Khase shook his head on both counts. “We work together, is all.” He let a few beats pass. “You work for him, don’t you, Pan-san?” The elf’s intuition was buzzing, and he decided to see where it led him.
The old man smiled warmly, numerous wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his gray eyes. “Hood-san says it is my fault he likes old movies. I introduced him to an ancient series of movies of old England. Robin Hood. And then I made him watch the films of Lee and Li.”
“Do you own this theater, Pan-san? Or does it belong to Hood?”
The old man pointed at the window. “A new movie is just starting. This one should particularly interest you. The original came out in the 1970s, I believe, and it was derived from a stage play. Humans put grease in their hair back then, to get it to lie flat—hence the name of the film. But it was redone about twenty years back as an elven musical. This is the most recent film we’ve shown here in some time. We tend to like the older pieces.”
Khase stared in disbelief as a male elf decked out in tight, black leather pants and a matching leather jacket floated above a sparse audience and crooned to a female elf wearing a short shimmering pink dress who swooned to his every word. Whoa, I can’t believe I’m related to the folks who made this travesty.
Hood checked the thermostat at the top of the stairs, making sure the heat was high enough to keep the top floor hot. The plants were arranged on battered card tables that sat beneath a large skylight. He flicked on an antiquated switch, and a light overhead flickered a bit before staying on. The room was too large for it, and so the shadows stayed thick around the walls. The troll liked it that way. He carried a large stool over to the closest table and sat. “Khase can cool his elven heels for a few minutes.” He brought his head down to the purple-green plant that had fascinated him in the apartment. “Cruel what they did to you.” He reverently touched the hairs on one of the larger
leaves. “Why can’t they leave things be? God never intended people or plants to be filled with chips and wires.”
Still, Hood wondered; if he had a few chips and programs floating around inside him, could he study these plants better? Could cybereyes see things that much clearer than his normal eyes? Could a computer-assisted brain fathom their function more readily?
He slammed a fist on the table and upset a few of the plants. Cursing, he righted them, carefully checking to make sure none of the leaves or stems were bruised.
“My hands, my brain, my ability.” It was a mantra to him. “I can think this out on my own.” His tongue was between his teeth in concentration. “Why would anyone graft bioware onto a plant? For what purpose? It’s not natural. Not right.” He noted again, on the purple-green plant and on six others that the graft had to be done when the plants were seedlings and that the tech grew with the plants. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh. So that’s it.”
He hunched his shoulders as he leaned in closer, his chin brushing the top of the one that resembled a golden pothos.
“Clever indeed. Microphones.”
Four of the thickest, largest leaves were indeed microphones, apparently omnidirectional, and the seedpods served as a kind of recording sensor that could be harvested.
He rose and stretched, unsuccessfully fighting a yawn. “How many hours have I been up? Too many.” He shook his head, then strolled to the west wall, where the shadows were the darkest. A large cot was made up with military precision, tempting him for just a second. On one side of it was an old wardrobe, on the other a shelf stacked with small bins. Hood shrugged out of his shredded blazer. The shirt and pants quickly followed. He wanted a shower; he hated feeling dirty. But he didn’t want to take the time. He retrieved a dark green pair of trousers from the wardrobe and selected a heavy charcoal gray shirt. Then he pulled one of the bins down from the shelf and went back to the plants.
“It’s only you six.” He spoke to the plants with the bioware as if they understood him, and who knew, maybe they did. “You’re the ones the Johnson really wanted. The rest were cover, a ruse to hide the real target.”
He selected a few tools from the bin, picks so slender it was difficult for his thick fingers to manipulate them. But he persisted, and after several minutes he managed to dissect one of the seedpods.
Inside was an odd-looking bioware chip.
“Could be slotted into a computer for downloading. Could be. Could be.” Hood scratched his head. “But downloading what?”
29
6:58:10 p.m.
