Robert Charette - Never deal with a Dragon

“No one is as close as we are,” Cliber insisted.

“That may be so, director. You can afford that belief. I cannot. The Security Directorate is responsible for keeping even the existence of Renraku’s research into artificial intelligence from reaching our competition. Most of our own people don’t even know about it. I cannot afford to let an agent into the project.”

“You didn’t do such a good job last week,” Cliber sneered.

“Ah, you are referring to the usurpation of the Tanaka persona program.”

“What else? Or have you got more security breaches covered up in your cozy hierarchy?”

Marushige’s smile froze on his face. His eyes went hard, but his voice remained supple and smoothly comforting. “Of course not, director. My directorate always owns up to its mistakes. We informed you of the incident at once, did we not?”

“Sure you did. But you haven’t told us anything since.”

“There has been nothing worth reporting. You know better than most just how intricate our Matrix security measures must be. Most of our security deckers are working in strictly limited areas, operating without full knowledge of what they are protecting. Some report irrelevant incidents that they believe to be significant, while others are quite likely failing to report the very data we need. Our Zeta clearance operators are reasonably certain that no data was removed but we are no closer to determining who was controlling the Tanaka program.”

“Does Verner’s involvement have something to do with your assessment of him as a security risk, Crenshaw?” Hutten asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“He was in the node when the intruder assayed our defenses.”

Crenshaw flashed a look at Marushige. The director’s face was closed. If he knew, he hadn’t told her. But she didn’t like the implications of that at all.

“Ms. Crenshaw is handling the personnel aspects of the problem,” Marushige asserted. “There is no solid evidence of Verner’s involvement in the attempt to penetrate the AI project. I assure you that the Security Directorate is making full efforts to uncover the perpetrator.”

“As full as your efforts to clear the personnel we need?” Cliber asked scornfully.

“This persona usurpation is an example of the difficulties we face. Surely if someone like Verner was involved in an attempt to breach the security of our computer systems, you would not wish him assigned to a position that would make it easier to steal our secrets. Would you, director?”

Cliber narrowed her eyes. “If Verner is a risk, kick him out. Otherwise, give him to us.”

“There is a risk to the project’s security here, and I am responsible for security, director.”

“I am responsible for seeing that this project makes its deadlines.”

“Then you must understand the weight of responsibility and the need to do the job right.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Cliber declared. “I’m going to make sure that Sato knows, too.”

“ Kansayaku Sato will make his own observations and draw his own conclusions, director,” Marushige responded placidly.

Cliber glared at him. “We may as well leave, Konrad. We certainly aren’t getting anywhere here.”

She stood abruptly and headed for the door. Hutten rose awkwardly, a pained half-smile on his face. He sketched a bow before following his superior.

“Silla,” the security director said softly, “arrange a car.” As the door closed behind his aide, Marushige turned to regard her.

“You are too open about your hostility, Crenshaw. They may report what you said with regard to Verner.”

She was already annoyed by his previous ploys and didn’t feel like playing games with him. “Let them.”

“You should be concerned,” he warned. “It’s your ass on the line.”

“Why don’t you worry about yours? If my ass gets chewed, I’ll feed yours to the dogs, too. Why didn’t you include Verner’s computer log in the security record? You knew about him being there when the Wall was hit.” Marushige stiffened, telling her that the shot had scored. He had known. She gave him a smile as she prepared to twist the knife and remind him who had the upper hand in their relationship. “You won’t be able to claim your drug pump slipped on this one.”

His nostrils went wide, as they always did when she brought up his not-so-secret shame. Marushige had an implanted monitor-dispenser system to keep him supplied with special psychoactive drugs, chemicals to control the imbalance in his brain that fostered violent rages. Before the implant, he had been a slave to his impulses and had almost been dismissed from the corporation. The drugs corrected the problem, but the occasional inaccuracies in the chip’s calculation of dosages let Mr. Hyde crawl out. Marushige, desperate to hold his position with Renraku, did his best to cover up those lapses. His shame gave her a powerful hold over him.

“Just remember who has the monitor tape showing you abusing the late, lamented Claybourne. That kid would never have been crippled if you hadn’t kicked him that way.”

“He should never have gotten himself shot,” Marushige said through gritted teeth.

Crenshaw chuckled and took out another cigarette. “Doesn’t matter what he should have done. You shouldn’t have kicked him. There’re lots of ways to be a damned fool. You’re the one who damaged his spinal cord.”

“He was incompetent.”

“That’s what your superiors will say about you if they learn that you were responsible for crippling a company asset.”

“Tapes can be doctored. It would be your word against mine.”

“You must be getting a little hot, Marushige. We’ve been over this before. That tape will show up pure in any test you care to name.”

“If you produce it, you will implicate yourself in the break-in. You could have stopped those shadowrunners out in the streets.”

“Wasn’t in my contract.”

“The Kansayaku may not see it that way,” Marushige said. “It is said that he places a premium on personal initiative.”

“That’s what got me where I am today. Got me back to the arcology security center. Got me a very useful trideo tape. See, I’ve got initiative,” she said with a cold smile, “but I believe in keeping its use personal.”

Marushige leaned back into his chair, making a fist with his right hand and laying his other hand over it. “You were rewarded for your silence concerning Claybourne. Despite your repulsive method of achieving the office, you have been an efficient deputy. I will only be pushed so far in this matter, Crenshaw. Be careful that you do not overstep the line.”

“I’m not pushing, Marushige. You can keep the top slot as long as you want. I really don’t want it. But if you try to force me out, just remember that if I go down I take you with me.”

Marushige ran his thumb along the ragged scar on his left cheek. After a few moments, he said, “It would be wise for you to bury your obsession about Verner while Sato’s around. The Kansayaku is tightly connected to Director Aneki, and Verner used to be some kind of pet of the old man. Surely neither of us needs to borrow trouble.”

“Your concern is touching,” Crenshaw drawled. Marushige was less concerned with her embarrassment than the possibility of Sate looking into things and discovering the security directors manipulation of the records. He would, most likely, be relieved if she managed to screw up and get canned. That way, he’d be rid of her. “I don’t think you have much to worry about. Sato doesn’t like Verner any more than I do.”

“That is a bold assertion, and interesting, if true,” Marushige commented. “How would you know such a thing?”