CHAPTER XIX
GRIT AND CRIME
We landed outside the tavern, coming down in the clear rays of the rising sun. I’d slept on the ride, only a few hours, but enough. In the early-morning light, Greyjan’s appeared deceptively beautiful, a rustic house surrounded by meadows. It hardly looked as if it linked to a serial killer and bomber.
People ran out to see what was up, two patrons and a third woman who seemed familiar, stout and a little overweight, with a wide face you wanted to trust but knew you shouldn’t. Yah, I remembered, she was the proprietor. All three gaped as the Quetzal landed in a field by the tavern. The blast from the fans lifted a cloud of sweet-scented flowers into the air and whipped the nearby trees into a frenzy, making the feather vines on their branches ripple like a curtain of greenery.
I jumped down to the meadow with Angel and Ruzik. Lavinda stayed onboard to work on the stabilizer with Raja and the Quetzal EI. The owner of Greyjan’s watched from her doorway, her face creased with a baffled frown as we ran out from the copter with wind whipping around us, our heads bowed against the wash. I wore an EM pistol holstered at my side, courtesy of the onboard armory, and a couple of reloads hung on my belt. Ruzik and Angel both carried sheathed knives. All three of us wore army packs, each with a jammer if we needed a shroud. I didn’t miss the irony, that today Lavinda provided me with the same tech-mech that they usually berated me for using. Of course, that was because usually I was hiding from the Majdas.
I slowed down as I came up to the proprietor. “My greetings. Do you own this tavern?”
“That’s right.” She crossed her arms. “I’m Daymor Greyjan.”
“We need to do a search,” I said.
“You aren’t the police.” Her gaze shifted to Angel and Ruzik and the scowl she turned on them could have scorched rock. “I told you two never to show your faces here again.”
“They’re with me,” I said. “I’m with the police. We’re following up on the search.”
Greyjan gave a harsh laugh. “The cops? Seriously? You got a search warrant?”
“The chief’s people already showed it to you. Twice, in fact, both times they searched here.”
“Yah, well, you could be anyone.” Her stance remained rock solid. “I ain’t moving, girlie. You can take your dust rat selves out of here.”
“Oh, fuck that.” I was so done with being polite to people who insulted us.
“Not dust rat,” Ruzik said mildly. “Dust Knight.”
“Yah, I saw you posing on the holo-vid,” the woman told him. “You may be hot, sweetcakes, but you still can’t come into my bar and screw with people.”
Angel stepped up to the proprietor, her face thunderous. “Not call my man ‘sweetcakes.’”
I stayed back. While Angel and Ruzik distracted the owner, I eased the red beetle out of my pocket and let it go. It sailed into the shadows, sleek and silent.
“Don’t threaten me,” the proprietor was telling Angel.
I looked around. The two patrons were listening with avid interest to the exchange between Angel and the owner. I’d seen a breakfast menu the last time I came here, so I figured they’d come to eat. One of them, a medium-sized man wearing boring clothes, stood with an almost invisible tension, as if he were listening with heightened senses to every word. He didn’t otherwise stand out, so normally he would fade into the background. It made an effective cover.
“Not talk trash to my man,” Angel said.
Ruzik glanced at me, then returned his attention to the argument. He actually smiled, something we never did in front of potential enemies like this tavern owner. “Your man fine,” he assured Angel. Turning to the proprietor, he spoke in perfect Flag. “We’re sorry to disturb you. I apologize. We regret any inconvenience we have caused.”
Angel stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Where you put Ruzik?” she muttered.
Hah! My gang leader had a talent for undercover work. In contrast, Angel was a blunt power hammer, strong and powerful. Actually, both she and Ruzik could outlift me in weights when I didn’t use augmentation, a feat few people could achieve. What set Ruzik apart was his remarkable intellectual flexibility. I suspected that was why he led the gang instead of Angel. Together, they made an unbeatable team.
Right now, however, Angel looked pissed at Ruzik for apologizing to someone she wanted to beat up.
