PRECOGNITION: Part 56
Everybody tried to keep up the illusion of a pleasant chat. They studiously ignored the camouflaged soldiers in the background, so casually unobtrusive that you couldn’t help but notice them in the corners.
Gina knew where they were, now that she was paying attention. Her mind’s eye picked them out even when the eyeballs in her head couldn’t tell them from the furniture. She could probably disable most of them if she tried.
‘Most’ and ‘probably’ didn’t make for great odds.
Then she thought about the little spark growing in her belly, and wondered when she’d started to look at every situation as a fight waiting to happen.
The King of Laputa took his time explaining the financial cost of a high-altitude VTOL, the difficulty in finding an insurance company for military hardware and the size of their premiums. Writing one off was an expensive affair. Hawthorn offered to raise the money, somehow, from somewhere. The King shook his head.
“I would like you to perform a service for me,” he said. “My sources tell me that you’re uniquely qualified for this job. Upon completion, all debts are forgiven, and I’ll transport you to a destination of your choosing, anywhere in the world. I don’t care where you go. As long as you get the Hell out of my territory.”
“Your ‘sources?'” Gina crossed her arms where she stood, leaning against the fake fireplace. She had declined his generous offer to sit. She was still fuming over the armed goons in her room, and tried to get her own back by way of sheer bloody-mindedness. It didn’t piss him off as much as she wanted it to. “The only people who think they know about me are pretty unreliable.”
“Oh, I believe you know the people to whom I’m referring, Miss Hart.”
“I do. I stand by what I said.”
“Harsh, but probably fair,” the King murmured. “I’ll be honest. I don’t pretend to understand what makes you special among telepaths, but from what happened earlier today, I am convinced that you are unique in your field. That’s the kind of person I need. Someone who can spot threats before they go from thought to action.” His eyes searched her for a reaction, gave her time to ask questions, but she stayed silent. Shrugging, he went on, “I want you to attend a political meeting on my behalf. A classic reader job, with your own unique twist. Keep an eye on everyone, let me know what you find, and if anything happens that isn’t above the board . . . intervene.”
Major Hawthorn piped out, “You’re expecting trouble?”
“I learned a long time ago that it pays to be prepared.”
“That’s not an answer,” Gina pointed out, “and I don’t have time to waste playing wet nurse. There’s a Street full of people who would be more than happy to take the job. We’re already booked on the next flight out.”
“I’m the King of Laputa, sweetheart. You’re not booked on anything unless I say so.” His words rang sharp, rash, and he quickly regretted them. He clasped his hands together in apology. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be discourteous. If there’s anything you want that I can provide as payment, tell me, but unfortunately I can’t take no for an answer.”
This time, Gina swallowed her temper. He did exude a certain charm that was hard to resist. She turned away from the fireplace, let her arms relax, and took several deliberate steps towards him. She saw his gaze drop to admire the sway of her hips. “I’m no hacker,” she said, towering over him. If he stood up, she’d still overtop him by a couple of inches. “I don’t know the first thing about Laputan politics.”
“You don’t have to. You’ll–“
“I’m also not a mercenary,” she interrupted. “I don’t hire myself out as a weapon. If I accept your . . . offer,” she stressed the word almost to breaking point, “it will be under the stipulation that I refuse to engage in violence. Physical or otherwise. If it’s gunplay you want, talk to the Major.”
The King glanced at the ceiling and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “Major Hawthorn has already agreed to contract as a security consultant on this operation. As for your terms . . . Very well. I accept.”
That caught Gina off guard. Putting her hands out, she hurried, “Hold on, I didn’t actually make–“
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” said the King. He rose with a rustle of leather and velvet. “I look forward to seeing you both aboard my ship. A helicopter will be sent here at three o’clock sharp. I’m sure you won’t keep me waiting.”
She was powerless to protest as he bowed and took his leave. She stood and watched open-mouthed. When the door finally closed on the last of his bodyguards, she swore. A soft, matter-of-fact kind of oath, more disbelief than anger.
Being a telepath didn’t seem to stop her from getting conned.
“Let’s just get through this,” said Gina. “The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can catch up with Bomber and Gabriel.”
She disembarked from the helicopter with aristocratic grace, steadying herself against the stiff high-altitude winds. Hawthorn followed after. He looked like a bad secret agent in his combination of suit, sunglasses and earpiece radio. Still, he seemed happy. They both took a minute to look back and appreciate the view from Cloud City’s landing pad. It was a clear day, the sun orange and gold. If she squinted Gina could see the shores of China in the distance. The beaches were much prettier from far away.
Bit by bit, her eye was drawn away from that natural beauty by the scene’s mechanical grandeur. The ship’s proportions really did boggle the mind. All of her senses worked over-time to process the experience of being there. The air was crisp, thin, and smelled of ozone. The brilliant white balloon glittered so brightly it made her eyes water. Breezes assaulted her from several directions at once.
It was like standing on an aircraft carrier suspended thousands of metres up in the sky.
A man from the King’s staff waited to greet them. He escorted them through the airlock, onto the network of bridges and catwalks that were the only way of getting around Cloud City. The inverted domes which made up the ship’s ‘gondola’ took Gina’s breath away. They measured hundreds of metres to a side, floored in glass to give a constant view of Laputa bustling below your feet. It was a long way down. Long enough to make Gina sweat, and she wasn’t even afraid of heights.
“I heard about this once,” Hawthorn piped up. “Impressive bit of engineering. I hope nobody ever tries to shoot it down, or we could call it the Hindenburg Two.”
“The what?”
“Never mind.”
The medieval tower in the middle of the city only added to its surreality. Gina stopped to marvel at it. She didn’t know much about architecture, but anyone could see and appreciate the obsessive attention to detail. If not for its strange shape, growing larger the higher it went, it could’ve fooled a trained historian.
The heavy stone gatehouse gave way to a courtyard with stables, holographic soldiers and fake blue sky. It didn’t take much imagination to convince herself she’d travelled back in time. The biggest shock, though, were the faces waiting for her. Rat and Jock stood at the far end, in front of a big central doorway, holding hands.
It took a moment to get her numb legs moving again. Her feet seemed rooted to the ground. Then, hesitantly, she approached. Awkwardness filled the air between them.
“Hi,” she said. It was the only thing she could think of.
Jock cleared his throat, struggling to look her in the eye. “Gina, we . . . We owe you an apology. Simon, too.”
A sudden wave of resentment bubbled up inside her. She pressed her lips together in a tight line. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. I don’t expect to mend any fences. I just want you to know I’m sorry.”
“Tell it to someone who can’t read your mind.”
Gina glanced down at Rat. Fresh anger threatened to lash out, but she held back, let it melt away. She could forgive the girl for a lot, unlike Jock. He was old enough to know better.
“You, miss, need a swift kick in the ass,” she said. “But I remember doing a lot of stupid stuff at your age. Just keep in mind, when you make a decision, you’ve got to live with it. It could have consequences for the rest of your life. Understand?”
Rat nodded slowly, fists clenched tight. Moisture glimmered at the corners of her eyes. Gina sighed and threw both arms around her. Thin, olive-tinted hands curled into Gina’s jacket and clutched at her.
“I missed you,” the girl whispered.
“I know.”
Eventually Gina disentangled herself and fixed her death-stare on Jock again. “If we can dispense with the limp-wristed apologies, I’m guessing you were sent to manage me. Where will you be wanting my extorted services?”
He winced as if she’d slapped him. His thoughts and emotions were all awhirl, wanting to explain or redirect her ire somehow, but he couldn’t think of anything that would work. Instead he decided to get angry at her for refusing to accept his magnanimous gesture. He didn’t dare to voice it out loud, though. He avoided her eyes at all costs as if it would shield his mind from her.
“The meeting will happen here in the courtyard. Us here, them there, meet in the middle.” He indicated everyone’s positions with vague waves of his hand. His attention wasn’t really on the job. He blurted out, “Look, Gina, we need your help to make sure everything goes peacefully. You have no idea how important this is, and how much bad blood there’s been. Hideo is trying to make amends. It’s in your best interests that it goes well, because you’ll have me and Alex and all of Laputa ready to help you against Gabriel.”
“Your help tends to vanish when things start getting real,” she pointed out.
“Not this time, okay? I swear.”
She didn’t answer. Turning her back, she swept the courtyard with her eyes and her talent. Judging it with the instincts she’d learned from Bomber. Behind the holograms it was a simple enclosed space. Only a few doors opened onto it, and it didn’t offer much in the way of places to hide. It’d be hard for either party to plan anything underhanded here. She nodded, satisfied.
“It’ll do.” She glanced over her shoulder at the two lovebirds. “When is this woman arriving?”
“Ten, twenty minutes. If she comes at all.”
“She’ll come,” said Rat.
Gina watched Hawthorn do his own survey of the area. A Royal Guard officer stayed at his shoulder, and the two carried on an animated discussion about the best placement of each Laputan soldier at the meeting. There would only be a handful, wearing dress uniform rather than battle armour. A nice change in her opinion. She was getting really tired of faceless, fleshy robots in a hard outer shell.
All the voices in the courtyard hushed at once. The military types automatically snapped to attention. The King of Laputa emerged from the elevator, exchanging nods with everyone. He stopped next to Gina and shook Jock’s hand.
“A civilian helicopter just requested landing clearance,” he said. “She should be here in moments.”
Jock smiled awkwardly. “Nervous, Hideo?”
“Will I ever hear the end of it if I say yes?”
