Ghost Dancers Part 3

"That might be too dangerous," he said. "GenTech's involved, and they have a lot of weasels."

She sniffed derisively. "You think I'm stupid or something?" she asked sharply.

"I know you're the best," said the Kid. "But that's not the point. I have to minimize the risk, or we could both be in trouble. Dead trouble."

The coffee was hot by nowa"it was ersatz, of course, but it was hot and sharp. Harriet didn't like to use anything stronger for upward boosts if she could help it; she got her heavy kicks electronically, delivered straight into the brain.

"I don't want you to link up to the net," the Kid continued. "Just play some games with a PC for mea"and give me some names."

"What games?" she asked warily.

He drank thirstily from his cup, and didn't hesitate when she pa.s.sed him some broken hi-pro biscuits that looked unappetizing even to her. She figured that she must have had them squirrelled away for years, but didn't bother to wonder how they'd come to light now. It was just one of those happy accidents.

"I just need you to copy a disc for me," the Kid told her. "You can keep a copy if you want. But you better watch out when you try to read it or sell it on. It's hot, and it might just be red hot. If you bank it in your thigh they won't hesitate to cut your leg off at the waist to make sure you can't access it."

He took the disc out of his pocket and showed it to her. He didn't bother to warn her to be careful, but she knew that he was only being polite. She knew well enough that if the disc carried anything interesting it would probably be bristling with safeguards. One wrong move would probably trash the whole thing.

Harriet was always extra-careful to avoid wrong moves.

"Any idea what's on it?" she asked.

"Not the slightest," he said. "But it's GenTech, and some guy got himself killed trying to do a runner with it. According to his ID he wasn't weaselling for a rival corp, but you know ID. Can't trust anyone to tell you his real name."

"Real names is real power," she quoted, softly. "Okay Kid, let's take baby to the hospital."

She stuck the three middle plugs on her left hand into the sockets of a personally-tailored PC. She didn't need a keyboard with that kind of intimate engagement, and the screen came immediately to life. She slid the disc into the machine, and began to feel around for the locks and traps gathered about its loading codes. She didn't need to go into deep trance, but after half a minute's silence she emitted a low whistle.

She could feel the locks and traps protecting the data on the disc, and she could smell the data. It was densely-packed, highly organized and very sweet. The configurations of the data's armour were beautiful, and very challenging. It had been stacked by a real craftsman, and the rip-off artist who'd managed to get it out in one huge piece had been a very clever boy.

"Not child's play," she said to her visitor. "Not child's play at all. Very interesting."

"Don't try to read it," said the Kid. "I just want to knowa"can you copy it?"

"Sure," she said. "It's already been copied. Anything the thief could do, I can do too. Are you sure you want that? If you have the only saleable copy, you'll get a better pricea"unless you're planning to deal exclusively with GenTech on a blackmailing basis."

"It's not as simple as that," said the Kid. "If the guy who ripped it off had honest ID, he was a government planta"probably put in way back in President Heston's time."

"s.h.i.t," said Harriet, with a brief laugh, "if I was a Heston mole I sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't poke my nose out nowa"not until Awfullie's out of the White House, and probably not ever. But what difference does that make to the price of beans?"

"Maybe none," admitted the Kid. "But there's a possibility this isn't just another corpwar steal. It's just possible that I could do GenTech some real damage, for once. Everything I've done to them so far has just been a series of fleabites, because their pockets are virtually bottomless. But if this guy was what he seemed, he wouldn't have tried a suicide run without somewhere to go. Somewhere out there, whatever remains of the FBI or the CIA or Army Intelligence might still have ambitions to be a power in the land. Maybea"just maybea"they can hurt GenTech far worse than any blackmail or industrial espionage ever could."

Harriet shrugged. She understood the nature of the Kid's vendetta against GenTech better than most, because she had known Snake Eyes and had seen what had happened to her in consequence of BioDiv's failed experiment in biological engineering, but she still thought he was crazy. "Wishful thinking, Kid," she opined. "If the CIA still had teeth they'd be just one more outfit fighting their cornera"except that since we all stopped paying our taxes they couldn't possibly pay you as much as Mitsu-Makema might. So why d'you want the disc copied?"