The owner glowered at Ruzik, then at me. “You got to show me a warrant.”
I stepped forward and tapped the comm on my gauntlet. A voice rose into the air. “Chief Hadar here. Do you have an update, Major?”
“We’re at the tavern,” I said.
“Yes, Colonel Majda notified me.”
Well, damn. He’d just blown Lavinda’s cover. Not that she was hiding her presence, but announcing we had a Majda colonel here could make it impossible to get anything done. Everyone would be on their best behavior, every nuance hidden. We wanted the owner to underestimate us.
Then again, Hadar hadn’t said Lavinda was in the flyer. “I’m glad she’s there with you,” I told him. “I’m here with the copter pilot and my two agents. The owner of the tavern would like verification that we have permission to search the premises.”
He paused, probably figuring out what I meant. “All right. Put her on.”
I extended my arm so Greyjan could speak into the gauntlet. “Go ahead,” I told her.
“Heya,” she said. “This is police chief Hadar?”
“That’s right. I’m getting voice recognition that you are indeed the owner of the tavern.”
Smart man. He turned the tables by suggesting he had to verify her identity.
The owner scowled. “How do I know you’re Chief Hadar?”
“My apology,” he said. “I didn’t realize you lacked the verification tech.”
“Of course I have it.” She stabbed at the tech-mech band on her wrist.
A mechanical voice rose into the air. “Speaker identified. Chief Akal Hadar of the Selei City police force.”
“Fine.” The owner swept us all with an annoyed look. Then she moved aside to let us enter.
I let Ruzik and Angel go first. As I followed, I glanced at the man I’d noticed earlier. He was returning to the tavern as well, walking with the other patron, the two of them chatting. The other patron also seemed casual, the type who came to watch sporting events on the bar’s holo-vid.
Bhaaj, Max thought. I have a message from Colonel Majda. The police investigators found smart dust on Angel’s socks.
Max! Is your distance comm working again?
For short distances. He sounded relieved. I’m working on the longer-range functions.
Excellent. Did they recover enough dust to figure where it came from?
Possibly. Each particle contributes to a picoweb that links it to any other particles within a few meters. The higher the density of the dust and the wider its spread, the more efficient of a mesh they can form. At high concentrations, it looks like it can send signals.
Looks like? Can’t they tell? Compared to previous smart dust I’d experienced, this type sounded too specific. It hadn’t affected Max or my tech-mech the first time I came here until we tried to crack its web.
They didn’t recover enough to make a full comm node, Max thought. However, they believe it connects to the office of Manuel Portjanson, the spokesman for the Modernists.
They can’t be serious.
Actually, it does make sense. No one would suspect the Modernists. They can let the other parties duke it out while they benefit in all their glorious blandness.
Well, yah. It still didn’t feel right. Call it Bhaaj intuition, but I’ll bet you aces to aces that Manuel, the son of the daughter of Port Whoever, has no link to this. I considered the thought. Chief Hadar did say his party had the largest fringe element, though. Maybe it’s more outliers.
“So where do you want to look?” Greyjan was saying. She lifted her hands, palms to the ceiling, as if to encompass the room around us. “Feel free to examine my nefarious establishment.”
She’s almost as sarcastic as you, Max thought.
Indeed. To the owner, I said, “We’d like to see your storerooms.”
“Suit yourselves. The police have already looked twice.” She gave an annoyed grunt. “What the blazes do you all think you’ll find down there?”
Angel and Ruzik watched me, waiting. I just said, “If you could show us the way.” I was curious to see how she took us there. Stairs? If she used a lift, it might go past hidden floors that weren’t marked. One tavern I’d frequented during my days as a private had a ledge where you jumped down to the lower level with the card games. They didn’t let me in more than once, though, after they figured out that I memorized the played cards. Of course I did. Damned if I wouldn’t use any skill I possessed to win, rather than letting the house take my money. None of the gambling places shared my passion for math, to put it mildly, so I got the boot, not so mildly.
Greyjan escorted us through the tavern, letting us take our time to glance around. I thought of how we’d learned about this place. Max, any communications from your wayward child?
