio Nakada by tampering with his dream enhancer. Another link.

  But it wasn’t about me or my father at all, then, and I could still try to grab my brother.

  “Wait a minute,” I told the cab. “Can you get back to the Ginza without attracting any unwanted attention?”

  “What?” Singh said. “I thought we were heading for this ship of yours, to get the hell off Epimetheus!”

  “There’s another passenger,” I said. “Someone else I want to bring.”

  “Where are you planning to put her?” Singh demanded. “This thing’s full!”

  It didn’t look that full to me; yes, there were three of us on the main seat, but there was a luggage compartment in the rear, and I suspected a second seat could be folded up. “Cab, how many passengers are you licensed for?”

  “Six, mis’.”

  “Then can you get back to the Ginza?”

  “I don’t know, mis’,” it said. “Those two floaters are following me, and I’m on the navigation grid; if anyone wants to find us, they can.”

  “I thought you were in a hurry!” Singh protested.

  “My brother’s in the Ginza,” I said.

  “Sebastian?” Dad croaked. He was slumped against the side of the passenger compartment, staring out through the transparent bubble at the glittering ads that filled the streets of Trap Over.

  “Yes, Sebastian,” I told him. “He’s a croupier.”

  Dad lifted his head from the plastic. “I’d like to see him,” he said.

  Just then Singh’s com buzzed. He tapped it for speaker.

  “Minish Singh,” he said.

  “Singh,” it replied, in a woman’s voice, “what the hell is going on?”

  “Damned if I know,” Singh said.

  “That woman you’re with has been identified as a private investigator named Carlisle Hsing, except Hsing is supposed to be off-planet, on Prometheus. Do you have any idea who she really is?”

  “She gave her name as Hu Xiao,” Singh said, throwing me a questioning look.

  “She’s not Hu Xiao—at least, not the court officer Hu Xiao.”

  “Then I don’t know any more than you do.”

  “She’s listening to this, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, mis’.”

  For a moment no one spoke; then the cab asked, “Am I supposed to be going to the port or the Ginza?”

  “The Ginza,” I told it. Then I told Singh’s com, “I’m Carlisle Hsing. My brother Sebastian can identify me. He’s a croupier at the Ginza.”

  “I’m assistant director of security for the Ginza, Mis’. I know Sebastian Hsing.”

  “Then you can arrange for him to talk to me.”

  “I could, yes, but why should I?”

  “Because I asked nicely?”

  She sighed. “Mis’ Hsing, what do you think you’re doing? According to the records you’ve occasionally cut a few corners, but you’ve basically stayed clean. Now you’ve shot a floater and kidnaped an attendant and someone from a dreamtank, not to mention trespassing, avoiding arrest, impersonating an officer—what is this?”

  “It’s a misunderstanding.”

  “It’s one hell of a misunderstanding.”

  “Let me talk to my brother, face to face, and I’ll explain. We’re on our way back to straighten this out.”

  She didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “I’ll need to check with the floor manager.”

  “You do that,” I said. “Oh, but one question first.”

  “What?”

  “That floater I shot, the stealthed one—what kind was it?”

  “What do you mean, what kind?”

  “Was it sentient?”

  “Not really. Semi-autonomous.”

  “Thank you.” I leaned back on the seat, and only when I did that did I realize I’d been hunched forward. Now I could relax a little. “You go ask whoever you need to ask.”

  I had assumed it was just a dumb tracker when I first shot it, but then I’d had second thoughts. It was good to know I had been right the first time. Legally it probably didn’t make any difference, but it mattered to me whether I’d killed something self-aware.

  For the most part I was making this up as I went, as I usually did, but I decided it was time to do a little advance planning, for once. I ran my fingers over my wrist and sent a little message to the Ukiba—four words, “add a hot lunch.” I was fairly certain Yoshio-kun would punctuate that properly, even if Perkins didn’t—add “a” to “hot lunch,” and have a hot launch ready to go when we got back to the ship.

  “Privacy,” I told the cab, once the message showed as sent and received.

  The view of the surrounding city vanished instantly as the cab went opaque, and my symbiote flashed an alarm that all external input and net access had been cut off.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Tab yourself a fat tip for this—double the fare, if you want.” I might as well enjoy my expense account while I could.

  “Thank you, mis’,” it replied. “It’s very exciting!”

  “I thought you didn’t want any trouble,” I said, amused.

  “It seems as if I have it whether I want it or not, so I might as well enjoy it.”

