“I hope you're enjoying the food, but please tell me you've made some progress,” said Seita. From the roar in the background it sounded as if he were driving.
“A little,” said Roman, flicking through data streams on the tablet in front of him. “I've accessed my old Cloud storage and gone through the messages from Medea, trying to see if there was any background noise that would help to identify a location, whilst also going through the IP addresses they were sent from. They're cloaked but someone taught me a lot about how to circumnavigate safeguards.”
Sandrine, the crazed genius.
“You kept incriminating messages from your contact on the public Cloud?” asked Seita, incredulity lacing his every word.
“Not in their pure form. They were fed into the background code of a TV show. I'm not an idiot.”
“I never said you were,” said Seita. “It just would have saved me a lot of time and effort if I'd found them.”
“But we wouldn't be having this wonderful give and take,” said Roman, sweeping a few redundant lines of information out of the way and moving in on one that he'd remembered was important. Once or twice, when bored out of his skull at home as his wife was out with one of her boys, he'd tried to trace Medea. He’d got quite far before he had set off the counter detection systems. They weren't particularly sophisticated and he was sure that he could have got around them but at the time he didn't want to piss off his main source of income. No such obstructions now.
He leaned over and opened a small case to his right which he had bought from a tech shop he'd spotted on the way to the hotel. He'd never been in there before so he ended up paying over the odds for what he needed but that was the price you had to pay when you were effectively starting out again. No contacts, no help.
First he put on a pair of gloves lined with sensors designed to register even the smallest movements, which he paired with his tablet wirelessly. Then he pulled out a strip of flexible silicon mesh which he placed against his face. It pulled itself in against his skin, shaping itself to the contours of his skull and slipping over his eyes and ears. He activated the system with a click of his fingers.
The vista opened up in front of him, green swathes of data rolling away into the far distance, interspersed with colossal data towers that stretched up into the digital blackness above him. His ghost – the digital avatar that he used when walking the Network – was a reflection of his past, a model of his former self before he began on his first journey as the Black Cat. It was the last reminder of his face, his real face, painstakingly recreated from old archived photographs of his work in ParCorp. The slightly hooked nose, the crooked teeth, the intensity in his brow that made it seemed as if he were in a constant state of annoyance. He had hated his face at the time, being disgusted by its shape and asymmetry, but he now had a fondness for it. It reminded him of a past when no one knew he existed. His true face was now his disguise.
He swept his hand in front of his chest, trailing a stream of fluctuating bits, flashing yellow and orange like miniature star-bursts. These were his enquiry programs, his server hardware and the symbol of his raw power. Everyone had a few, the key was to use them effectively. As he flexed his fingers and turned his hand, his customised control sphere appeared before him. It still carried within it the high definition 3d structure of a rose, moving along on its endless cycle from bud to bloom to dried, preserved death, before pushing through as a new bud and flowering again. He swallowed hard, remembering when he had first seen the purely cosmetic touch that Sandrine had given his avatar when she had created it. A token of her love. Unknown, forever tragic, real love.
Search.
The command was simultaneously given with his mind and hand, sweeping across the swirling opalescent surface of the orb above the rose. He moved through options until a small pockmark appeared on the glittering mass. It turned and twisted, pulling the skin of the orb into itself as it widened, before seeming to draw in the landscape, a sunken bore-hole that took a part of everything around it.
Roman reached his right hand into the opening and pushed downwards, feeling the sense of space beyond, surrounding his fingers. He soon found what he was after. His fingers closed around a kernel that he had left behind the last time he had delved into this secret – the logic signature of Medea. He dragged it back out for inspection.
As he pulled it free he saw a gossamer web of data protection stretching behind it, sending back information on his enquiry that he would rather no one knew about. With the flick of his left wrist a stream of the data particles that surrounded his hand drifted towards the thread, cutting it quickly before settling in behind the data and beginning to send out their own fake stream to hide his snooping. He had lost a few of his particles in the attempt, some fading to red as they drifted into errors forced by the data protection, but he had more than enough left for what he needed.
He inspected the data in his hand. It resembled a crystal made of up of irregular facets, each shimmering with the refractions of information held within. It was jagged and angular with sharp edges that glittered with an amethyst purple luminescence. In terms of the Network this meant that it was highly encrypted, though the fact that he was holding it meant that it was a static rather than a dynamic encryption and given the right tools it would just be a matter of time before he got into it.
He set to work, twisting and scraping at its surface, pulling its protrusions left and right as he tried to figure out its combination. He pulled out a standard data probe, here represented as a hammer, which did little more than fracture the kernel’s glossy surface, sending copies of it drifting off into the ether. No good.
He tried a different tack, tracing a quick pattern in the air which materialised as a small creature, little more than a minuscule red body covered with a swathe of legs that drifted languidly before tensing into rigid formations. He held the kernel out towards it. The creature latched on with the majority of its legs whilst three of them pulled themselves up and started to form complex shapes in the air, detailing its progress as it tried to work its way within the defensive walls of the kernel.
He sighed as the decoder spider started to wither, shrivelling away until it was little more than a desiccated husk that fragmented and split apart under its own weight, shrinking particles of less than nothing.