Not much, Max thought. It flips me a few bits every now and then.
I smiled. What, your child is flipping you off?
Ha, ha. No wonder my jokes are so bad. You’re my main example. Before I could respond, he added, The EI is letting me know it’s around and doing fine, but too busy to talk.
Ah, Max. Your child is in college now and doesn’t have time for hoshpa.
Yes, well, who knows what it could be doing?
Yah. We still didn’t know what it wanted. It develops fast. I hope that’s not bad news for us.
“Here.” Greyjan opened a rickety door at the back wall. “This goes to the storerooms.”
“Thank you,” I said, two words, me trying extra hard to be polite. Maybe she’d stop glaring.
We walked down a set of old stairs, wooden and creaky, which fit with the rest of the tavern. The place itself didn’t seem fake, only some of the patrons.
Colonel Majda sent another message, Max thought. She’s headed to the army base. They’re going to investigate Manuel Portjanson.
All right. I doubted the Mods connected to this, but you never knew.
At the bottom of the stairs, a wide hall stretched out, wood-paneled and fresh, with the pleasing scent of cut wood. Greyjan ushered us through the first door on the right and motioned at the empty room. “As you can see, my place is brimming with contraband.”
I understood why we annoyed her, if she’d gone through this three times now. The place looked too clean, though. You could eat dinner off the floor.
“This room looks sterile.” I actually had no idea what sterile looked like for an empty room, but I wanted to see her reaction.
“Sterile?” Greyjan gave an incredulous laugh. “Seriously? Am I supposed to say ‘Oh thank you for telling me I keep my place clean’?”
“Well, no.” Her response sounded genuine. I stepped past Angel and Ruzik, who had assumed guard positions, ready to protect me from an empty room. “I’m saying it looks too clean. The first police search mentioned dust down here.”
She regarded me with undisguised exasperation. “Now you’re suspicious that I cleaned up because the police called my bar dirty?”
“Not dirty,” I said. “Just dusty. Are you trying to hide something?”
“What the hell do you all think I had stored down here? Drugs? Stolen goods? No. Dust in rooms that I haven’t used in ages, because I don’t make enough credits to afford extra stock. Yeah, I know, I should have the bots at least clean the main room upstairs more often. But they’re always breaking. I spent too many credits getting them fixed after the police came here to investigate my dust. I mean, really? Why would they send three different teams to investigate an ale house on the edge of nowhere for grit on the floor? Okay, so it’s sloppy, but it’s not a crime.”
She had a point. I could read her body language and voice. She was royally pissed, and she felt embarrassed for not taking better care of her establishment, but I didn’t get a sense she was lying. Max, I think she’s for real. She has no idea what’s going on.
My analysis suggests the same.
To Greyjan, I said, “My apologies, ma’am. I really am sorry for the intrusion.” I walked around the room looking at the walls, floor, ceiling. The police had already checked it all, and also the tavern construction, searching for hidden rooms, closets, even niches. They scanned it with electromagnetic sensors, including radio, microwave, IR, optical, UV, X-ray, and high-energy waves, also audio analyses, digital analyses, superconductor analyses, and every other analyses they could come up with. None of it offered anything useful.
I went back into the hall, pondering. If Greyjan hadn’t set up her tavern as a center of mesh shenanigans, then who did? What had that dirt on the floor accomplished besides diverting our already strapped attention? Turning, I found the owner watching me from the doorway. Ruzik stood a few paces behind her and Angel was off to my side, where she had a view of us all.
“What did you do with the dirt you cleaned up?” I asked.
“Do with it?” Greyjan’s forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Your cleaning bots must have disposed of it somewhere.”
“They threw it in the waste system out back. It takes my garbage to the recycling center.” She seemed too baffled even to be pissed. “Why?”
I thought of how microscopic bits and pieces of Highcloud had survived at the co-op. “It’s possible the dirt contained some sort of nanoparticles. I’m wondering where they went.”