Belver Serra stood at her living room window, staring across the street and down at a sprawling department store. The front of the old building was lit by the dull olive glow of security lights, which made the A-line dresses behind the glass look eerie and more abysmal than they probably were. Some distance beyond that, when she pressed her face close to the glass and looked between a gap in the skyscrapers to the northwest, she could see the night-black water of the bay. A full moon hung low in the cloudless sky and reflected on the chop. The tankers that she could see were indistinct, slashes of charcoal on a gray canvas drawn by an artist of no great skill. Her lip curled up in a distasteful sneer. Belver didn’t mind an ocean vista—in fact, she wanted a better one. And if there was to be a store across the street, let it be a chic, upscale boutique, not a bargain-basement agora that catered to the masses.
Her apartment was a reasonably posh place by most standards, taking up a good portion of the building’s seventh floor. It was more than she could comfortably afford on her salary, but less space than she desired and certainly not in a location that she coveted. Someday she would own an entire floor of one of the ultra-pricey condos in some enclave—perhaps the top floor with wraparound balconies encircling the perimeter. She had brochures listing such properties, and in rare moments daydreamed of what it would be like to live there. Until then, this place would have to suffice.
But soon things would be getting much better.
“Very soon,” she purred.
She couldn’t hear the traffic below, or her neighbors; the walls, floor, ceiling and windows were soundproofed. But the fact that there was this amount of traffic in her neighborhood at this time of night, and the fact that someone lived in an apartment on the other side of her bedroom wall terribly irked her. Belver shuddered and turned away from her far-from-perfect view.
“Dear heart, join me?” The speaker was human, a little more than half her age and not quite as handsome as she preferred them. He’d arranged his lanky frame in the center of her couch, no doubt thinking she would be forced to sit next to him.
As she silently regarded him, he opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. He was too young and inexperienced to let it breathe first, or to even pretend to sniff at the cork or taste it for her. But he was useful for—other things. She offered him a coy smile and slipped toward him, the toes of her bare feet sinking into an ivory-colored carpet that wasn’t quite thick enough. He thought he was taking a shortcut to climbing the corporate ladder by creeping his way into her bed and her confidence. But he was just a tool, to be used and discarded at her whim. So far, he had proven up to the task, but if things kept going awry, he would also be her fall guy, too. Still, he had a ruthless streak she admired. Maybe we will continue this relationship if this current mess pans out.
“It’s an Aussie Merlot, Bel I saw it in the window of the shop on the corner. It was expensive, but I couldn’t resist.” He extended a glass to her.
She took it and held her nose over the rim and raised a laser-trimmed, pencil-thin eyebrow, surprised that it had an acceptable bouquet. “From—”
He looked at the bottle. “Nowhere truly exotic, dear heart. Canberra, Nicholson Wineries.”
She sat next to him so their legs lightly touched, exulting in the thrill that ran through him.
“I thought the wine might help your mood. You said you had an early dinner with your father.”
She furrowed her brow at the comment, thin nettled lines hinting at both her years and his constant annoyance.
“And before that things didn’t go well in Ballard, 1 realize. A bad day, dear heart.”
Belver stiffened and took a deep swallow of the wine. “The runners I hired . . .”
He drew his face in close, encouraging her to continue. “The runners were at the same time too good, and not good enough.” She quickly finished the glass and let him refill it. The wine settled strongly on her tongue and had a slightly woody flavor. Whatever the year, it wasn’t the best one. But it was drinkable; at least he had gotten that right. “I told you I hired them to break into Plantech and steal all manner of things from the greenhouse. I gave them quite the list, wasn’t even sure the greenhouse had some of the things I named.”
“A ruse.”
Yes, not completely obtuse. “Of course it was a ruse. Oh, I wanted plants, but only six of them.”
“And they got those, I trust?”
“From what I understand they got everything on my list.”
“But they didn’t bring plants to the house in Ballard. I was watching from a neighbor’s yard.”