“Not bad,” said Roman, hearing his own voice as if synthesized by a computer, “but let’s see how you deal with this.”
A harmonic resonator, a sonic indicator of data, a burst of information designed to be processed and destroy the kernel from the inside. He sang, high and hard, his voice a weapon as he screamed unintelligible words based on hexadecimal dynamics. The surface of the kernel shivered under the pressure, before gradually cracking, although not in such a way as it duplicated itself but rather fell apart, opening in a soft, slow wave as if it were a tulip ready to drink the sun.
He cautiously pulled his hand towards his face, peering into the kernel’s dark glistening centre. He was right to be cautious, as a tumble of red curving elements flared out from inside, trailing snake-like tendrils. It was a vicious logic loop intended to pull him in and crash his interface but he managed to isolate the damage into a backup memory cluster, signified by a large woven sack that he bundled the writhing beast into. It squirmed and roiled inside before eventually starting to become calm, its influence fading as it lost its direction and faded into redundant code.
With that, the kernel was done. It had no more tricks up its sleeve. He peeled the amethyst sides away as if they were no more than crepe paper and found a small black pearl at its centre. He held it up to his eye and scanned its surface, finding etched there the IP of the mobile tablet device that had sent the message.
He smiled, before casting the pearl into the air and throwing his arm towards it using his trojan whip, golden wires that sprang and leaped, hooking onto the ball as it soared away to find its way home, dragging him with it, vapour over the rolling web.
The message fi
nally came through clear and crisp after a few monotonous hours of trawling. Having the IP was a fraction of the battle, there were still firewalls and other defences to get around, and then there was the matter of any encryption on the messages themselves. After deftly piecing together a puzzle of virtually identical data pockets he finally found the right combination. When the voice spoke he immediately recognised that same intonation and metallic distortion that was so familiar.
“My new little Black Cat, I have another job for you, and please don't be so heavy handed with this one. Every death is more attention brought to us, although I must say that the money you are bringing in is refreshing. Thanks to the information provided by your last victim–”
Roman's face screwed up in disgust at the new terminology, though he had to admit it was sadly more accurate than the self-denial inducing terminology of 'mark' or even occasionally 'patient'.
“–we have learned that a shipment of Mendel is due to be transferred from the central ParCorp labs here in Techosaka to the main hub in Tokyo. We need it. The amount in there would set us up nicely, as we are running low due to the instability of the formula. If only you'd managed to prise the information out of him.”
Another voice replied, gritty and full of pent up aggression. Luis.
“He never trusted me enough. He was too smart for that, though not too smart to get caught by that crazy technician.”
“Do you think he’s still locked in that apartment?” asked Medea.
“It took me a week to trace him there, and I knew his face, my face. No one else did. No, he’s not getting out in a hurry. She’ll keep him there until he’s dead, or insane.”
Roman's eye twitched. They had known he was there and they had left him to rot.
“Enough about him. We have work to do. The new era. I need that Mendel. If I can get to the bottom of his formula we'll be able to pull off a job that will set us up for life.”
“Not if I can help it,” muttered Roman. How long had he been played by Medea? From the beginning most likely. After all, Luis had set him up with the contact just after they had met, whilst he and Idalia had been on honeymoon, of all places. Perhaps he'd been too loved up to have his usual sense of danger switched on.
He listened as Medea went through the details of the truck's departure and quickly checked the time. The message had originally been sent almost twelve hours ago, so Luis had a considerable head start. Roman had only twenty minutes until it left from the other side of Techosaka on the express way. He would need some help.
Seita's mouth curled into a smile. “Are you so surprised? Loyalty among criminals is such a rare thing, I'm told.” The agent was still dressed as casually as he had been before, this time only wearing a t-shirt and his leather jacket, with faded and ripped grey jeans. Roman was sure he was carrying a weapon though, judging from the small bulge under his left arm.
“Apparently so,” said Roman, flexing his hands on the steering wheel as he looked out of the window at the passing city. Two in the morning. It was as close to sleeping as the city got but there was still traffic, always traffic, flowing through the veins of the city. They circled around on the colossal nine lane halo route that was held up over the city on pylons, wrapping around Techosaka like Ouroboros and providing the quickest access to other sections of the metropolis. The air smelled of burned rubber and petroleum – there had been a crash somewhere. It was not a rare smell as the cruising speed on the halo route was over a hundred and twenty kilometres an hour.
“Don't be too hurt, at least you live to fight another day. Or sneak another day, whichever is your preference.”
Roman looked over at Seita but he could tell that there was humour in the man's voice rather than accusation. Despite the Seita's job and his stalking of Roman, it seemed he also respected him in a way. Roman decided to broach a subject that had been on his mind.
“Do you know an executive named Ozawa?”
Seita looked over at him briefly before casting his eyes ahead again. “I know of him, why do you ask?”
“I have a feeling I have angered him.”
Seita laughed. “Master of understatement! I don't know the details, but yes, I've had the call through from higher up to apprehend you by all means necessary.”
Roman stared at the road ahead, grinding his teeth. “Well?”