"Because it might be more important than one more goodie to hawk to the highest bidder," said the Kid insistently. "It might be important enough to land GenTech in really deep s.h.i.t. The corps think they own the world now, but if they ever became vulnerable, the former owners might just be able to get it back again. If there's a chance that GenTech might take a big fall, that means more to me than a big score I'd probably never live to spend. Copy the disc, for me, Harriet, and you can keep a copy to crack at your leisurea"and you can sell anything you winkle out to anyone you like, for as much as you can get. Then tell me, if you can, what I ought to do next if I'm to get this stuff to people who can use it."

Harriet licked her withered lips, and muttered: "Fantasyland." But she was already going into light trance as her nervous system melded with the wiring of the PC. She knew she had to do as she'd been asked, if only for the challenge. An extra-tough disc was meat and drink to her. One of the addictions she counted to her credit was a compulsion to wrestle with the traps and snares which the other players used in order to keep people like her away from their precious data.

"How many copies do you want?" she asked dreamily.

"Four," said the Kid promptly. "One to stash, one for you, and two to deliver to other interested parties."

That wrenched her back from her communion with the data. "What other interested parties?" she asked, sharply.

"It's okay, Harriet," he said soothingly. "I'm not thinking of pa.s.sing it on to another hacker. Maybe you can tell me who can do the most damage with ita"if not, I have one idea of my own."

Harriet shook her head, impatient with the Kid's crazinessa"but her fingers were still engaged and she was floating off again. She let loose the sort of giggle which always came with a light electronic high. "I'm copying," she told him. "First rule of espionage: always duplicate before you try to read. Dupe, dupe and dupe again. You want extras, you got 'em. But you be careful what you do with 'em, Kid. If this stuff can do GenTech some real damage, the copies might easily turn into so many death-warrants. I ain't got much to lose, but there's a lot of people far fonder of their frail freakin' flesh than I am."

"I know," said the Kid grimly. "I may not act the part, but I'm one of them."

Then the hooks pulled her into the machinery, and she was in Heaven for real. It was a very tiny heaven, to be sure, but even inside a PC there could be ecstasy. She contemplated the awful magnificence of the Gordian knot which extended itself before, around and within her; then, firmly resisting the temptation to start unravelling, she began to to coax it into self-division and reproduction.

It was almost like bestowing the gift of life; almost like playing G.o.d. Almost.

5.

Carl guided the sneaker around the canyon bends without slowing down too much. The vehicle was a very smooth rider, considering the amount of armour it was carrying. Not that it was a real battle-wagon; it was built for speed and designed for discretion. From the outside, it looked like a standard slug; inside, it was an electronic wonderland, state-of-the-art in all its systems.

Pasco was still giving him the silent treatment, but he didn't minda"it meant that he didn't have to look at the guy. It also meant that he could really luxuriate in the experience of driving the limo.

He luxuriated a little too much, as it turned out. He was thoroughly relaxed as he steered round the next benda"and that reduced his capacity to react when he saw the flamer blocking both right-hand lanes.

Ray Pasco gasped with alarm, but when Carl had got a grip on himself he just set his jaw tightly. This was one situation he knew, and one he could deal with.

Fifty per cent of drivers would have braked, and most of the rest would have swerved to the left to go past the wreck on the wrong side of the road, but Carl's reflexes were wired up differently because of the years he and Bro had spent riding shotgun on the wrappers. To him, a burning wreck on his own side of the road meant only one thing: a trap. He instantly a.s.sumed that the other side of the road was mined, and that the wind-scoured rocks rising steeply to either side of the road were likely to be thick with gunmen.

He went for the gap between the flamer and the canyon wall, knowing full well that it was too narrow.