She wetted her index finger and ran it around the lip of the glass. It gave off a faint humming sound, showing the goblet was lead crystal. But not a top brand, not Baccarat. She couldn’t afford that yet. “If I’d only listed those six plants I wanted—instead of giving them a shopping list so long they could scarcely fit everything in their van—they might have gotten overly suspicious.”
“And you couldn’t have that, Bel.”
“Suspicious enough that they might have inspected them, learned they weren’t just. . . plants. That they were unique, the only specimens of their kind in this world.” She set the glass down on the coffee table and dug her fingers into her knees.
“But what’s so special about a half-dozen plants?”
She edged away from him, turned and drew her right leg up under her, catlike in the slinky way she moved. She reached for the glass again and took only a sip this time.
“Unique in all the world, and only in that greenhouse— where Plantech conducted its most clandestine meetings.” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.
“You see, pet, the Plantech board of directors, and the officials from whatever other corps they were meeting with, believed their conversations were safe in that greenhouse. Plantech designed the greenhouse so there wasn’t a single piece of surveillance equipment inside; no little spy-eyes, nothing to record their precious secret words. Protected from the outside as well, no laser-reading of conversations there, everything scrambled once it hit the glass. A safe house of sorts.”
She lapsed into silence for a few moments, sipping some more of the wine. Her shoulders rounded slightly.
“Granted that you’re powerful, Bel, and that you’ve fingers in lots of interesting pies. But if these plants are so . . . unique . . . how did even you find out about them?” Belver drained the second glass in one long, unladylike pull. “I was in one of those ‘clandestine meetings.’ And a few days after that meeting, a Plantech biologist contacted me. Yes, I’m powerful enough to have caught his attention. He tried to blackmail me.”
The young man poured her another glass and added a little more to his. “This would be the biologist we took care of in Ballard this afternoon? He tried to blackmail you?” Belver shook her head. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was wired. “What do you think? He’d developed the six specimens in the Plantech labs, under the noses of the corp execs and his fellow biologists, grafting bioware into the seedlings and growing microphone pods. He was secretly recording the meetings held in the greenhouse, and he intended to sell the transcriptions and files to the highest bidder. He was looking for a lot of nuyen for those recordings.” She let out a deep sigh. “Doesn’t everyone in the world need more nuyen? In any event, I let him think I’d meet any price he asked.”
“That important, eh?”
Another nod. “I couldn’t let the transcripts get out. I couldn’t let my present employer discover I was working against his corp’s best interests. As I said, I was ... in a meeting in the Plantech greenhouse ... I was negotiating to turn over some of my corp’s proprietary information to Plantech or Shiawase . . . whichever would pay more. And I was working to negotiate a much more lucrative position with whichever one of those corps would hopefully be my new employer.”
The young man gave a low whistle. “You would’ve been meat if those transcripts got out. But why have me geek the biologist?”
“No loose ends, pet. You know I don’t like loose ends. The biologist—Dr. Nansct—was a greedy man. The nuyen we settled on for the transcripts and the plants, and which I truthfully had no intention of paying him, apparently wasn’t going to be enough. The greedy, greedy fool. He was going to sell me the transcripts all right, but at the last minute he changed his mind and decided not to part with the plants. He was going to tell his boss at Plantech about his creations, reveal them at a board of directors meeting, gave me some line about being able to save the company. Scrounging up a last vestige of corporate pride, 1 guess. He wanted nuyen both from me—and from them. No doubt he was angling for a promotion of some sort, too. And now he has nothing, not even his pitiful life, and his family probably doesn’t have enough of him to bury after that fiasco.”
“It was quite a painful death, Bel. Find some solace in that.”
“The runners were to find Nansct’s body at the house in Ballard, which they did.” Her voice dripped bitterness. “And they were to be framed for the murder.”
“Which they weren’t.”
She shook her head, her eyes daggers pointed down her nose. “Oh, you did your part, Pet. But others failed me.” He leaned closer still and tenderly brushed his fingertips against her cheek. “Tell me the rest, dear heart. You promised to reveal it all. Let’s have no secrets between us.”