They shared a laugh. Then the King stepped away, double-checking the security measures one last time, whispering into his shirt collar. After a full circuit of the courtyard he waved at everyone to take their places. He stood at the head of the formation, Jock and Rat to his right, Gina and Hawthorn to his left. The suspense mounted. Even Gina held her breath.
A woman strode through the gates, alone, looking as if she owned the place. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green. Her skin shone like polished bronze in the fake sunlight. She wore tight jeans and a tank top that clung to the taut, athletic lines of her body. Shouting out her femininity to the world. On the front of her t-shirt was an electronic display of the hacker rankings — a fad in the Nations, common on the streets, putting your own handle and number in the middle of your chest as a way to brag without ever opening your mouth.
From the reactions around her, Gina gathered this was another local taboo, now thoroughly stepped on.
“Okay, you got me here,” the woman said. “Either arrest me or convince me you have something to say.”
Gina smiled. She liked this ‘Harmony’ chick already.
Harmony Kohler claimed her place in the courtyard like a soldier planting her flag in the middle of a battlefield. Here was someone determined to make a stand. She went to each of the assembled faces in turn, daring them to tell her she didn’t belong.
To Gina’s surprise, Jock was the first to approach. He held out his hand with more dignity than she would have believed possible. “Miss Kohler. I know we haven’t really met, but–“
“Jock Reynolds. I know exactly who you are. At least, I thought I did.” Harmony took the offered palm, finding a smile from somewhere. “Every now and again, people can still surprise me.”
He gave an awkward shrug and said, “I had someone to open my eyes for me.”
He returned to Rat’s side and quietly linked fingers with her. The girl blushed when Harmony saw the gesture. Guilt and embarrassment were written all over her face, but at a nod from Harmony, much of it smoothed away. Understanding was more than she thought she’d get.
“Talk about surprises,” Harmony said. “You’re sneakier than I gave you credit for, Alex. Well played. Want a job when this is all over?”
Rat gave a big, stupid grin. “I– I’ll think about it.”
Finally she came to Hideo. The temperature immediately dropped to freezing. Their eyes locked in a battle of wills, like the proverbial unstoppable force and immovable object. Mountains would crumble before either of them gave an inch. Like stubborn children, they refused to be the first to speak.
Gina didn’t need to reach into Harmony’s mind to sense the bitter enmity radiating from her. The woman hated, resented, and more. Old memories of tenderness only added to her chagrin. Hideo, on the other hand, viewed her as an uncomfortable reminder of the past. An inconvenience, and — somewhere deep down — a regret. He didn’t want to be here.
To Gina’s surprise, their friends waded in to break the tension. Jock elbowed Hideo in the ribs, and Rat squeezed Harmony’s shoulder. It reminded them of why they were here.
“I thought you had a joke to tell me,” said Harmony. “Finish it and we can get out of here.”
“It’s not a joke. I’m offering an alliance.” The words came hard to Hideo, but he forced them out one by one. Harmony’s eyes grew wider and wider as he went on. “The Nations are a mess. We need your help to make things right again. I’m willing . . .” he shot a sideways glance at Jock, “I’m willing to make concessions.”
Harmony cocked her head. “Like what?”
“This.”
At a wave of his hand, a door opened by the side of the courtyard. A pair of orange prison jumpsuits stumbled out of it, two confused and disoriented women, blinking against the light. Rat recognised them as Karen and Lucy Hong. Harmony barely kept from launching herself at them, throttling down the happiness and excitement to maintain her posture. She practically vibrated in place. The women came to stand behind her, still blurry, looking for the safest place to be.
Hideo continued, sounding stiff and rehearsed, “If you accept, I’ll release all prisoners and turn over the Kingship of Laputa to you. No masks, no false identities. Full equality under the law, Nations-wide. I don’t care who bitches and moans.”
“What’s the catch?” asked Harmony, suspicious on every possible level. Everything she wanted was being offered to her on a silver platter. By her arch-enemy. The world didn’t work that way.
“In exchange,” he said, “I want you to recognise me as leader of the collected Hacker Nations, as stipulated in the Integration Act by Parliament. I want you to place your hackers under my authority–” He stopped himself and clenched his jaw. “I mean, under Jock’s authority, for at least one large-scale job. Maybe more, in the interests of National security.”
The courtyard went quiet. Gina could see Harmony’s mind working overtime. The idea of placing herself under Hideo, offensive as it was, fell to the wayside as her attention gravitated to the other part of his speech. Her eyes shifted from Hideo to Jock and back again.
“How large-scale?”
Preening, Jock took a step forward and popped his collar. Douchebag. He never noticed Gina’s eyes roll, prattling on, “The biggest hack ever attempted. We want you to be a part of it.”
To a hacker, the challenge was all but irresistible. It appealed to something primal, the kind of urge that made bulls charge headlong at a dangling cape, and pushed athletes beyond the limits of what anyone thought was possible. It was a force of nature.
“I’ll listen,” Harmony said at length, “but I’m not making any promises. Got it?”
With a wave of his arm, Hideo cleared a path to the big elevator. It didn’t look as inviting as he thought. He picked a skeleton crew to join him; Gina, Hawthorn, Jock, Rat, and Harmony. Together they rode up to the throne room.
It was a silent trip. Everyone worked hard to look cool and relaxed. Maybe they managed to convince each other, but not the telepath in the corner, seeing through them like glass. ‘High alert’ didn’t go far enough. Gina had been in gun battles less tense than this.
The elevator slid to a halt. Doors opened, and the group filed out into the throne room.
It was done up to its full magnitude for the occasion. Elegant ruins baked in the fake sun, fake European fields stretching away to a fake horizon. Plants swayed in the wind, a breeze made real by hidden fans behind the hologram. Simulators piped flowers and fresh green smells into the air. It was as close to perfect as technology could get. If Gina didn’t keep reminding herself, she’d start believing in it.
It made her want to kick off her shoes and run away into the grass.
“Nice to see all those tax creds went to a good place,” said Harmony. She went to the big table and straddled a chair, crossing her arms over its back. “If this is how you’re planning to make amends for the last four years, you’re not doing a very good job.”
Somehow, Jock found his balls before Hideo could get angry. He said, “You can either walk out of this meeting in charge of your own country, or with nothing but the clothes on your back. We’re not gonna force you to cooperate.”
She flashed him a toothy smile. “Forgive me for not immediately buying into all your good intentions.” Then a tiny shrug, rolling one shoulder. “Like I said. Convince me.”
“That will be up to Jock,” said Hideo. “All of this was his idea. Him and Alex.”
“That’s a start.” Her smile turned on Hideo. “You’re saying you don’t want to move on to bigger and better things, becoming some kind of god-emperor and leaving Laputa to me as table scraps?”
Jock coughed and stepped in again. “The Integration Act guarantees full autonomy of all member states. Think of it like NATO way back when, independent countries contributing to a shared military. It’s not a bad idea.” An expansive wave of his hand brought a holo-presentation flickering to life above the table. It showed the globe with all the Hacker Nations highlighted. In a few brief seconds, the Federation crushed each of the pulsing blue countries, one by one. “Before you dismiss it as baseless paranoia, I want to remind you of everything that’s happened over the past couple of months. Europe was knocked out for weeks, and most of the world thinks we’re responsible. The Fifteen are either dead, in intensive care, or scared shitless. Let’s not even mention Ireland. The Nations have never been weaker or more divided. We must hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.“
Harmony gave a reluctant nod. “Okay. I follow. What do you expect me to do about it?”
“We know you have connections,” Hideo chimed in. “You’re also harbouring what’s left of Banshee’s people. If we put up a united front, bring out a message of reconciliation, others will fall into line.”
Jock continued his speech, “After the handover, you would serve out the remainder of Hideo’s term, and be able to stand for re-election under the new equality law.”
She was listening right up to that last part. Her expression soured in an instant. “I see. So the good old boys can vote me right out again.”
“That’s up to you, Razorblade,” Hideo murmured, crossing his arms and radiating challenge. “Afraid you won’t do as well as you used to?”
“Oh, I’ll do well enough to wipe the floor with you.” She stared daggers at him. “Get to the point, Reynolds. What is it you want from me?”
“First, I have to stress that we’re not planning a direct attack on the Federation. There’s a lot of words for that, and ‘suicide’ is at the top of the list. Instead we’re going to secure a deterrent for our exclusive use.” Another gesture, and the hologram changed to show the nanovirus, software on the left, hardware on the right. Harmony’s eyes widened a fraction. “I think you already know about this. To put it simply, it’s the most advanced, widespread and tenacious virus ever conceived. Thanks to Hideo, we have a chance to take it away from the guy who created it. A man called Lowell.”
Hideo stepped in to deliver his part. “I can count on one hand the number of people in this world who have a personal pet AI. This fellow, Gabriel, does. A nanorobotics tycoon with a personal agenda. The virus gives him the ability to shut down global communications for weeks, if not months, at untold cost to the Nations. However, we have a plan. Phase one: kill the AI.”
That got Harmony’s interest back. She leaned forward, curious and expectant. “That’s . . . pretty big. I’m sorry I doubted you, Jock.” She scratched her chin in deep thought. “Kill an AI. Has that ever been done?”
“Not that I know of. There’s never been a need.”
“Interesting. Alright, go on.”