He took some satisfaction from hearing Pasco gasp in alarm for a second time and begin an angry curse which he had no time to finish. Then the sneaker hit the gap, and hit the flamer too. The GenTech vehicle was armoured to take the impact, and the thick black smoke which smothered the windscreen for a second or two couldn't hurt anyone, but it still took nerve to go through.

Carl saw that he wouldn't have to draw a diagram for Pasco to explain what he'd done, because the flamer had been lying on its side and the impact not only spun it but made it tumble. The spin took it over the white line and on to the other side of the highway, and when it toppled overa"seeming to fall in slow-motion as he watched it through the mirror, with his foot hard down on the acceleratora"it fell on top of one of the mines.

The charges went off in series; one, two, three.

On three it looked as if the entire canyon was going to blow, but that was only an optical illusion. Those rock-faces had been there for millions of years, and it would take more than a few road-mines to make them crack a smile. It was just billowing dust and sand which were filling the air so turbulently: man-made dust and sand.

"Sweet freakin Jesus!" whispered Pasco. "How'd youa.?"

He didn't get a chance to complete the sentencea"as Carl had known he wouldn't. Most of the would-be wreckers were up on the heights diving for cover but there were a couple of point-men up ahead on bikes. The bikes had been positioned sideways on, and when the riders saw that the sneaker had come through the trap unscathed they hesitated, wondering whether this was one of those occasions when discretion was the better part of valour.

The hesitation was stupid, because there was no way they could run from an avenging angel which already had one-twenty kph on the clock while they were on a standing start. Carl knew that they should have left the bikes and dived for the gutter, but he also knew that if bikers had brains they probably wouldn't be bikers in the first place. These two stayed in the saddle and reached for their gunsa"but their guns were light machine guns firing four-point-twos and they might as well have been pea-shooters.

Carl decided that he ought to set a good example and abide by the rule of the road, so he swung back to the right and hit the guy on that side instead of the easier target. The sneaker's armoured hood hurled the bike out of the way while the biker followed an uncomfortable trajectory over the auto's hood and roof before tumbling off the back end in obvious distress.

Carl didn't even bother to shoot back at the second biker. He wasn't a vindictive man by nature. On the simulator display which was in the centre of the dashboard the whole situation looked innocuous: the flamer was a neat red rectangle emitting little blue lines, while the two bikes were blue arrows, one of them symbolically broken.

There had been a time when Carl hadn't approved of simulators, except for night-vision when human eyes were no good, but he had to admit that their representations had a certain delicate propriety.

There wasn't any noticeable pursuit. The guys up top had been forced to leave their bikes some distance away, and Carl knew that by the time they'd got down to them they wouldn't stand a cat in h.e.l.l's chance of catching a souped-up vehicle like the one he was driving. If the mines had been able to blow a hole in the cha.s.sis, or cause Carl to crash into the canyon wall, it would have been a different storya"but when that ploy had failed so had the whole operation.

"How'd you know?" said Pasco, finally managing to finish his question.

"Maniax," said Carl laconically. "No imagination at all. They tried exactly the same trick in exactly the same spot three years back. It worked thena"the road was blocked and we had six wrappers stuck in a shoot-out for four hours. Lost eight men and three loads, and had to scramble the birdboys to get us out of trouble. Thing like that sticks in a man's mind."

"s.h.i.t," said Pasco, in a tone which suggested that Carl had just gone up a notch in his estimation. "Maniax, you say?"

"The guy I hit was wearing their colours," said Carl.. "But the question isn't who they werea"the question is, who hired them?"

Pasco frowned. He had a very ugly frown, thanks to his wrecked face. He didn't bother to wonder aloud whether they might just have had bad luck, running into a random trapa"he was as healthily paranoid as the next man, and he picked up Carl's train of thought immediately.

"The Maniax don't usually do mercenary work," he mused. "You think they were laying for us?"

"Maybe not," Carl conceded. "But they were laying for someone, and we're the ones who nearly got caught."

"No one's supposed to know we're on the case, let alone which way we're headed," Pasco pointed out. "So much for freakin' secrecy."