“Well our bargain still stands. I was already on your trail when I got the missive through but I have chosen to ignore it. A personal matter means little to me in the face of stopping the deaths.”
Roman sighed, feeling his stress easing a little. Seita had been as straight as an arrow with him so far, so he had to hope the man was as good as his word.
Seita glanced over again, his expression serious. “I suppose you should know though, as I have agreed to set you loose after this is over... I was not the only one on your trail. I doubt there will be any others who will ignore it. Your life will be very difficult from here on.”
“Was that why you agreed to let me go?” asked Roman, looking over at the goat faced man.
“Of course. All I have agreed is that I will let you go. I can say nothing of others. Needless to say, no one knows I have already found you.”
“Small mercy,” said Roman ruefully.
“All I can do, I'm afraid,” said Seita. “Ah, this one I think.”
Roman nodded and drifted into the far left lane before moving off onto the slip road that led towards the docks. A couple of minutes later the colossal cranes and pulleys of the shipping yards rose into view, along with the imposing bulk of the Techosaka arm of ParCorp, a heavily guarded compound that had been his place of work for so many years.
Wide metal panelled walls were interspersed with guard towers, each manned by two guards armed with precision lasers. They had been legal for use on corporate property for the previous seven years, ever since the demise of ParCorp's rival Kenyon after a supposed terrorist attack on its headquarters at Washington Station. It was not long after those events that ParCorp revealed that it had initiated its environmental cleanser, helping to remove the majority of the earth's hanging pollution within a few days whilst also helping to repair the largely non-existent ozone layer. Roman had been dubious about the explained science behind it, but he couldn't argue with the result. People were returning from the outer colonies and bringing their wealth with them, so ParCorp had become stronger than ever, although the population increase had become such an issue that it had become necessary to re-install a worldwide one child order, with those who broke the law being sent off world to the new colonies. It was even rumoured that in some places those who wanted inexpensive travel became pregnant in order to allow their family to be moved for free.
The only rival to ParCorp now was Genus Ltd., a mainly Jupiter based co-operative pledged on self-sufficiency and the recycling of resources, the head of which was a Ms. Alice Howe, a former off-world engineer turned politician. The company had tried to head hunt him a few months before he had left for a life of crime. Perhaps if he had taken the job then his life would have turned out a lot more stable, though whether it would have been as exciting was another matter.
Roman slowed the car as they headed towards the delivery gate. He was about to check his watch when he spotted the huge three ton truck in the distance, eight wheels pounding the tarmac as it drove away under the flyover, flanked in front and behind by two armed Jeeps. He glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath.
“We're late, I'll have to step on it.”
“Don't draw any undue attention. We're only here for Luis, all other things are unimportant,” said Seita. Perhaps he didn't trust Roman as much as he'd thought and was worried he'd try and make off with the Mendel himself. No chance of that, the thought, if I never see another packet of that blue gel then I'll die happy.
He wove in and out of the traffic, trying to keep the van ahead within his sights. He had no idea what Luis' idea was for getting the Mendel, but if it had been Roman then he would have found
a way to get himself on the driving crew. Every corporation as large as ParCorp always had an endemic issue with corruption and it never took long to find the weak point and prise them away with cold hard cash.
The van was driving at quite a pace, so it was lucky that Roman's car was up to the task. They clearly had no wish to hide the value of their goods, confident in their ability to police themselves. He could see why, as the mounted weaponry on the back of the Jeeps would be enough to dissuade everyone except the most hardened of criminals. There was none harder than Luis though, and it came as only a small shock when a rocket ripped through the rear Jeep and sent it careering into the oncoming traffic where it impacted into a tower of flame. Roman looked up to his right where he caught the briefest glance of Luis, or someone that he knew to be Luis, standing out of the sunroof of a large blacked out Humvee, the rocket launcher still sitting on his shoulder. Roman had to try not to stare as he looked at the face that used to be his, that familiar profile that seemed like a distant memory now that his own face was adorned by cuts and swelling scar tissue.
“Not subtle, is he?” said Seita, gripping the dashboard. Roman quickly swerved to follow the van whilst also avoiding the burning wreckage that was spilling out across the roadway. Other cars had started to slow and stop as carefully as they could for their own safety but the van itself had found another gear from somewhere, thundering away at such a speed that Roman started to think he'd never catch it. Another rocket slammed into the tarmac a hundred yards ahead of the vehicle but the driver had enough wherewithal to turn almost immediately towards the slip road to his left, diving off the express way into the darkness. The forwards Jeep took the opportunity to slow a little and let the lorry pass, falling in behind and readying its weapons with a red glow.
“I wanted to avoid death. If you had found this sooner-” said Seita through gritted teeth.
“I got here as quickly as I could,” shot back Roman, swerving and falling back as the Jeep opened fire at the Humvee, spitting bullets across the quickly emptying road. The Jeep was driving erratically to avoid slower cars and the gunner was off his aim with only a few bullets impacting on Luis' vehicle, not enough to stop it or even slow it down. The windows on the passenger side of the Humvee opened and two gunmen leaned out, firing off quick bursts with semi-automatic pistols.
The Real Thing Page 10