“Nanoparticles.” She gave a bark of a laugh. “Sure, and I got smart beer here, too. It’ll talk to you if your slum selves are lonely.”
Angel scowled at her. “Not joke.”
Greyjan scowled back at her. “You got that right.”
Good for you, Angel. Normally she would have punched Greyjan for that “slum selves” crack. She and Ruzik were learning how to act as ambassadors for the Undercity. They’d never known anything but scorn and dismissal from city slicks. Coming here, working with me, earning a salary, they saw a different side of life, one that earned them respect. Some people who knew we came from the Undercity avoided us, but others didn’t care. Sure, Angel, Ruzik, and me too, we all looked a bit wild, but that didn’t automatically translate into “scum of the world” for everyone we met. Well, yah, it mostly did on Raylicon, but Selei City was farther removed from the Undercity.
This new puzzle piece, the tavern grit, intrigued me. Most buildings had a disposal unit where their cleaning bots dumped trash. The refuse went through pipes to recycling centers outside the city. Two days ago, Angel and Ruzik had searched the North Center to retrieve what they could of Highcloud. Greyjan’s tavern stood across the city, so her waste probably went to South Center.
“I wonder if we could get back any of the dust,” I mused.
“I go look,” Angel said. “Like for cloud up high.”
“I stay with you,” Ruzik told me, using his I’m your bodyguard and don’t argue voice.
“All right.” It was worth a shot. Almost no one knew about Angel, so she could rummage around at the recycling center without drawing attention. We needed more dust to figure out what it did. It carried picochips, so someone must have programmed it. Could that same someone have incited the Trads, stirred up anger against the Progs, whispered that people shouldn’t trust a dust rat, set up fake leads to the Traders, and then led us on a wild chase after tech entrepreneurs? The people I’d interviewed had so many conflicting, bizarre ideas about my intentions and abilities, it was like somewhere in the background, someone had sowed anger and distrust, pitting people against one another and also against the person brought in to help solve this mess.
I could guess how they carried out their campaign of misinformation. Suggestions probably appeared on social media, discreet but well-placed notes here or there, just another person speaking among many. It wouldn’t cause a stir unless someone already inclined to think in that direction saw it, like Hadar or the party reps. But how would that person know where to place the comments? They’d need data about the people they wanted to influence. Difficult, yah, but the sophistication and subtlety required for such an operation, not to mention the patience it demanded, fit the profile I was forming of the killers.
It also wouldn’t surprise me if the killer or killers sent bamboozle-bots out on the mesh, which used visual, audio, even tactile, smell, and taste effects to increase a person’s susceptibility to suggestion. Bam-bots were illegal, but advertisers never stopped looking for ways to get around the restrictions, especially financial types who sought to increase sales and beat their competition. Even with my lowered suggestibility, even knowing I didn’t consider the leads against the Royalists convincing, I’d still found myself distrusting their party during this case.
Unlike the killings, though, sowing distrust was invisible. Even if I could find the bam-bots, that proved nothing unless they pointed to a specific vendor, exec, politician, hacker, or other user. Otherwise, people would call me paranoid. Hell, maybe I was paranoid. I needed proof. What looked different here at Greyjan’s? That patron who had caught my notice, he seemed . . . familiar.
Max, I thought. Did you get visuals of the two patrons in the bar?
Your red beetle is making records. It’s hiding on the ceiling under the eaves. I’ve repaired myself enough to link with your drones when they’re close.
Excellent. Can you do an ID scan on the fellow with the dark trousers and blue shirt? Limit your check to people I’ve encountered since I came here to work on the case.
Working. I’m also getting an odd message from Raja, Colonel Majda’s EI.
I thought she was too far away now for you to reach her.
I’m not getting the full message, just bits. Something about Modernists.
I refocused on the wide hallway. Angel stood in front of me, patient and alert. Ruzik waited behind Greyjan, with that quality of infinite patience he often took on. Greyjan looked about as patient as a bug on a blaster, and I suspected the person she wanted blasted was me.