"If those guys were paid to stop any GenTech vehicle headed for the Underground," Carl pointed out, "somebody else must have reasoned things out the same way we did. Unless we have weasels deep inside our own operation, the only people who could have done that are the people who were waiting to collect from Blay. They might have got to the wreck before your guys dida"they may even have seen the Kid ride off."

"In that case," said Pasco tautly, "I have to call up some real support. Your secret ain't a secret any more."

Carl knew that he was on the spot, so he thought fast. Maybe Pasco was righta"but there was another way to look at it.

"Maybe there's still a clever way to play it," he said speculatively. "So far, it may be still between us and Blay's peoplea"and if they're paying off sc.u.m like the Maniax to lay traps for us, it's obvious that their own resources are limited. They must figure that they can't get to the Underground ahead of usa"not in strength, anyhow. The odds are that there are only a handful of them. If we can lure them out into the open, we can find out what this is all abouta"but if we start a big panic, they'll just fade away into the confusion when everybody and his cousin starts taking an interest in what Kid Zero has."

He was surprised to hear Pasco laugh shortly. "The vehicle ain't bugged," he said. "You can cut the c.r.a.p. If you want to carry on doing it the Doc's way, that's your business. I have to ask myself what's best for me. I'm the guy whose a.s.s is on the line here."

"Zarathustra can do us both a lot of damage," Carl pointed out uncomfortably. "I have to do things his waya"and I have to do my level best to persuade you to do things his way, too. We both have our a.s.ses on the linea"but ask yourself, are you really so keen to start overruling your orders this early in the operation?"

He glanced sideways when he'd made the point, expecting to see Pasco scowl againa"but Pasco was only looking at him, with as much respect as resentment.

"For a shotgun guard," observed Pasco sourly, "you're a pretty smart guy, aren't you?"

"We're in the same boat, Ray," said Carl quietly, "riding the same frail hope. If it fouls up, you can at least go back to the Doc and say I told you so. In the meantime, let's give ourselves a chance to hit the jackpot, okay?"

Pasco still didn't scowl. He didn't say "okay" either, but he didn't scowl. Carl was prepared to take that as a good sign.

"Anyway," said Carl, trying to sound laconic, "I guess you could say that we won the first round. They tried to stop us, and they failed. Next stop, the Underground. I guess they know you therea"though we couldn't really pretend to be anything we aren't, could we?"

He hoped that the reference to Pasco's limited capacity for disguise was subtle enough not to cause offence. It seemed that it was.

"Yeah," said Pasco off-handedly. "They know my face. But that has advantages as well as disadvantages."

"What happened to your face, anyhow?" asked Carl, deciding that it was time to take the chance. He breathed a little more easily when Pasco didn't react in a hostile manner.

"It was way back when I started as an Op," said the big man drily. "I went to pick up some guy. It was a s.h.i.t job anyhowa"freaker was only worth two grand, and he surrendered like a lamb. I was playing it strictly by the book, taking him in alive, when up pops some crazy dame with some kind of miniature fire-extinguisher which turns out to be loaded with freakin' nitric acid."

"You never thought of getting it fixed?"

"No. Every time I look in a mirror, it reminds me to be careful. I've been careful, ever since. People who bury their mistakes make 'em over and over again. And it seems to make it easier to scare the s.h.i.t out of the punks. It makes it just that little bit easier to get information out of people who'd normally be reluctanta"makes it clear that I'm a guy who doesn't like to be delayed. Psychological thinga"maybe you'll get to see it real soon."

Carl nodded. "Did you ice the dame?" he asked, casually.

"Naw," said Pasco. "Took her in alive. b.u.mped into her once, after she got outa"it was on a Missouri ferry in the Kansas City PZ. Said h.e.l.lo, real polite, but she couldn't wait to get off the boata"I thought she was going to jump over the side in mid-stream."

Carl chuckled. "That's shipboard romances for you," he said. "They never last."