The display changed to show the intense spider-web of interconnected systems across the globe. Then it filtered down to just the Hacker Nations. The number of connections was still mind-boggling, so many that the image couldn’t show them all. The largest concentrations melded together into thick braided ropes. “The second phase is inoculation. We can’t fight this virus the traditional way, or we’d be working till Judgment Day. We’ve got to hit it in the hardware. Once the AI is out of commission, we’re going to hijack two of Lowell’s nano-factories in the City. Thanks to Major Hawthorn,” he gave the Major a respectful nod, “we have blueprints for Gabriel’s nanorobot design. We’re going to manufacture new ones to hunt down and disable the virus at its source.”
Hawthorn spoke up for the first time. “Will that work?”
“Yes,” said Jock, “if we have enough hackers standing by. There should be enough materials on-site to cover the Nations and then some. Once we’ve knocked out the hardware vector, someone will have to manually clear the software agent from each infected machine. It’s quick and clever. Our automated scanners can’t catch it, and we don’t have time to code one that can. That’s why we need all hands on deck.” He threw significant glances at Hideo and Harmony. “Our combined manpower won’t be enough. To pull it off properly, we’re going to need every hacker fit to hold a keyboard.”
“I don’t know about ‘hackers,'” Harmony said, “but I know some girls who’d be up to it.”
“Everybody’s a hacker today.” Putting on a smile that was almost natural, Hideo held out his hand. “Are you in?”
She reached out, hesitated for a second, and finally grasped Hideo’s palm. “Queen of Laputa,” she murmured. “It’ll be nice to make it official.”
The finer points of negotiation took a while, but Gina suffered through it, doing her job. The sheer routine of it was kind-of comforting. It had been a while since things were this simple. Read people, log their thoughts and emotions, and prepare a report for later. She could almost do it in her sleep.
When Harmony finally left the throne room, accompanied by Rat and Jock, she felt the mood shift. Hopeful talks were put away for military realities. Hideo Kagehisa, ex-King of Laputa, shrugged out of his masterfully-tailored blazer and hung it over the back of his throne. He punched some numbers into his PDA, pausing only to speak.
“Reports,” he said. “Major, you first. Please.”
Hawthorn cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Sir. The security situations we anticipated simply did not arise. First off, she came alone. That was unexpected. Maybe she was afraid for her people, or more confident of her ability to extract herself from a double-cross if she were alone. Either way, don’t mistake it for a sign that she trusts you.” He fell silent for a moment. Then, “Your friends seem quite chummy with her.”
“Are you implying something, Major?”
“As long as they have your confidence, I suppose not.”
“Mm.” He turned away and put his considerable charm back to work. A smile and an expression of respectful attention, leaning his elbows on the table. “Miss Hart?”
Gina looked up, distracted, and recovered by simply reading what he wanted from her. Just some words, nothing which required her full attention to vocalise. She started to speak from a small part of her brain while the rest returned to her original thought.
It was a bit on the maudlin side. She couldn’t stop herself from dwelling on Bomber, worrying. If there were anybody in this world who could take care of himself, it was Bomber, but there was no telling how his vulnerable emotional state had affected him. The shock had upset his entire world. Even he didn’t just bounce back from that.
Either way, the big lummox had better turn up soon, or she’d be very angry with him.
“–a guarded mind,” she heard herself say. “I don’t know if she’s had avoidance training, but if not, she’s a natural. Keeps her cards close to her chest. She’s been sincere about everything said during the meeting, but that doesn’t mean she’ll play nice where you can’t see her.”
The words didn’t go down well. Hideo looked back up, his unhappiness hidden behind a mask of casual ease. He was after something more concrete. “You can do better than that, Miss Hart. What do you think? Based on your exploration of her head, can she be counted on to keep her end of the bargain? You are, after all, my expert on human nature.”
Frowning, Gina crossed her arms. It seemed he was determined to be one of those customers. The kind who demanded hard specifics and personal opinion in the same breath. Gina hated to be put on the spot. People were people, would always be people — soft, fleshy representatives of the chaos theory.
She thought about what to say for a long time. His eyes never left her, but she stared back without flinching. The more powerful she became, the less patience she had for games. Being rushed most of all.
“Yes,” she said finally. “She wants what you’re offering. She hates you on every possible level, but I think she knows this is her best chance. Try not to lord it over her. Go through her friends, and appeal to her patriotism. She has a problem with authority, but then, I think everybody here does.”
“She didn’t . . .” He trailed off. The half-formed question and the half-formed thought were silenced before Gina could puzzle out their meaning. “Never mind. Thank you.”
Gina tilted her head to the side. “I’ve got a question.” He quirked an eyebrow, and she went for it. “From what I understand, you’ve known this woman for years. Why am I here?”
“If I understood Harmony Kohler, Miss Hart, I wouldn’t need your advice.” For a few distracted moments, the perfect politician’s mask slipped, turning him ten years older. Then he pushed to his feet and marshaled himself. “I’ll have a helicopter return you to your hotel. After tomorrow’s meeting, you’re free to go. My personal jet will take you wherever you’re going.”
The words on the tip of Gina’s tongue were, Tomorrow’s meeting? She felt her blood wanting to boil, eager to make a scene, outraged and indignant. She knew it wouldn’t work. Hawthorn was making the same calculation. They shared a look, and shrugged at each other. His Majesty had them over a barrel. No choice but to suffer through it.
The King dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Gina looked back once, in the door of the elevator.
If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that he was annoyed at the way things had gone.
Rather than go where she was told, Gina determined to find Rat again. She’d been getting flashes from the girl’s head for so long, it only seemed right to sit down and have a talk. There were things she needed to get off her chest. Most of all, she really wanted to talk woman-to-woman, even if her confidante was someone who didn’t know anything about anything. Gina had been cooped up with a crowd of boys for far too long.
She reached out, spreading her wings through the castle and into Cloud City. It took her only a few seconds to find the intensely familiar, jagged-edge ripple of Rat’s personality. Young, sharp thoughts that burst out rapid-fire. Next to her was Jock, fretful and unsure. It seemed like he dropped most of the cocky, bombastic bullshit in his girlfriend’s company.
Gina set off through the castle’s sweeping corridors, got lost a couple of times, backtracked and eventually reached the right hallway. She knocked. There was a sudden stab of panic and frustration from the room, the feel of bodies disentangling. The door cracked open an inch. The smell of sex was unmistakable.
“What?” asked Jock’s voice.
“Get dressed and leave,” she said, pushing him out of the way. He cried out in indignation and tried to cover his nakedness with a couch cushion. Gina ignored everything he said while she searched for something to drink. The little fridge offered up a couple of beers.
Turning to Jock, who hopped furiously into his trousers, she added, “Christ, you’re still here? Vanish, David.”
He slunk off like a beaten dog. Gina made herself comfortable on the couch while she waited for Rat to appear. It only took a moment before she was faced with a storm of black underwear and olive skin.
“You knew!” Rat roared. “Don’t tell me you stopped being a telepath in the last five minutes.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your fun. This won’t wait.” Gina sounded tired, even to herself. The anger and attitude drained out of Rat, and she accepted the other beer, finding an empty spot on the couch. Awkward glances were exchanged. “I need to tell you about a lot of things that happened.”
“I guess I do too,” said Rat, which made Gina giggle.
“You really don’t.”
“Huh?”
Gina bit her lip. She’d meant to explain her visions, to admit she’d had a front row seat to Rat’s life for the last few months, but now that she was here she couldn’t find the words to express anything. How could she give names to things she didn’t understand herself? And, looking into those dark, inquisitive eyes, she didn’t think Rat wanted to hear it. Maybe ignorance was bliss in a situation like this.
No, said her conscience. Not good enough. She had to own up, come clean, and start fresh. Somehow.
She should have phrased it delicately. Something like, It’s a deep connection with the people closest to me, the minds I’ve touched the most. Gabriel might fall into that category too, but I can’t get into his head uninvited. What she actually said was, “I’m pregnant.”
Rat stared at her, dumbstruck. A question was forming behind those eyes. Gina headed her off. “It was Gabriel. Don’t say anything.”
Ignoring that last part, Rat sputtered, “You– With him?”
Gina knew exactly what the girl was thinking. She bristled. “This isn’t some holovid with good guys and bad guys, Lex. We’re not here to battle ultimate evil and save the world. Gabriel’s a man. It doesn’t matter if he’s got freaky mental powers, I don’t care. He’s a human being like the rest of us. He’s . . . confused. Looking for himself.”
“Most people who go on epic journeys of self-discovery don’t leave a trail of dead bodies behind them,” Rat pointed out. “What in God’s name were you thinking?”
“Look, it just happened, okay? It wasn’t something I had a lot of control over. Besides, it’s not like you can hold the high ground, the way you and Jock got started.”
Rat scowled. She didn’t think the two situations had anything in common, but she couldn’t be bothered to argue the point. “Alright. Fine. So tell me, if you two are all chummy now, why are you helping us to sabotage him?”
“Because,” Gina began, and trailed off. The answer used to be on the tip of her tongue, but not anymore. The chase was over; she’d won, proven herself too tough to be charmed or kept in a cage, so he stopped trying. Now it was a game of keep-away. He obviously thought she could threaten his plans.
Sooner or later, though, there had to be an endgame. The story would come to its inevitable conclusion, and she didn’t like what he seemed to have in mind for it.
Every now and again, she could imagine how Gabriel’s apocalypse would look. Machines no longer talked. Every VR rig, every entertainment centre, every hand-held gadget went dark. The power died, and the lights with it. Even the tools to fix the problem no longer worked. People huddled together or ripped each other apart in the dark.
Heart pounding in her chest, she shook it off and caught her breath. It was a little like a telepathic vision, but fuzzy, dreamlike. Her imagination running away with her.