I tapped in Lavinda’s code on my comm and put the speaker on public, so Greyjan wouldn’t think I was trying to get her in trouble. The less we annoyed her, the more she might cooperate.
Lavinda came on, speaking with no preamble. “Bhaaj, did you get Raja’s message?”
“Something came through.” I glanced at the people around me. “I’m at Greyjan’s, here with the owner, also Ruzik and Angel, on public speaker.” That would let Lavinda know she could talk about the case, but not any secured information.
“Understood,” Lavinda said. “We talked to Manuel Portjanson. Even he had heard the rumors about their party. We also have the pilot of the flyer that was shooting at us, as well as the people you knocked out in the cabin. They’re going to live, though it was close for one of them.”
I surprised myself with the relief I felt that my kidnappers would all live, given that they’d planned to kill me. “They give you more jizz on what’s up?”
“A bit,” Lavinda said, “It looks like a Mod team is working with the Trad group that kidnapped you from Selei City. Apparently the two forces formed some sort of coalition with the intent of ‘reclaiming the Imperialate,’ whatever that means. We think the Mods may come after you because Captain Lajon and her people failed in their mission.”
“Are you kidding? The Mods? The ‘We’re so boring, we could put an interstellar war to sleep’ party?”
“Bhaaj, you have to take this seriously,” Lavinda said.
“I am! It’s just bizarre.” I strode toward the stairs, accompanied by my audience. Angel and Ruzik remained as stoic as ever, but Greyjan looked thoroughly fascinated. Apparently the prospect of people trying to whack me had improved her mood.
“Lavinda, you know this is all misdirection, right?” I said. “Whoever is killing our tech geniuses is trying to throw us off the case. They’re stirring up all this trouble.”
“Misdirection can still get you killed. You should come in, for your safety.”
I headed up the stairs. “I’m the hired troubleshooter. I’m here to take the heat and find the clues.” Such as they were, lousier than a poker game without cards.
“I can send you bodyguards,” she said.
“I have two.” I stopped on the stairs and considered Ruzik, who had paused a few steps above, looking back at me. Angel waited a few steps below, with Greyjan. “They’re both here.”
“Human guards aren’t enough,” Lavinda said.
She had a point. Initially, I hadn’t even meant them to act as bodyguards. They’d added protection to their duties at the starport, and nothing I’d said since swayed them from acting as my protectors. They did their job well. They were strong, fast, smart, and they could fight like nobody’s business. They weren’t technically savvy about the threats we faced, though, and had no tech-mech. They were also getting used to a new world.
“They’re the best you’ll find in the Undercity,” I said. “But we could use a guardian drone if you have one available.” The guardians were only the size of a soccer ball, but they could monitor the surroundings and shoot at potential threats.
Taps came over the comm, the staccato beat Lavinda used when entering codes. Pause, then more taps. “All right, they have a spare guardian at the PAC lab on the edge of the city nearest you. They’re sending it out. Can Max coordinate?”
“Yes, I should be able to do that,” Max said. “It’s close enough that I can make a link.”
“Good. Bhaaj, comm me when you have an update.”
“Will do. Out.”
“PAC?” Angel asked as we headed up the stairs again.
“Pharaoh’s Army Crypto lab,” I said. “Code breakers.”
At the top of the stairs, we entered the main room of the tavern. The patron I’d pegged as a sports fan was sitting at the bar, watching a holo of people tackling each other. Just what I needed to see after this fist-pounding day, a sports event where people beat each other up for fun and profit.
The patron who looked familiar had settled at a long wooden table, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out on the bench. He held a glass mug of ale, condensation fogging its sides, and drank while he watched the sports show.
I stopped, studying him. Max, you got any—
Yes! Max answered, the first time he’d ever interrupted me. It’s Kav Dalken, the biker who came up during my search for the cyber-cyclist. This close, I can get more on him. His legs are cybernetic. I’m getting the same signal from his cyb-tech as I did from the cyclist. She decided to be a he today.