I know what I told you, but that doesn’t mean it’s the truth, my pet. Still, what would it hurt? The evidence linking him to the Ballard affair was ready to be planted, and the more information she gave him, the deeper the hole he’d dig should all of this ever come to light. “I’d hired three men to keep the runners in the house until my Lone Star puppet arrived. The runners were supposed to be caught red-handed, charged with Nansct’s murder and put away for a very, very long time. The loose ends all neatly tied up.”
“But what about the plants?” The man seemed truly curious and concerned.
“Oh, I knew the runners wouldn’t bring the plants to the drop. At least not all of the plants. Nor would they talk about the heist to Lone Star . . . why tack more years on to their sentence?”
“So how were you going to get the plants?” He shook his head as if to correct himself. “How are you going to get them?”
“I had every confidence that my Lone Star puppet would winnow the location from the runners and recover them for me. What I didn’t count on was a sec team from Plantech showing up and turning the entire plan into a steaming pile of drek.”
The man swished the wine around in his glass and took a swallow. “Which is why, Bel, when I saw the Plantech squad swarm the house, I hit the remote timer on the bomb. You told me if anything went wrong . . .”
“. . . to blow it all to hell. Like I said, you performed your part admirably, Pet. Would that I had a few others like you, there would be no limit to what we could accomplish.”
He swelled at the accolades she tossed his way. Men, so easily brought under sway for a bit of flattery. This one was no different. No, I’ll continue with my original plan. She stood and rolled her shoulders, finished the contents of her glass and took it to the kitchen, removing the temptation to have anymore at the moment. “As I said, you did your part. Pet. The rest couldn’t be helped.”
“I just wish things would have went well all the way around.”
Belver returned to the living room with a plate of beluga caviar, a spoon and a stack of petite crackers on a Brazilian hardwood tray. She set it on the coffee table, directly in front of her.
“I don’t li
ke loose ends, pet.”
He eyed the plate, but did not make a move to take any. “I tied up three more of those loose ends for you before I came over, dear heart.”
“The brothers?”
“They let me in their hovel, thought I was settling up the rest of their payment for the botched Ballard job. They didn’t suffer terribly long. Not as long as I would have liked. But I was in a hurry to come here.”
Belver smiled, pleased at the news. Yes, he certainly does do some things right. “And their uncle?”
“I visited him first, in the hospital. There’ll be no questions. It looked natural—poor fella, his heart just—gave out.” “Good.” She edged the plate toward him. “Imported and pricey. I’d intended us to celebrate with this—after I’d received the plants. And while I’ve nothing to celebrate just yet, there’s no reason this should go to waste.”
He was quick to help himself, and to wash it down with more of the wine. “Delicious. Join me, why don’t you?” “No, you enjoy it, I’m just not in the mood. I don't know where the runners are, pet. Or what they did with my plants.” Her fingers were digging into her knees again. “I want those plants. I want to hire my own biologist to create more and more and more. I want to ride that fool’s creation to my own corner office at Shiawase, or any other mega-corp with the brains to realize what I’m offering them. And to take you with me.”
Belver had given the matter considerable thought. She intended to send the enhanced plants to corporate executives throughout the city and lift the pods at her convenience to learn what was transpiring in their offices. Either she’d sell the secrets to the highest bidder, or, in the case of more personal information, blackmail them at her leisure, raking in more nuyen than she could manage to earn with the highest-ranking corp position.
“The plants will be my perfect surveillance system. And with them I can spy on the competition and gain their secrets anytime I desire. The perfect, untraceable crime.”
He slipped an arm around her shoulders and tried to move closer. Belver would have nothing of it and got up. She started pacing on the other side of the coffee table, alternately glancing at her manicured toenails and fingernails and at the young man. She watched him eat another cracker smeared with her expensive caviar.
Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock Page 22