She never even mentioned the most important reason to oppose Gabriel. He still had part of her tucked away inside his brain, and she wanted it back. It was too intensely personal to share with anyone.
She looked at the untouched beer in her hands. Deciding there was no time like the present, she put the bottle to her lips and drank it all.
Suddenly Rat looked up, a revelation shining in her mind. “He doesn’t know, does he? You haven’t told him.”
A miserable smile touched the corners of Gina’s mouth. “You’re the first,” she admitted.
“Christ.” Rat pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I spent my whole life learning about hacking and crime and how to survive on the streets. I’m no good at girl talk. Are you. . . Are you gonna keep it?”
“I’m not sure I have a choice.” Keeping her eyes on the floor, Gina thought back to what Jupiter had showed her, the tiny spark of life in her belly. “I don’t think this is a normal kid, Lex. I’ve been doing some reading. There’s not supposed to be any measurable brain activity until about nine weeks in, but I can feel faint little thoughts and emotions there. Right now.”
Rat looked aghast. “You mean it’s self-aware? Right now?”
“I don’t know about self-aware. It’s like, y’know, baby thoughts. Warm. Floating. Wet. Sometimes I think she knows I’m there.”
“She,” quoted Rat.
“Yeah. She feels like a girl. That’s the only way I can explain it.”
“Awesome. Nice work, Gina. Good luck with your telepathic super-baby, let me know how it works out.”
Gina couldn’t help but laugh. “You are such a bitch.”
“Sticks and stones, baby.”
Giggling, they hugged each other, and that made everything all right for a while.
PRECOGNITION: Part 55
We’ll win, and everything’s going to be fine, Rat told herself. Again. And again.
She watched from the safety and comfort of Jock’s VR rig, patched in through a hidden camera in one of his shirt buttons. Riding lifts and wandering stone-clad hallways. The castle was so much bigger than it looked from the outside. She’d searched for a floor plan, but nothing comprehensive seemed to exist. The King of Laputa didn’t have to answer to any building standards or safety agency. He did things however he damn well pleased.
A Guardswoman in light armour stopped Jock and asked for his retinas. He leaned in to let the machine scan the back of his eyeballs. The results must have been good, because the trooper immediately stepped aside and saluted. Jock gave her a nod on his way past.
“Aren’t you a big-shot?” Rat murmured, smiling. “Nice work, Jockey boy. Mind your heart rate.”
Suspended in the corner of her vision was a little readout of his biofeedback. His heart was thumping, eyes shifting rapidly, his sweat glands on overdrive. In other words, he was nervous.
“You’re welcome down here if you think you can do better,” he hissed into his lapels.
“Whine, whine. Just don’t act suspicious. If they twig you, we’re toast.”
He elected not to respond. According to his vitals, some of his nerves had shifted to grumpiness.
A few more scans later, he finally made it to the throne room. One swipe of a hacked keycard opened the doors for him. Creeping across the threshold, calling to make sure nobody was in. Only his own voice echoed back. He let the lock fall shut behind him.
The decor was still the same as Rat remembered, but with the holoprojectors switched off, much of the misty, gloomy spectacle went out of it. It became a collection of unimpressive, tumbledown rocks, a long table with too few chairs, and a throne too shiny by half for its surroundings. Deeper in, she was more affected by the bit she hadn’t seen before — the huge castle gate to Hideo’s office.
Two chunks of iron-bound oak stood in Jock’s way, at least twice his height and heavy enough to stop anything short of a nuclear bomb. The only way through was a little wicket set into the left gate. Jock crossed to it and furtively pressed down on the latch. It was unlocked. He entered the office without a hint of trouble.
“This is too easy,” he said. “I don’t feel right.”
“You’re fine, Jock. We’re in Kensei Central, not everything’s gonna be locked and barred.”
“Okay. Okay, but you let me know the second you sniff anything coming this way!”
“You’ll be the first,” she quipped. It was so like Jock to start pissing himself at the moment of truth.
He absorbed the room in a long, slow pan, giving Rat a good view. It was surprisingly minimalist. Despite its size — only a little smaller than the throne room — it featured just one shelf of strange mementos, a desk, and a plush chair stitched together from lashings of expensive leather. The walls were stark, white on one side, mirrored glass on the other. It helped draw the eye to the smooth, stainless steel curve of that desk. It was oblong, kind-of wrapping around the chair, kind-of not. A large holoprojection lens protruded from the ceiling above it.
When Jock inched further inside, Rat realised the far end of the room was capped by a single, gargantuan pane of glass. It offered spectacular views of Cloud City below. She had to close her eyes and focus on other parts of the camera feed.
The shelf of mementos drew Jock like a moth to a flame. He picked up a small, old-fashioned picture frame. It showed him and Hideo shoulder to shoulder, together with two more guys Rat didn’t recognise. They were in some tech-themed bar-slash-nightclub. Big screens and primitive VR units crowded the background. When Jock angled the frame differently, the picture changed. First to their college graduation. Then another ceremony, different in tone, all formal suits and even a few dresses. Something to do with the formation of the Hacker Nations. Some of the faces in that one were definitely familiar. A couple of the Fifteen, now dead. Banshee. Harmony Kohler.
Funny. In every picture that scrolled by, Jock and Hideo were side by side. Inseparable. Maybe she’d underestimated their friendship.
He put the picture frame down. “Lex, you notice anything funny about this room?”
“Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?”
“You are not old enough to use that phrase.” He gave his surroundings another careful pan. “Something’s missing here. It doesn’t feel like a hacker’s private sanctum. And I’m not talking about a fridge full of soda and stimdrinks.”
In a flash of inspiration, Rat put two and two together. She blurted, “There’s no VR rig.”
“Bingo. This definitely isn’t where he jacks in from. Try cycling the camera, see anything out of the ordinary?”
Flicking through the different view settings, Rat tried to squeeze more information from the little spy-toy. It was a lot harder than it ought to be. Jock had ten tons of this cheap Taiwanese nerd-ware lying around, just for shits and giggles, never expecting to actually use it. Not for anything serious. Quality merchandise it was not.
The only thing which worked to any degree, the thermal imager, told her nothing. The room was cold as a cucumber. She could only see two hot spots: the holoprojector, and the picture frame where Jock had touched it, imbuing it with his body heat.
But . . . also not where Jock had touched it. Some interior mechanism had responded to the movement, above and beyond changing the images.
“Check the picture frame again,” she told him. “I think something’s up.”
She guided Jock to the tiny heat source, but it was impossible to tell from the outside what would trigger it. The surface looked smooth, unblemished. Whatever was there had been built in. For a second Rat wondered if it could be a bug planted by one of Hideo’s enemies, then discarded the theory. There were no transmitters in Kensei’s office that Kensei didn’t know about.
“If it wants a voice sample or something, we crash and burn,” Jock pointed out.
“Just think for a minute. You’re his best friend. He’s probably built in some kind of emergency access for you, in case something happened to him. What kind of secret handshake would he use?”
“I don’t know, Lex! I’m not Hideo. I shouldn’t even be here, he trusts me. I gotta get out.” He turned, glancing back at the door. Trapped in indecision between his girl and his best friend.
‘I don’t envy him,’ Rat thought suddenly, Jock’s voice echoing out of memory. She repeated the rest of it out loud. “‘Hideo and I made a bet when we were at college, which one of us would be the first to get their own country. He won.'”
Jock made a confused grunt. “What are you talking about?”
“Shut up. I need a minute.” Her brain continued to work at it, deriving clues, making leaps of pure intuition. She commanded, “Say ‘long live the King.’ Don’t ask why, just say it.”
He did. Something clicked, and seams appeared in the section of wall with the shelf on it. It swung open in a lazy, heavy way, like a proper secret door. Red light spilled out from inside. Wisps of cold steam curled across the floor.
“Whoa,” Jock said.
If there was another rig like this anywhere on Earth, it was a state secret. Rat couldn’t think of one, and she’d seen Jock’s hardware back when he worked for the Emperor in Shanghai. As Chinese crime lords went, the Emperor had been right up there, and he’d supplied Jock with the state of the art in everything, the best money could buy — about equal to the rig Rat was jacked into now. It didn’t even play in the same league as the King of Laputa’s private booth.
It felt more like a living creature than a machine. Veins of liquid nitrogen traced through the skin in fractal patterns, throwing off more icy steam. The soft, rhythmic noises of pumps and motors were its heartbeat. Every surface was covered in a film of alternating silver and inky black. Nanoscale memory chips. Other parts, like the little bulbous protrusions arranged in a diagonal grid across the black monolith, were unlike any mainstream component on the market.
The suspension straps were so light she could see through them, and the crown . . . A specimen of angular perfection, dotted with more electrodes than the most expensive model in stores. In the corner lay a trunkline bigger than any Rat had ever seen, a thousand wires and cables twisted together into one mother-unit, feeding the rig with vast amounts of data and electricity.
Rat could sense the untamed potential of the thing, even through a tiny button camera.
“Smells like ozone,” Jock remarked. He almost touched one of the pulsing arteries, but stopped himself just in time when he sensed the cold radiating from it. He would’ve lost the skin off his fingers, if not more.
“Look around. What else do you see?”
Jock examined the compartment inch by inch. Almost all the available space went to the rig, except for a small locker crammed into one corner. It contained an anti-friction suit tailored to Hideo’s body, and a space to stash his day clothes, currently empty.
No joy. Rat had hoped against hope they would find some kind of hardcopy, but hackers would be hackers. If it couldn’t be done in the digital world, it wasn’t worth doing.