I went over to Kav’s table with my audience tagging along. Greyjan looked worried now, rather than pleased. I doubted she wanted me interfering with her few patrons.
“My greetings,” I said to Kav. “I’d like to know why the hell you’re following me.”
Kav regarded me. His face showed no reaction, impossible to read, and I usually did well with facial cues. If this was the same person who followed me as a cyber-cyclist, he had implants in his face, more than one version apparently, since even up close today I couldn’t see them right now. Then again, maybe he was someone else, and I’d just made a blaring fool out of myself.
“Excuse me?” Kav said.
“You followed me in the forest to give me a message a few days ago,” I said. “You told me to come out here. You’re Kav Dalken, the cyber-cyclist.”
He stared at me, and this time I read his stunned expression just fine. “How did you know all that?” he asked. “You can’t have found it on the meshes.”
Hah! “So you are him. Or her? You were female on the cycle.”
He shrugged. “It depends on my mood.”
“You’re a cybernaut.”
“I suppose you could call me that.” He motioned at his legs on the bench. “I’m cybernetic from the waist down.”
“That’s impressive.” And expensive, enough to suggest he had great wealth, except Max claimed otherwise. “Why are you here? Were you looking for me?”
Greyjan stepped up to my side. “Maybe he came here to enjoy a drink.” Her tone suggested it was far more likely than his seeking my company. “Goodman Dalken, I am deeply sorry we have disturbed you. I assure you that we won’t bother you anymore.”
“Thanks. But it’s all right.” He regarded me. “Yes, I know, you want details about why I gave you that message. I don’t have them. I have no idea what it meant.”
Ho! It was him. “Who asked you to give me the message?”
He watched me warily. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because I’m trying to solve a murder case and you might help me stop the killing.”
I expected him to scowl or dismiss my comment. Instead, he sat thinking about my words. “All right. I’ll tell you what I know. After that, I prefer to be left alone.”
“Fair enough.” I sat on the other end of the bench, giving him space. Angel and Ruzik kept back, not intruding. Greyjan stayed put, making it clear she had no intention of leaving me to bother her customer.
“I was in a bike accident.” He spoke with difficulty. “A mountain path crumbled under me, and I fell down a cliff face. If some trees growing out of it hadn’t slowed my descent, I’d be dead.” He rubbed his eyes, his face drawn. “As it was, my skeleton shattered from the waist down.”
“I’m sorry.” I waited, not wanting to say something stupid, which I often seemed to do when I meant to be sensitive.
“I have an anonymous benefactor.” He tapped his legs. “They paid for advanced cybernetics to replace my lower body. I could only afford the standard prosthetics available to anyone. Instead, my benefactor offered to give me the system I’d told my therapist I wanted. I don’t know how they found out; my therapist swears she never told anyone.” He took an unsteady breath. “When the doctors told me the extent of my injuries, I was—” His voice cracked. “I almost wished I hadn’t survived. I dreamed about replacements for my lower body that would make my life better, real cybernetics, not the fancy stilts they planned to give me.” He reddened, the color of his cheeks visible despite whatever implants protected his face. “I even imagined becoming one with my cycle, turning my lower body into a mountain bike. Stupid dream, right? It made me feel better, though.”
“Dreams are invaluable.” My dreams of doing well at running had helped me through my worst days in the infantry. “We need them.”
His shoulders relaxed. “My benefactor covered both versions I imagined, the new legs and the cycle. They arranged top-of-the-line coding to integrate it with my body. They also provided two sets of cybernetic implants to replace damaged areas of my face.” His voice caught. “Why? What made them choose me for that great gift?”
“I couldn’t say.” I suspected the baby EI had picked him out. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t, not in the middle of the investigation, not when I might be revealing military secrets. Hell, I hadn’t even told the army everything I knew about the child EI. “In return, this benefactor asked you to give messages to people?”
He shrugged. “Pretty much. They wanted me to watch a few people. Then they sent me to give you the message.”
I asked the million-credit question, the one we all wanted answered. “How did they contact you? Did you see them? Talk to them?”