  I grimaced. I wished that attitude was more common.

  Then I turned my attention to Singh and my father. “Listen,” I said, “they think I kidnaped you two, but I really am going to kidnap my brother ’Chan. He’s got an implant that’ll shut down his legs if he leaves the Ginza, so we’ll need to carry him. Once he’s off-planet we c
an get the implant out, but first we need to get him onto the ship. Dad, I know you’re in no shape to do anything, but Singh, can you help me with this?”

  Singh cocked his head. “How big is your brother?” he asked.

  “Bigger then me,” I said. “Bigger than my father. But not really big.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Besides a ride to Prometheus?”

  “Yes, besides that.”

  I glared at him, then shrugged. “A kilocredit.”

  “Five.”

  “Two-five.”

  “Three.”

  “Done.”

  We shook hands, and then loaded my father into the luggage compartment, where he would be safely out of the way.

  “Everything hurts,” he complained. “I feel every little bump, and my legs and hands are all stiff.”

  “That’s how you know you’re alive,” I said.

  “They didn’t hurt in the dream.”

  “It wouldn’t be much of a dream if they did,” Singh said, as he straightened Dad’s limbs to make him more comfortable.

  “We’re approaching the Ginza,” the cab said.

  “Let me see,” I said, and as the bubble turned transparent and the city reappeared around us, I pulled my gun from its holster and tapped the power switch to on.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I hadn’t specified which entrance to use, so the cab had brought us down at the big front door on Cassiopeia Avenue, and our arrival was the central act of a circus.

  Ginza cops were everywhere, three or four different varieties of them, and a few characters who had the look of cops but who I didn’t think were from the Ginza. People in fancy suits were there, as well, and I don’t think they were all on the same side. Dozens of floaters were swooping around, or hovering—newsies and security and spy-eyes, and advertisers that saw a crowd forming and didn’t care why. Tourists were watching; they probably had no idea what was going on, but thought it looked exciting.

  Add that to the usual glittering chaos of a casino’s entrance, the stardust and holos and lightscapes.

  But I didn’t see ’Chan.

  “Hey,” I said into Singh’s com. “Where’s my brother?”

  “On his way.”

  “We’ll wait.”

  The cab asked, “Will you be disembarking?”

  “We’re staying right where we are,” I told it. “Go ahead and charge waiting rates if you want.”

  “Thank you, Mis’.”

  “You’re either crazy, desperate, rich, or on an expense account,” Singh remarked. “I’m guessing it’s an expense account. You’re working for someone.”

  “Could be more than one of those,” I said.

  “It could. You said something about rich friends; I’m betting it’s more like a rich client.”

  I glanced at him. “You know, you should be careful about what you bet on. You might make someone angry.”

  “You must know you couldn’t get out of this with your brain intact if you didn’t have some pretty serious backing.”

  “So maybe I want to be reconstructed. Maybe it’s my way of avoiding reality, since I can’t afford to buy the dream the way my old man did.”

  Singh shook his head. “You aren’t that crazy.”

  The cab was now completely surrounded by Ginza cops and security floaters. “Are you sure?” I asked.

  He considered that for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I think I am.”

  “Good. Cab, privacy, please?”

  “You do know that the city police can override my privacy field?”

  “I didn’t, but I’ll risk it. Do it.”

  “Yes, mis’.” The bubble went black, plunging us into gloom lit only by the cab’s various internal displays.

  I turned back to Singh. “Here’s what I want you to do for your three kilocredits. I’m going to talk to my brother, and I’m going to tell him I have someone here in the cab he needs to see. He’ll come over to look and he’ll see our dad here—and when he does, you grab him and pull him into the cab.”

  “I can do that.”

  “And cabbie, the instant our new passenger is aboard, I want you to close up and head for the port as fast as you can. Don’t wait for further instructions. Got it?”

  “Yes, mis’.”

  “Good. Then drop the privacy.”

  “Yes, mis’.” The bubble was transparent again, and I looked out at a dozen guns pointed at us—and at ’Chan, who was walking slowly across the entry plaza toward us. A woman in a navy blue suit was walking beside him and talking while read-outs flickered across her chest and sleeve. ’Chan was leaning toward her slightly, obviously listening to whatever she was saying.

  “Open the door,” I said.

  The cab’s door slid aside, and I perched myself in the opening with the HG-2 in my hand. “’Chan!” I called.

  “Mis’ Hsing,” the woman beside him called. “Come out and talk.”