She took a deep breath. “Are you up to breaking and entering Hideo’s private computer?” she asked. Jock nearly had kittens, but she cut him off. “Shut up! We need to do this, it’s important.”
“Think about it. You really believe he’s just gonna leave incriminating evidence all over his own system?”
“Maybe. There’s got to be something we can use. He went to all the trouble of hiding this in meatspace, so maybe he’s less tidy with data.”
“Too thin, Lex.”
“We came all this fucking way. We may never get another chance, Jockey boy. You wanna turn back now?”
“Yes.”
“Put the Goddamn crown on your head.”
Rebellion never came easy to Jock. He took the crown from its stand, waffled for a minute and muttered to himself. Reluctantly, he settled it on his head. The goggles folded over his eyes. Rat chewed her lip, unable to see what Jock was seeing. She jittered in her straps with nervous excitement.
“Jock?” she asked when he didn’t say anything. “Is it working? Can you patch me in?”
The sound of her voice reminded him she existed. “Um. Sure. One minute.”
Only seconds later, a message window popped up in the corner of her vision, asking her to accept an incoming connection. She did. The information wrapped around her, a full simulation, assaulting her with light and sound. The rig next to her ticked as extra cooling systems came on-line. It began to hum, louder and louder. All its systems strained to render the exquisite new world blasting into Rat’s eyes.
She swallowed and took it all in. It was information overload, more than her eyes or her brain could parse in one glance. Instead she absorbed it piece by piece until she could handle the whole picture.
Clearly, living in his own high-tech fortress with all its holograms and expensive affectations wasn’t enough for Hideo Kagehisa. When he retreated into his own personal space, he stood at a wide, open balcony atop a steep hill. Below it, the countryside stretched out for miles and miles of stone, grass and heather. Villages. Fields. Keeps and castles. A perfect medieval world, more perfect than the middle ages ever were. Suggestions of soft, herby smells beamed into Rat’s brain without ever involving her nose.
Some children were playing outside. They laughed and waved up at Rat — or Jock, rather — as they ran down the dirt road, kicking a ball of old leather. They played rough and nasty, kneeing and elbowing each other like only little boys could.
“Master?” came a voice from behind, speaking liquid Japanese. Jock whirled around at the unexpected sound.
A woman stood in the centre of the room, dressed in an elegantly simple cotton dress. Green, the same colour as her eyes. Her skin was tanned and impossible to pin down to any ethnicity. She demurely clasped her hands in front of her and kept her gaze down.
Rat’s breath caught in her throat. She recognised the woman’s face. So did Jock.
“Harmony,” he whispered.
She gave him a quizzical look and changed to English without missing a beat. “My name is Tranquility, Master. Don’t you remember?”
This rendered Jock utterly speechless. Rat cleared her throat, hissing, “It thinks you’re Hideo, man. Talk to her.”
“I don’t want to! It’s creepy.”
“Let’s just hope it’s completely innocent and totally not what it looks like. Talk!”
The Harmony-replica continued to stare at him. Her expression of concern was so convincing, so life-like, it made Rat’s skin crawl. Jock stammered, “Hello.”
Rat buried her metaphorical face in her hands. Her boyfriend, the orator.
The acknowledgement of her existence seemed to please Tranquility to no end. She bowed like a geisha. “Hello, Master! How may I serve you today?”
Totally not what it looks like, thought Rat, starting to feel sick. Nope, nope.
Another awkward silence stretched out between Jock and the construct. She stared expectantly until he came up with something else to say. “Um. Can you, um, can you show me what Hi– What I’ve been working on?”
“Of course, Master. Let me fetch your papers for you.”
She turned and, swaying her hips far more than necessary, went to a large wooden desk near the fireplace. Gathering up an armful of parchments and notes. The viewpoint tilted slightly as Jock checked out her backside. Then, efficient as anything, she unwrapped the scrolls and left them hovering in mid-air before him. There were dozens of them. Each window displayed only a tiny chunk of its information, waiting for a touch to bombard the viewer with even more.
Job done, Tranquility knelt on the floor and waited there. “These are all the items you referenced or modified in the last three months.”
Rat was thinking on her feet. Still in control of her system, she started to record everything she could see of those files, while Jock was still standing around holding his balls. The simulation around her grew a little choppy, with essential processing power being diverted to another task.
Hideo’s rig wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. It was damn near powerful enough to run its own AI.
“Alex, are you seeing this?” Jock asked. He glanced from scroll to scroll, struggling to figure them out. Letters, numbers, images. “Not all of it’s text. There’s a few audiovisual archives.”
He pointed to a rectangular black window with a big ‘Play’ button on it. It showed a brief clip of an older Japanese man, slick black hair and a blue suit, explaining that Amasawa Group would no longer be needing Laputan data protection services. They were pulling their contracts.
“This all looks like business stuff. I see mail, I see contracts and call logs . . . Everything’s legit.” Glancing down at Tranquility, he added, “Freaky, but legit.”
Rat’s heart sank. Had she really been so wrong? And if not Hideo, who was behind it all? None of it made sense anymore.
“Let me look at some older files,” Jock said. He gathered up the cloud of data and put it to one side. “What’s the oldest you’ve got?”
“I have been in operation for four years, two months and nineteen days, Master. Nothing you keep here precedes that date. Some information may have been copied here from older systems, but I wouldn’t know.”
She produced a stack of dusty, leather-bound tomes from a drawer, and placed them in the air one by one. They were written in complete gibberish.
“Would you like me to apply your stored encryption passwords, Master?”
A moment of stunned silence passed between Rat and Jock. Security point of failure number one, lazy password management. Number two, a slavishly helpful home-brewed agent who couldn’t tell one user from another. For such a fastidious guy, Hideo had made a major cock-up.
On the other hand, maybe he just trusted his best friend not to stab him in the back.
Jock coughed, “Yes! Please. Decrypt everything.”
The yellowed books became a whirlwind of activity. Pages and pages of chaotic, illegible characters began to resolve into reams of English and Japanese. Sometimes both at the same time. Rat only understood bits and pieces. Most of it dealt with getting Cloud City built and operational. Political stuff, treaties and alliances. Jock browsed the titles and headers without getting bogged down in endless volumes of text.
Finally, he paused at a small chunk of code. Its purpose was obvious to anyone who could read. Hidden in a low-level government computer, it would create fake listings for hackers who never existed, and fill out ballots for them. A simple trick which completely bypassed the heavy security on Laputa’s voting software.
“He rigged the election?” Rat asked, dumbstruck.
“There’s a chance he never used it, or it’s not his.” Jock rubbed his temples. He didn’t believe it himself. “There’s always a chance.”
“This . . . This is huge. We’ve got to get it to the press!”
“Hold on. There’s more.”
A different leather-bound volume from around the same date yielded an interesting personal log. A calendar of dinners and private rendezvous. Also in attendance: ‘Razorblade’ Kohler. Even for close friends, their choices of venue were a little . . . romantic.
It didn’t take much for Jock to put two and two together.
“Holy balls,” he said. “He was ploughing her!”
Rat realised her mouth was hanging open. She wiped it with the back of her hand, and fit together the new information with what she’d already seen and heard. “He knew she was a woman. He wanted her out of the way so he could take over.”
“I still can’t wrap my head around it.” His voice sounded raw, hurt. “This isn’t the Hideo I know. Why would he do it? He only wants what’s best for the Nations.”
Suddenly his attention shifted to another chunk of gibberish. Encrypted text, indecipherable to the naked eye. Clearly it didn’t use any of Hideo’s normal decryption passwords. It stood out like a sore thumb, like it didn’t belong with the other files. Not something a normal computer would use. It was a thousand times more dense, as if every character had to count.
“Wait. That’s nanocode.”
“Say what?”
“Nanobot programming,” he explained, examining the file close up. “Can’t tell what it’s for, it hasn’t been opened in years. I’ve never known Hideo to play with nanocode. I didn’t think it was his thing.”
The puzzle pieces began to fall into place in her mind. It was the key bit of evidence she needed to make sense of everything else. Kensei wasn’t trying to fight the info-weapon — he created it. Made it look Irish to shift suspicion onto somebody else. Everyone fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Even the Chrome Rat.
Intense relief washed over her. They’d hit the jackpot. Complete and total vindication. She was right, oh so right. It didn’t feel as good as she imagined, though. There was a bad taste in her mouth. Part of her had wanted Hideo to be innocent as much as Jock did. No matter where they went from here, it was going to cost Jock his best friend.
She tried to think of the best way to break it to him when one of her pre-programmed alarms went off. Kensei was coming down the hall to the throne room door. Adrenaline tightened Rat’s throat, and she had to swallow a big lump before she could shout, “Abort, abort! He’s back! Get out of there fast!”
That was just the first thing to go wrong.
Her view of the medieval house vanished as Jock cut the connection. Rat switched back to the spy-cam, shoved it into a corner while she worked. She couldn’t do much without arousing suspicion, but she had some ideas to buy them some time. Thanks to Jock’s special card, she could access the throne room and all its support systems. She quickly kicked the bio-recognition module offline. Watched through another camera as Hideo walked up and stopped, surprised, when the door didn’t open.
“Read error,” chimed an electronic voice. “Please use card lock.”
He sighed. It clearly wasn’t the system’s first malfunction. He dug his magic white card out of a pocket, swiped it. Rat introduced another error. A red light came up on the lock, and Hideo’s frown deepened. He swiped his card again. This time the door swung open with its usual elegance. He relaxed, but punched in a maintenance request on his PDA before continuing inside.