“I’ve never met with them.” He sounded bemused. “We haven’t spoken. They send me brief messages on my holo-mail account.”
“Text or verbal?” He was the first person I knew of who had actually shared words in any form with the EI, if it was indeed his benefactor. “Do you know where they come from?”
He lifted his hands as if to say I haven’t a clue. “Only text. I didn’t even receive the first ones. The doctors told me someone had offered to cover the high-end cybernetics for me. They got the order through anonymous channels, with no trace of who put it into the system. I didn’t believe them at first when they said it would cost me nothing.” He took a deep breath. “I said that if it was for real, if this wasn’t a cruel joke someone chose to inflict on me, and if it didn’t come with strings attached that I couldn’t live with, then yes, I would like the cybernetics.”
He made it sound simple, but I could imagine how it must have felt, the shock and disbelief. “That must have seemed incredible.”
“I didn’t dare hope. But later that day, a—a message came to my account.” His voice shook. “It was simple. It said, ‘I need help. I give you your legs, you send messages for me. Yes?”
That did sound like the baby EI. “Did the message have any return address?”
“Nothing anyone can find.” He stopped, composing himself, then continued. “I told the sender I wouldn’t do anything that violated my ethics or moral code. I expected never to hear from them again. Instead, I got a reply within seconds.” Even now, he looked stunned. “It said ‘Agreed.’ And that was it.”
I tried to absorb it. “They didn’t tell you why?”
“Nothing.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “It wasn’t until months later that they asked me to follow a dancer from the Parthonia Ballet. The next day, they asked me to follow you. After I did, they sent me with the message for you to come here.” He met my gaze, his own never wavering. “Earlier today, I received a second message. It said ‘Go to Greyjan’s.’ So I came here. And that’s all I can tell you. That is the sum total of my interactions with them.”
“Goddess,” Greyjan muttered. “For what they gave you, I’d have thought they wanted you to smuggle designer nanodrugs or black-market tech-mech.”
He spoke coldly. “I’ve done nothing illegal.”
“Then sometime in your life,” Greyjan said. “Somewhere, somehow, you must have done something incredible to build up that much good will with the cosmos.”
Although I wasn’t sure why the child EI would choose Kav Dalken, this fit with everything else we’d seen, at least in its early childhood. What I didn’t get was why, if it could send Dalken messages, it hadn’t sent them to me or Max, too. Whatever it’s reasons, it had done good, perhaps without even realizing it. You couldn’t cycle with the standard prosthetics the hospital would have given Kev without charge. The EI had offered this unassuming fellow a reason to pick up and start over when he thought he’d lost everything.
The EI must have researched what motivated humans, then picked someone it calculated had a high probability of doing what it wanted in return for something it could provide. How did it pay for the cybernetics, though? Sure, an experienced, well-connected EI could manage finances as well as a financial firm. Max did that for me. But this EI had no experience.
Then again, speed and memory were an EI’s forte, and financial studies were easy to find on the meshes. It could have assimilated the equivalent of a business degree in a few tendays. In my experience, EIs rarely bothered to accumulate wealth for themselves. It just didn’t seem to interest them. That didn’t mean it never happened; they would do what they calculated as necessary for their goals. If this EI intended to operate on its own, it needed financial resources.
“I’ve never done anything special,” Kav was saying. “I’m a dock worker at the port. I oversee the robot-lifts that load cargo. It’s hardly significant. Mountain cycling was my hobby. I loved it.” His voice lightened. “Now I can do it as a cycle. It’s fun.”
From the sudden warmth in his voice and life in his expression, I suspected “fun” barely touched how he felt. I asked, “Did your benefactor ask you for more specifics of what you’d like?”
“They didn’t need to.” He touched his knee. “They already knew what I wanted. Did they eavesdrop on my therapy sessions? The mesh wizards at the hospital claim it’s impossible.” Dryly he added, “They have to say that, though. They don’t want any lawsuits for privacy violations.”