Pasco even condescended to laugh at that one. Maybe, Carl thought, he wasn't such a bad guy after all.

Maybe.

They hit the Underground before nightfall and sealed the sneaker. Its sensors were smart enough to take care of anyone who even tried to approach it without first-cla.s.s ID, so Carl had no worries about leaving it. Pasco judged that it was best to have a drink and take a look around before they started making connections with the GenTech weasels, so they went into the main bar and suggested to a couple of slummers that the table they were occupying ought to have had a RESERVED sign on it.

Pasco seemed to be well-known in the Underground, and when he said h.e.l.lo to people they said h.e.l.lo back, in a nervous sort of fashion which Carl had never observed before. Carl began to see some of the advantages of looking the way Pasco did. He would have been recognized whatever he looked like, but this way the recognition always carried with it just that hint of intimidation.

As they sipped their liquor Pasco pointed out some of the people with whom Kid Zero had previously been a.s.sociated.

"The Atlas Boys are hanging out by the pool tables," he said. "And over by the entrance to the arcade there's one of the Low Numbers with his old ladya"Mike Quin and Two-tone Tess. No sign of Ace the Acea"but he's a has-been anyhow, too old for the gang game. I'll lay odds that the sams in the comer are Yakuza, but whether they're M-M affiliates I don't know."

Carl looked around. The Atlas Boys were impossible to miss, owing to the fact that the least of them had twice as much muscle as anyone else in the room, but the two j.a.panese guys looked deceptively harmless. "Is it always this crowded?" he asked.

"Sure," said Pasco. "Nearest thing to a PZ there is this far out in No-Man's-Land. The Spiders run a tidy joint and everybody likes it that way. But it's what you might call a precarious balance of power. Once tipped, the whole place could go up in a shooting war. It's usually safe to ice the minor actors, if you do it in a reasonable manner, but if the Kid does show, we'll have to be careful."

One of the Spiders had drifted over to their table. He had the falsely casual air of one paying a duty call.

"Mr Pasco," he said politely. "Good to see you back again. You quit the org to go freelance again?"

"Naw," said Pasco lazily. "I'm too old for all thata"I like the quiet life now. Just brought in a pal to show him some of the sights. This is Carl Preston. Carl, meet Romeo Carmona." Pasco p.r.o.nounced the name Ro-Mi-o instead of Ro-MAY-o, but the Spider didn't correct him.

As Carl shook hands with the Spider Pasco added: "With a name like that he should be in the mafia, but his ancestors came from the wrong part of Italy, ain't that so, Romeo?"

"That's so," confirmed the Spider politely. "But we're too far west, anyhow. The families are strictly east coast these days. Any friend of Mr Pasco's is welcome here, Mr Preston. You staying long?"

"Not long," said Carl amiably. "We just dropped in to take a look, on our way to somewheres else."

"Just got time to look up a couple of old friends," added Pasco, leaning across to offer his own hand to be shaken, pa.s.sing on a big bill as he did so. "Purely privatea"n.o.body's business but our own."

The Spider nodded, and strolled away. Pasco finished his drink unhurriedly, and watched Carmona pa.s.s the message on; then he stood up, and said: "Let's go."

They walked through the arcade where the electronic gaming machines were. Carl saw that Pasco looked at the horrorshow booths as they went past, but he didn't pause at all. In the darker corridors beyond the arcades the big man quickened his pace, and checked back a couple of times to see whether they were being followed. There was no sign of anything amiss.

"Pity," muttered Pasco. "Would be nice if someone'd tip his hand, but I guess if there's anyone here who knows what we're about he'd keep his head down."

Eventually, they came to a heavily-armoured door in a shadowed alcove. Pasco showed some ID to a camera-eye, but some time pa.s.sed before they were admitted into the apartments beyond. There were four rooms in all but three of thema"the bedroom, bathroom and kitchena"were hardly more than closets. The main room was lined with a profusion of consoles and screens which would not have seemed out of place at the heart of a GenTech research station.