Jock sat on the throne of Laputa, all casual, his feet kicked up on the big table. He waved at his old friend. Hideo’s face changed when he realised he was not alone. It was a complex mix of emotions, but Hideo communicated one thing clearly with a mere glance at Jock’s trainers. Jock coughed, took his feet down, and vacated the throne.
Hideo sat down in his rightful place and folded his hands behind his head. “I don’t know what it is about my chair that makes people think it’s cool to sit right down in it.”
“Pure envy, man. You’re the King. Everybody wishes they had your job.”
“It’s a pretty good job,” he admitted. A tiny smile cracked his iron facade. “I didn’t think you still wanted a country of your own.”
“Not really. But sometimes it’s fun to imagine.”
Jock sat down on the edge of the table and put his feet on a nearby chair. He was tense, nervous, constantly trying to stop a hundred nervous tics from showing. His heart rate and perspiration had gone through the roof. Rat fervently hoped he was a better actor on the outside.
“You don’t talk to me anymore,” he said at length.
“Try being the King. See if you have time for anything.” He forced a light tone to take the sting from his words. “You’ll always be my friend, David, but you’re better off without a head full of state secrets. That’s the kind of thing which makes you a target for violent opposition types.”
“But I’m already a target. You said so yourself.”
“David–“
Jock cut him off. “You changed, man. You play your cards so close I barely know you anymore. I look at you and ask myself, who is this guy? What’s going on in his head?”
A deep, tired sigh hissed out of Hideo’s lungs. “If you have some point to make, make it.”
“Okay. Yeah. I’m leaving Laputa.”
Stunned silence followed him. Rat gaped much the same as Hideo did, unable to believe their ears. What in God’s name was he doing?
“David, you can’t be serious. You’re the core of my viral defence team!”
“You’re the King. Find somebody else. I . . . I can’t be here anymore.”
Rat bit her lip. He was gonna blow it. She felt it in her guts; he would confess the whole thing, and get himself killed in the process. Rat would probably be listed as ‘collateral damage.’ Her mind raced for a solution. She plunged herself into GlobeNet, went sprawling onto Main Street, and searched for straws at which to clutch.
It was probably the worst place to look. Information overload, too many bright colours and flashing lights. Doorways, facades and street stalls designed to catch the most world-weary eye. Any merchandise you could imagine, virtual or physical, got pushed here. Even the sky was made up of a hundred moving images, advertisements fighting for space in the viewer’s oversaturated brain.
With all the options in the world, she had no idea what to do.
She glanced back at the camera feed and stared into Hideo’s razor-sharp eyes.
“If it’s something I did, we can talk about it,” he insisted.
“You’ve done a lot of things, Hideo. I’m just not sure I still believe in what they are.”
“Are you accusing me of something, David?”
“Should I be?” Jock retorted. “I’ve got a guilty conscience about a lot of things, but they don’t compare to the size of the skeletons in your closet, huh?”
Hideo held his ground. His face was still as a reflecting pool. “Anything I’ve done, I had to do, for the greater good.”
“You almost sound like you believe that.” Jock stared at the backs of his hands. “When exactly were you gonna tell me you’ve had me doing ridiculous make-work all this time? That you’ve been in cahoots with Gabriel for years?” He let a few seconds of painful silence tick away. “Honestly, I don’t care if you fucked Razorblade over. I can even forgive you for doing it to Alex, and to our pathetic excuse for a democracy. But you did it to the Fifteen. You did it to me. I can’t let that go.”
Rat swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d never heard such raw pain in his voice.
He finished, “That’s why I’m leaving. So I don’t do anything I might regret. I’m not gonna make a fuss, I’ll take your dirty secrets to the grave if I have to, but you can’t expect me to stay and pretend.”
The camera was turned away, leaving Hideo’s face out of shot. There was no way to know what went on inside his head. Rat’s heart didn’t beat at all while she waited for him to talk. To do something.
“You’re right, David. About almost everything.”
Jock looked back. Hideo ran a hand through his hair and stood up, slowly. Some of the rigidity had gone out of his posture. He looked like a man at confession. “Let’s continue this conversation in my office. I’ll explain. I need you to understand.”
“Is this some kind of trick? Because if it is–“
“Please.”
Surprise stopped Jock’s mouth from moving. The word sounded so real, so heartfelt, that he couldn’t say no. He nodded and followed through the big wooden door.
Rat never thought much of Jock’s decision-making. Going with Hideo might well be the cherry on the cake of his stupid choices. On another level, she envied their bond so much it hurt. She wasn’t very good at friendships. Her relationship with Gina illustrated that well enough.
The boys went to Hideo’s desk and sat down on it, side by side, staring out the great window. Hideo opened a drawer and fished out two bottles of beer, twisted open the caps.
Jock accepted one and took a long pull. “Nice place,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“How come I don’t have a giant desk with a fridge in it?”
“I figured you’d be too busy pissing around in VR to need one. Want me to hook you up?”
“Nah. You’re right. I don’t need it.” He swirled another sip of bubbly, yeasty brew around his mouth. “I keep trying to picture all the years since we left college, and I can barely remember any of ’em. When did we grow up?”
Hideo shrugged. “You tell me, my friend. You’re the one who went away. You didn’t want all the politics and infighting.”
“I still don’t. Tell a thousand hackers what to do,” they finished the other half of the phrase together, “and they’ll do a thousand completely different things.” A tiny chuckle made Jock’s camera jiggle, and he looked down. “Why, Hideo? Just tell me why.”
“Because,” he sighed, “Harmony was running us into the ground.” He paused, took another drink, collecting his thoughts. “I was the foreign minister for four years. I knew her government inside and out. Don’t get me wrong, she was great with the economy and the interior — but try to tell her about anything outside Laputa, even the other Nations, and she just didn’t want to hear it. This country was her baby. Anything from beyond the border got waved off as irrelevant, no matter how much I warned her. I had to do something.”
“Warned her about what?”
“Our enemies, David! You were there when we carved the Nations out of chaos and war. We were united, and we made the Federation fear us. Enough to keep us safe. And now look at us.” He waved an angry arm at the window, getting more animated by the second. “A fragmented, leaderless bunch of deadbeats, turning on each other like sharks if you dangle enough shiny zeroes on a pay slip! That is how the Feds have made us weak. They’ve wanted to snap Laputa up for years, we’re sitting ducks militarily, and the only reason they haven’t invaded is because we had safeguards in place. We had the ability to disrupt, misdirect and control. But, while we were living hand to mouth and bickering amongst ourselves, they’ve been dumping trillions into their cyberwarfare programs. Read the reports if you want!”
He jumped off the desk, took a heavy red folder out of another drawer and tossed it at Jock. Dozens of sheets of digital paper spilled out across the steel surface. Rat could only imagine how much hardcopy it contained.
“They’re nearing parity, for God’s sake! I went into business with Lowell to give us a deterrent, one against which the Federation has no defence. I had to be King to implement everything. The only way it’s going to work, the only way it can work, is if we all stand together. No more Nations. Nation, singular.” Quiet, diamond-hard conviction rang in his voice. “Europe was our test-firing exercise. A warning. I guarantee you it got their attention.”
“A test-firing exercise?” Jock shot back, his voice breaking. “People died in Europe, Hideo!”
“I know! It was Lowell’s idea. I should’ve told him no, but . . .” Hideo’s anger flowed out of him in a soft sigh. He hunched his shoulders as if suddenly weighed down by his own conscience.
Jock held his beer in trembling hands. Drained it down to the dregs, then threw it as hard as he could at the window. The bottle shattered. It was the loudest sound in the world.
He settled down again, leafed through a few of the hardcopy sheets, though he barely looked at them. He said, “What the Hell happened to you?”
“It’s like you said, David. I grew up.”
Jock swallowed, absorbing his friend’s words. “So what does Gabriel get out of this . . . arrangement?”
“Use of my code. The AI.” Hideo sat down again, his voice soft and flat. “I developed the software for him, in secret, just after I joined Razorblade’s cabinet. Took fucking years to get it functional, but then, so did the nanovirus.”
“And the reason you knew about the trap that nearly blinded Alex–“
“–is because I put it there.”
Silence descended. Hideo looked at Jock, waiting for some kind of response, but nothing came. The tension built, and built, until he burst out, “Talk to me, man!”
“It’s–It’s just so much worse than I thought. This is it? This is why you killed Banshee and the Fifteen?”
“No,” he said immediately. “Banshee was a terrorist and a criminal, I don’t regret him for a second, but I did not send that helicopter, David. I didn’t kill them.”
“Then who did?” Jock asked, blank-faced.
“I don’t know. Honest, I don’t know. Everything I’ve done has been in the best interest of the Nations, and that’s the truth.”
Jock gave his friend a long, penetrating stare. Something was happening in his brain. Grinding towards an inevitable conclusion. Rat watched it happen, still at a loss for words.
“Maybe I’m a fool,” he said, “but I believe you. I believe you want to do right. You will always be my friend, Hideo, and that’s why I won’t turn on you. You worked hard for what you’ve got. Most of it, anyway. But I want some concessions.”
“Name them,” whispered Hideo.
“First, the AI. You know where it is?”
“Partly. I have a GlobeNet address, a remote login with maintenance privileges. I’ll send you the information.” He hesitated. “What are you gonna do?”
“Break in and rip the fucker to bits.” To Rat, he added, “Lex, listen up. I want you to deliver a message to Harmony. Fast and in person.”