“Maybe your benefactor hired someone to break into the system.” I only said it to give him a reason; more likely, the EI spied on him itself. Human-designed EIs were coded to prevent them from breaking and entering that way. Some could do it anyway, like Max, not that I’d ever admit that to anyone, but it took experience this young EI didn’t seem to have. If it formed on its own, however, that meant no one had ever added blocks to stop it from infiltrating systems.
“The hospital has been working on security upgrades since then,” Kav said.
“I can imagine.” I doubted the EI would go after their system again, though. It already had its arrangement with Kav. That still didn’t explain why it didn’t just message Max.
If it contacted me directly, I might trace that message back to the EI, Max thought.
Are you getting my thoughts? I hadn’t tried to reach him.
Some, though not clearly. My guess is that it chose a messenger because that makes it harder to trace.
Smart EI. But now we know, so it’s lost its anonymity.
I think it’s progressed beyond needing a messenger. Max sounded uneasy. I don’t know what it’s doing. As far as I can tell, it’s gone totally off-grid.
Greyjan spoke to Kav. “Do you know why it wanted you to come here?” She smiled wryly. “I’ve seen more activity here in the past few days than I did in the entire prior year.”
“I’ve no idea why,” Kav said.
I rubbed my chin, thinking. “How did your benefactor arrange for your procedures?” Money always left a trail. Maybe we could follow it back to the EI.
“The payment to the hospital came through an unidentified account. They said it is unusual, but not unheard of. I just wish I could thank the donor.” He seemed about to say more, then stopped.
I spoke quietly. “You’re hoping I can find them for you.”
“You’re the PI from that holo-vid, right? They say you’re one of the best.” He nodded toward Ruzik. “Him, too. I saw you rescue those people and their baby. Surely if someone can find out more, it’s you.” He spoke awkwardly. “I can’t afford to hire you—”
“Don’t worry about that. My fees are taken care of.” I told him the truth. “I wish I could tell you more. With the investigation still ongoing, however, I can’t.”
Kav didn’t look surprised. “Perhaps someday?”
I nodded, Undercity style, the acceptance of a bargain. He had told me his story; in return I’d do my best to give him an answer. “I can’t make promises; it depends on how the police and military treat the information I find. But if someday I or they can tell you more about your benefactor, I’ll get it done no matter where you are, as long as we can find you.”
“That’s fair.” He hesitated. “Since they sent me here, and you’re here, I’m assuming I’m supposed to do something for you. I have no idea what.”
I had no idea, either, but we’d already stayed too long. “We have to go.”
He stood up. “Do you have transportation?”
I thunked my palm against my legs. “We run.” Undercity style.
“I have my cycle in my hovercar out back,” he said. “I can give you a ride. It’ll go faster.”
I almost said no. I could run with enhanced speed, particularly since I’d rested on the ride in the Quetzal. He had a point, though. I’d have to slow down for Angel and Ruzik.
I motioned to Ruzik. “Can you take him?”
“Sure.” He nodded to Ruzik. “You can ride my cycle in the back.”
Ruzik glanced at me. When I nodded, he spoke to Kav. “Thanks.”
I turned to Angel. “Run to trash place. Find dust.” I unfastened my left gauntlet and handed it to her. “Max help.” If we called a flyer to take her out there, it would locate her in the city system, making her actions less covert. Besides, she ran well, faster than most. In the time it would take for the flyer to come out here, pick her up, go to the recycling center, and get clearance to land, she could probably run there herself.
Angel took the gauntlet and fastened it onto her arm. “I find.”
I tapped the gauntlet I still wore, then indicated its twin on her arm. “Max not at his best. When we get far away, your Max not reach my Max.”
“But this Max still talk to me, yah?” Angel asked. “Help find stuff.”
“Yes,” Max said. “I can help. Later I can combine the two separate records.”
I pointed at the army pack Angel wore. “Keep shroud. Hide.”
She nodded, enough said.
“So.” Greyjan looked around at us, beaming for the first time. “You all leaving?” She sounded the happiest she’d been since we showed up.
“Yah.” I said. “Time to run.”