  “Talk first,” I said. “Then maybe I’ll come out.” As I spoke I was trying to take in as much of my surroundings as possible, and in particular what sort of weaponry the casino cops were displaying. It looked like about half lethal, half merely incapacitating, which meant that they’d be willing to take me down at the first opportunity. Killing me would mean kiloscreens of reports and documentation and trouble with superiors who might want to know what the hell I’d thought I was doing, but tranking me, or otherwise shutting me down somehow, would be good for a few karma points, so long as I didn’t manage to do any damage going down.

  Which was why I had the gun turned on and ready. If they shot me I intended to get off a shot or two of my own before I went blank.

  “Carlie, what the hell are you doing?” ’Chan asked. He sounded both concerned and annoyed.

  “Did they tell you who I kidnaped?” I called.

  ’Chan glanced at his keeper—I wasn’t sure if she was his boss as a security admin, or in a different chain of command, or what. “No,” he called back.

  “I think you should take a look.”

  The woman in blue whispered something to him; he threw her a startled glance.

  “It may not be who they think it is,” I said.

  “Carlie, this is insane,” he answered.

  “Come take a look, and then tell me that.”

  That definitely had his interest; he came and looked. I leaned aside and pointed toward the luggage compartment.

  “Is that Dad?” ’Chan asked, leaning in. “They said...”

  And that was when Singh grabbed him by the front of his worksuit and heaved him over me into the cab.

  “Go!” I shouted, but I didn’t really need to; the cab was already moving.

  The door closed on ’Chan’s foot at first; we must have been forty meters up by the time the cab was able to get it free and Singh managed to pull ’Chan entirely in.

  “I’m being ordered to land immediately,” the cab told us.

  “You tell ‘em that if you land, I’ll start shooting.”

  “They want to know whether I consider this a credible threat.”

  “I have an active gun here; what do you think?”

  “I think I am not programmed for threat assessment. I am reporting this conclusion to the city police.”

  “It’s city cops now?”

  “Yes, mis’.”

  That was bad. I didn’t want to mess with city cops. I glanced out through the bubble at the city zipping past. “Is this your maximum velocity?”

  “I am exceeding the posted speed limits by the customary twenty-five percent.”

  “Go to emergency maximum, please.”

  “I am forbidden to do so without an order from authorized personnel.”

  “An active gun doesn’t constitute authorization?”

  “I regret to say it does not.”

  I looked out and saw no fewer than four cop cars following us—and those two black floaters. The cops seemed to be ignoring the floaters; I wasn’t sure what to make
of that.

  Getting from the cab into the ship was going to be tricky.

  “Privacy,” I said.

  “The city police have overridden my privacy systems.”

  Damn. “They’re listening?”

  “I would assume so.”

  I only had to think for a second. “Listen, cab,” I said. “I like you, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Put us down where I point, and as soon as we’re out, get the hell out of there. You understand?”

  “Yes, mis’.”

  “We’re clear on the fare and tip?”

  “I believe so, mis’.”

  I smiled. I did like this cab. “If you’re coding for even more—well, how much can you take without getting called for an ethics violation?”

  “You might be surprised, mis’.”

  I smiled wider. It even had something like a sense of humor—and maybe a sense of honor, too, giving me a graceful way to avoid wasting too much money. “I might, at that. Okay, not that much, but I’m feeling generous. You charge what seems fair.”

  “Thank you, mis’.”

  We were approaching the port by then. I tried to arrange myself so that my gestures wouldn’t be visible to the cops behind us, but I knew the onboard security cams would be feeding to them, and they could calculate from those. “Put us down there,” I said, pointing at the steps to Ukiba’s airlock.

  “Yes, mis’.”

  “Carlie!” ’Chan said. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I turned to look at him; he and Singh were thoroughly tangled on the seat beside me. Dad was leaning over the seat-back and grinning at them.

  “Getting you out,” I said. I would have said “off this planet” if the cops hadn’t been listening. “Mis’ Singh, can you manage both?”

  Singh had straightened himself out. He looked at ’Chan and Dad, considering. He did not look happy.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Get him.” I pointed at ’Chan. “I’ll get the other.”

  “Carlie, you know the implant kicked in, and I’m paralyzed from the hips down, right?”

  “I know,” I said. “You just cooperate and no one gets hurt.”

  “Oh, come on, Carlie, I’m your brother! You aren’t...” He stopped in mid-sentence, and I don’t know whether it was because he realized the cops were listening, or because he suspected I really was that crazy.