Rat cocked her head curiously. “What’s the message?”
“Ask her . . .” A faint smile curled his lips. “Ask her if she wants to be Queen of Laputa.”
PRECOGNITION: Part 54
Gina hadn’t been sure about her own logic until she started to hear noise. Metallic clunks and thumping that didn’t come from the airship’s on-board equipment. They vibrated through the floor despite the soundproofing, despite the external wind barriers. She perked up immediately and began to look around.
Even tired and dispirited, she could sense the ripples of human thought washing over her. There were people outside the airship. Military thoughts, sharp, focussed on their own senses and the objective in front of them. Chains, cables, hooked up and lashed down. A Laputan craft. She crossed to the wall and leaned in to listen more closely.
“They’re towing us,” she whispered in wonder. “We’ve got no engines and drifted into the traffic lanes.”
She figured somebody would show up to check out the drifting airship, but she expected a civilian tug at most. Not the Laputan Royal Guard.
The Sword interrupted her thoughts. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” The lights flickered and dimmed for a few seconds, gasping for voltage. “Getting short on power?”
“Don’t be coy. Your little stunt knocked out the primary and auxiliary turbines. You know we’ve been running on batteries ever since.”
“My heart bleeds for you,” she murmured. “So how long have you got left? An hour? Two?”
“I’m not housed on board. I can manage everything through a remote linkup, including the airspace around you. Once we’re out of the way of traffic, I’ll divert energy to life support and turn off everything else.”
“Aren’t you afraid we’ll escape?”
“No.”
“Oh, I keep forgetting, you’re a machine. No silly human emotions like fear. Do you need me to rephrase?”
“I understood you perfectly. As for fear, if I’m ever in a situation that warrants it, I’ll let you know.”
Gina smiled to herself. Emotion wasn’t the only thing the AI still needed to learn. She could teach it a few things about deception, because it wasn’t exactly subtle about wanting her to stay put. There was a reason why it didn’t call a tug until it absolutely had to. It didn’t want any humans within thinking range of this little telepath.
The troops out there had probably had avoidance training. However, she knew first-hand how much that mattered against somebody like Gabriel. Somebody like her.
Her hand closed around the top of a fire extinguisher. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it free and pivoted on the ball of her foot. She swung the heavy aluminium canister like a club into the autodoc’s delicate, robotic body.
Metallic limbs crunched, snapped, curled up like a dead spider. Cold blue hydraulic fluid spurted across Gina’s arms and face. She swung again, and finally hit home. The broken shell vomited red and yellow sparks as its electrics shorted out. A circuit breaker tripped with a loud thump, and the room was plunged into darkness. Emergency mechanisms unlocked the room’s hatch with a pop.
Gina got her arms around Hawthorn’s armpits and lifted. She took a running jump into the placid pool of his mind, shouting at his brain to work, wake up, move. His eyes snapped open as a burst of adrenaline reached his heart. He came back to life screaming.
“Time to break out, Hawk,” she hissed at him. “We may not get another chance, and I’m not spending another minute trapped on this fucking blimp!”
Hawthorn’s convulsions stopped. He blinked. His pupils were as big as pennies, constricting again as she pulled him off the autodoc table and into the lit hallway outside. “Where– Gina? Am I dead?”
“No, but you gave it your best shot. Just don’t make any sudden moves.” She helped him find his feet again, smashed the glass on an emergency supply key. The locked cabinet nearby offered up oxygen masks and lifejackets. One for each of them, slipping over bodies and faces. “Follow me. I’m busting us out of here.”
Hawthorn had enough presence of mind to draw his pistol and aim it in a trembling hand. He put several holes through the security droid trying to intercept them. It sagged into a smoking heap, and Gina kicked it out of the way.
“Busting us out how?” he asked, letting her guide his stumbling steps toward the stern. Through the bead curtains into the white room with the painfully elegant furniture, awfully similar to the infirmary they’d escaped a minute ago.
“Just hang on.”
There were carabiners attached to their lifejackets by little reels of safety line. Along the walls, every few metres, was an anchor hook. Gina never paid attention to airship safety lectures, but she was an avid fan of trashy action holovids, and had seen them used once. They kept people from getting sucked out during rapid decompression.
She secured herself, then Hawthorn. Locked the reels. Closed her eyes and let her mind drift beyond her body, into the tightly-focussed planes of cognition projecting from the Laputans. They were almost flat. No unnecessary thought. They worked at the towing rig like ants, weaving a carbon fibre web between the airship and their VTOL.
Come here, she sang to them. Everything you ever wanted is behind this wall. Nothing else matters. You’ll stop at nothing to get in here.
They were armoured military engineers. The hull of the gondola lasted barely ten seconds, torn open by frantic metal hands.
Gina and Hawthorn held on to each other as the air blasted out of the room. Emergency doors slammed shut. The chairs tumbled across the floor, the glass tables cracked and shattered, and soon everything was sucked out into the indigo sky. The force of it lifted Gina off her feet until the last of the internal pressure was gone.
Past the Laputans’ metal faces was a VTOL craft, hovering on its thrusters. Running lights blinked along the black shark-like shape.
That’s where we’re going, she said to Hawthorn, placing the words in his mind like soap bubbles. He couldn’t respond, only watch her grab their anchors and unhook them. You’re a pilot, right?
She grinned at him behind her mask and advanced like a goddess preparing to walk on thin air.
The wind was an icy whip stinging her cheeks, throwing her hair into a frenzy. Streams of red lashed out in every direction. The bitter cold made her eyes water. Closing them, she stepped out through the hole the Laputans had made for her. Commanding them with a smile. She could hear confused, frightened radio chatter through their ears, but they paid no attention to it. Their sole task in life was to carry Gina along the tow-lines to the waiting craft.
The VTOL looked like a shipping container with the nose of a main battle tank. Grey, because nobody had bothered to paint it a more exciting colour. The sole exception was a small, white Lockheed logo emblazoned on the side. A delicate manipulator arm sat curled up under its chin. Heavy struts suspended the main fuselage between four intimidatingly-sized jet nozzles, blasting blue fire into the world.
Waves of engine heat washed over Gina, almost hot enough to take the hair off her arms. The roar was overwhelming. She could even see other airships and hydroprop planes in the distance, little dots taking off or heading in to dock somewhere in Laputa.
Huge, ape-like hands caught her with the utmost delicacy. The engineer suits had four of them. They shimmied foot over foot along the lines, upside-down, into the waiting airlock, unable to resist their compulsions even if they wanted to. Whatever consciousness they still had was paralysed with terror.
A sudden alarm blared inside their helmets. Lights began to flash yellow and red. The Lockheed’s thrusters turned, propelling it away from the airship. Taking up slack in the lines until they pulled taut, squealing. The airship made its own noise of protest, a deep metal moan, and began to follow.
Gina’s helpers simply rode the tightening lines upward. Their hands and feet glommed onto the VTOL fuselage like cybernetic suction cups. Scurrying to the exterior hatch, they put Gina down so carefully that she barely felt the deck under her wobbling feet. She steadied herself and sent them back for Hawthorn. Moving them along the web like a bunch of grotesque puppets, dancing on string.
The Lockheed made another course correction, pouring more thrust into its engines. Everything shuddered around Gina. An unexpected roll sent her off balance, threw her in the direction of the open hatch. She flailed, reached, grabbed for anything she could. Her fingertips found a handhold at the last possible moment. Electric pain shot up and down her arm as all her weight dangled from three knuckles, halfway out of the hatch.
She stared directly at the island of Laputa where it met the South China Sea. Very, very far below her. Even the giant towers and arcologies looked like grey specks from up here.
Hand over hand, she pulled herself back inside. She was shaking like a leaf. Her mouth was open, probably screaming. A wild kick against the big red button labelled ‘Close’ produced the desired effect. The airlock whispered shut behind her.
Safe, she put a hand over her heart and willed it to slow down. It took a while, but she regained her calm. Then she remembered the plan and shuffled into the troop compartment.
The Lockheed’s guts were every bit as military as its exterior. Dark, grey, Spartan. Cold as a meat locker. The only colour came in the way of warning stickers, little blots of bright, saturated primaries. Bold letters in black and red stated that improper touching of anything came with the risks of danger, death and unemployment.
A large aisle ran up the middle of the craft. Equipment lockers hemmed it in on either side, giving way to oversized bucket seats for the armour. They were empty except for one, cradled in the padded V-shape of a gravity harness. The reclining engineer-suit looked old, scarred by a hundred dirty jobs. It was dusty and motionless in a way that suggested nobody had worn it in a while.
A stroke of luck. The hatch to the cockpit was unlocked. Gina moved in cautiously, since an absence of humans didn’t mean an absence of hostility.
Two chairs stood waiting by the primitive control system — buttons, switches, sticks and throttles. It was another back-up, in case the remote mechanism went tits-up. Hackers didn’t like giving jobs to meat when machinery and radio waves would do. The only reason they used human soldiers at all was to prevent their entire military from getting hacked.
Nothing threatening. Gina let herself relax, blew on her numb fingers, and looked out the window for Hawthorn.
He must’ve spotted her, because he waved at her from the hole in the gondola. Pointed at the VTOL, making urgent gestures in sign language she didn’t understand. She let the Laputans go for a moment while she concentrated on his amped-up, rapid-fire thoughts. They rippled out with the speed of a machine gun. She struggled to make sense of them. Shivering, fighting the cold to keep focus.
They’re remote-piloting the craft, she understood. It was nothing she didn’t already know. Other than that . . . Something about control. She couldn’t get a clear meaning before she had to reassert her will over the helpful engineers. Beads of sweat formed and froze on her forehead from the effort.
It was already too late. Explosive bolts ejected the towing anchors one by one. They tumbled away from the fuselage, useless hoops of plastic with knots attached.
Gina watched in horror as the lines went slack. The entire airship pitched like a boat on wild seas, throwing everybody overboard.
Major Hawthorn and the engineers plummeted like sandbags. The Laputans grabbed on out of sheer instinct, swinging wildly from carbon fibre vines, still attached to the gondola on one end. They dangled underneath the airship and eventually came to rest.
Hawthorn, on the other hand, flailed his arms but couldn’t reach the lines. Gina banged her palms against the glass as if she could catch him from here. She felt her heart sink as she watched him shrink into a dark dot against the sea below.
He was accelerating towards planet Earth at nearly ten metres per second squared.
Gina had seen this exact sequence of events before in holofeatures. Someone would fall from a great height. The hero of the piece would chase them down, assisted by a vehicle or superpower or even just pure grit and skill. They’d match speed, catch the victim, and fire up the engines. Parachutes would open. Everyone would gradually slow down to a hover, mere inches from the ground, alive and well. Cue happy ending.
The only other outcome would be the creation of a small, bloody crater somewhere in southern Laputa.
“Oh God,” Gina mumbled. She hadn’t had time to panic yet. She dove into the pilot’s chair, lowered the G-harness, and by then Hawthorn was already half a mile below her.
She didn’t know much about piloting, but she knew what would happen when she cut all four throttles at once. The remote controls disengaged automatically. The background hum of the engine disappeared, and the Lockheed’s nose dipped until the sky vanished behind a rising wall of water and land. For a moment, the only sound was the rush of air sliding over the cockpit. Then a dozen different alarms filled the air. Many colours of blinking lights warned her of impending doom.
Now Gina had time to panic, trying to figure out the controls without any training or experience. She knew in her heart of hearts that she was going to crash this thing. Still, it was pretty sturdy. She might survive.
No. No, that was stupid. She might not have Bomber’s training, but she’d spent a lot of time in his head. Wherever she went, she carried him with her. She closed her eyes and slipped into those memories of simulators and helicopters, of knowing exactly what to do, and let her hands move like his.
Once she got the engines angled the right way, she started to gain on the dark speck that was Hawthorn. Hurtling toward the surface at a speed that made her stomach tie itself in knots. She had to fight for every yard as the atmosphere thickened, threatening to rip the craft to shreds.
The Lockheed was built for heavy work, fixing airships, compensating for the wind rather than slicing through it. Speed wasn’t in its job description. The vertical plunge quickly revealed some of its limitations. Nameless things began to rattle deep in its belly. A high-pitched mechanical whine rose from the big air intake under the nose. Soon the entire craft shivered, bouncing on gusts of wind like a giant pinball. It was all Gina could do to keep the nose pointed down.
Just a little further, she thought. Stroking the flight wheel as it bucked and thrashed. A wild animal, wounded, in pain. Hang in there, baby . . .
There was a loud, metal clunk. Another warning light, another siren. The robotic manipulator arm whipped around into the side of the cockpit, skipping off the glass like a pebble. It left a trail of visible cracks across the port canopy. Gina glanced over her shoulder. She could have watched the damage grow, ice forming on and inside the glass. Then the arm ripped out of its socket and tumbled away before her eyes. A cloud of debris followed it, into the aft air intakes.
“Shit,” she said. “Shit!”
The two rear engines sputtered and began to die. The cracks in the cockpit spread into an ever-larger spider web with each punishing gust. The broken canopy began to buckle inward, held together only by the layer of impact gel between panes.
Gina growled deep inside her chest. She was almost there, could see the Major’s face, grey and wide-eyed. Those towers and arcologies which had felt so far away looked awfully, inevitably close.
She was screaming out loud.
“Hold together, you fucking American piece of scrap! Just a little further!”
It wouldn’t. She could feel it, through some inherited instinct or telepathic sense, that the arm had done too much damage. A moment of paralysing indecision, followed by clarity. Bomber was a master at this action hero bullshit, and Gina had quite a lot of his knowledge at her disposal.
As quick as she could, she pulled her G-harness off, grabbed the parachute from under the seat, shrugged into it. She floated out of the chair while buckling all the straps.
Several things happened at the same time. Without anyone at the controls, the remote pilot mechanism turned the autopilot back on. What remained of the engines quickly realigned to stop the VTOL from crashing into inhabited land. Lastly, Gina rolled sideways and pulled the emergency ejection handle.
The canopy blew away on explosive bolts, sucking her out into the big blue sky. The chair launched on booster rockets, and dangled from its own parachute far above her. Gina was curled up into a ball, her head spinning, but still there. Grabbing Hawthorn and hooking him to her parachute harness. Laputa so close she could almost touch it. Remembering the one time she’d gone skydiving, with Alfie, and her oath to never do it again.
Her heart pounded, every beat throbbing behind her eyes. Finally her trembling fingers found the ripcord. She pulled. The deceleration hit all at once, so violent and abrupt it dislocated both her shoulders.
The last thing she saw through the dark red haze was the edge of an arcology roof, and above, a trail of smoke and fire curving away to sea.
Gina woke up in bed. The soft, luxurious sheets coiled around her arms and legs were monogrammed with the swooping M of the Mandarin Hotel. She didn’t know how she got back, but it seemed she was safe.
A glance down at her body told a lot about her unconscious adventure. Stripped down to her underwear, scraped, battered and bruised to Hell. A couple of deeper cuts had been neatly bandaged. It looked bad, but she didn’t feel it. Just a dull universal ache when she tried to move anything but her head.
She started to remember bits and pieces. Brief flashes, wind dragging her across the hard ‘crete. A knife sawing at the tangled parachute strands. Arms lifting. All disjointed, in no particular order. Her heart raced when she thought of the escape. So much stress and fear. She shut her eyes against the memories, put a hand over her breast and took deep, calming breaths.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and wobbled upright. Thick red carpet tickled the soles of her feet, unused to the feeling of natural fibres against her skin. Her clothes were gone, probably ruined, but her travel bag was where she’d left it. She picked up a fresh outfit, matching boots with a blue skirt and blazer. A good, familiar fallback. They fit a little tighter than she remembered, and she stroked her belly, still unable to see herself as a mother. Sooner or later she wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore.
Sighing, she took her make-up kit and set to work disguising the damage on her face. By the time she was done she was the very picture of perfection.
Finally she dared to look for Bomber. She had no idea what to expect, but at least she was kind-of counting on him to still be here. She searched and called for him, but the only thing she found was a disposable razor abandoned in the waste bin. His bag was gone. He’d cleaned himself up and left.
Biting her tongue, she stopped herself from leaping to conclusions. Maybe Bomber had a good, rational reason. She’d still be mad, but she would give him a chance to explain once she was done shouting at him.
In the meantime she ought to check on the Major, see if they could get back in touch with Stoney, and so on. Keep herself occupied.
She hesitated halfway to the handle. The door to Hawthorn’s suite stood open, ajar. It roused her Street-honed suspicion immediately. She took her hand away, dusted the cobwebs from her brain and reached out to survey the room.
She sensed several people, placid yet alert. Guarding something or someone. A pair of more active minds sat together in the middle, talking at a volume so low she couldn’t hear them, and she didn’t have the focus to read the words out of their heads. One was definitely Hawthorn. The other felt unfamiliar.
A soft, mechanical click sounded by her left ear. The cold muzzle of a gun brushed against her skin. She felt, rather than saw, the battlesuit behind its active camouflage. Barely a blur against the backdrop of clean pastels and red. What little mind Gina could feel there was twisting, squirming with telepathy avoidance techniques. Trained to the highest standards.
“We’re not here to harm anyone,” it said in a robotic monotone. “Stick to peaceful conversation and you will be fine. Go on in. You’re expected.”
A camouflaged goon in her room! Gina choked down her anger at the invasion of privacy. Even with all her powers, she wasn’t sure she could disable the intruder before he blew her brains out. Not in her current state.
She summoned up all her dignity and went inside.
Major Hawthorn sat in an expensive armchair, vat-grown leather and handcrafted stitching, next to the immense glass coffee-table. To his right was an equally sumptuous sofa containing an Asian man somewhere in his thirties. The stranger wore a semi-casual suit so black it seemed to drink in the light, more sinister than formal, immaculately tailored to his shape. The kind of suit which implied its wearer was not just your average mobster, but a wrongdoer of impeccable wealth and taste.
Gina might’ve pegged him as Japanese, but he seemed too relaxed, legs crossed, spread out in his seat. She’d dealt with enough Yakuza to know how much they treasured the sticks up their respective arses. So, if not that, then what?
She made a tiny bow from the waist as a greeting.
“Major,” she said stiffly in Conglom, “are you going to introduce me?”
The man put up his hand. “I can introduce myself. Miss Gina Hart, I presume?” He smiled. He spoke perfect, lightly-accented English. “My name is Hideo Kagehisa, known among the hacker community as Kensei. I am the King of Laputa. A pleasure.”
Oh, fantastic, Gina sighed inwardly. “Likewise, your Majesty. What . . . What can we do for you?”
That smile widened by the tiniest fraction, and he tilted his head to the side, like a cat who’d just caught the fattest mouse of his career.
“Oh,” he murmured, “I’m so glad you asked . . .”
