Lawrence Watt-Evans: Realms of Light

I hadn’t actually tried, since I assumed IRCwas monitoring everything he saw or heard.

“I can give him a message,” the doorsaid.

That was probably the best I could hope for,so I said, “Tell him Carlie needs to talk to him about an urgentfamily matter.”

“He will receive the message at his nextbreak.”

“I’ll wait.” Human croupiers only didhalf-hour shifts-the casino didn’t want them getting distracted,thinking about the hot player a few seats down, or when dinnermight be, or a full bladder. Even more important, they didn’t wantthem watching enough play to start noticing bias in the equipment,so every table changed staff every thirty minutes, and ’Chan wouldhave ten minutes to play his messages and get a drink and whateverbefore heading to his next position. I could wait that long.

The door didn’t say anything. “Should I wait,Mis’?” the cab asked from behind me.

“No,” I told it. I almost started to explainthat I didn’t know how long I’d be there, but then I remembered itwas a cab. It didn’t care why.

“Thank you,” it said, and then it was gone,swooping away at an acceleration that would have been nasty for ahuman passenger.

I leaned against the wall by the door; theplastic was warm against my back.

I didn’t like that I hadn’t done anyplanning. I should have skimmed background from the nets before Ilanded. I hadn’t because I was used to having the data I neededright there waiting any time I bothered to ask for it, but thistime I couldn’t trust everything I pulled down. I didn’t have myold office com that knew everything about Nightside City anymore. Ididn’t have my new office com from Alderstadt, either. All I hadwas the public nets and what I carried with me. I wasn’t carryingmuch, and if Grandfather Nakada was right, I shouldn’t believeeverything I found on the public nets. So I was scrolling blind,seeing what came up the screen.

As I said, I wasn’t really looking forNakada’s conspiracy of assassins. I had to assume that if they’dgotten at the old man’s dreamware, they were smart enough to spotanyone who went poking around after them. I was just running my ownerrands, and keeping all ports open for data about the Nakada clan.If anything beeped, I’d take a look. If it all looked smooth, thenI’d go back to Prometheus and work that end.

For now, though, it was all family. With Mis’Perkins waiting for me on the ship I could get ’Chan and our fatheroff-planet without any tickets-if I could get them to the port.’Chan shouldn’t be too much trouble, but pulling a wirehead out ofthe dreamtanks was another program entirely. The only way I hadever heard of a wirehead coming out of the tank alive was if thecops needed her as a witness-city cops or casino cops, either one.If the wirehead survived, she went back in the tank afterward.

I’d seen vid of a wirehead witness once. Shelooked like walking gritware, and wanted nothing more than to getback to her dreams. She told them whatever they wanted to hear, soshe could get it over with and climb back in the tank, and thewhole time her eyes were flipping back and forth, trying not to seeboring old reality.

If I did get Dad out, the kindest thing Icould do would probably be to plug him into a new dreamtank onPrometheus. If Grandfather Nakada froze at paying for that, I’dcall it a medical expense.

I didn’t think he’d freeze. The moneyinvolved wasn’t enough to matter to the Nakadas.

But first I had to get Dad out, and to dothat, first I had to find him. The location of a particularwirehead was proprietary information, not something Seventh Heavengave out to anyone who asked-an amazing number of wireheads hadleft enemies behind who might like a chance to cut a few leads on aparticular dreamtank, just for old times’ sake. After all, peoplewho had a happy life and a lot of friends in the real world didn’tbuy the dream in the first place.

’Chan might know something. We might be ableto run the family pack on some flunky, even though the law said weweren’t family anymore.

The door suddenly said, “I have a messagefrom Sebastian Hsing for Carlisle Hsing.”

“I’m Carlisle Hsing,” I said. I held up mycard where the scan could read it, just in case it had decided toneed proof beyond whatever it had used to recognize me before.

’Chan’s voice came from the speaker. “I getoff after my next table. I can meet you in the employee lounge.This better be important, Carlie.”

The door slid open. “Please follow the bluelight to the employee lounge, Mis’ Hsing,” it said in its ownvoice. “Do not attempt to visit other areas.”

“Thank you,” I said. You never know whethersoftware’s advanced enough to appreciate the niceties, and itdoesn’t cost to use them.

Beyond the door was a drab corridor that ledto a door a dozen meters away; a ball of blue light hovered in theair a few meters in. I followed it in.

It led through the door, which opened aheadof me, then around a corner to the right and down another corridor,then up a ramp to another corridor, but this one had thickred-and-black fixed-color carpet and better-quality doors openingoff it. I could hear voices, human ones by the sound,somewhere.

Finally the blue light stopped in front of adoor upholstered in red vinyl. The door didn’t open for me, and atfirst I thought something had gone wrong, but there was the light,and it looked like a lounge. I pushed on the door with myhand, and it swung inward.

The room beyond was littered with discardedplates and teacups. The red-and-black carpet was the same as in thecorridor, but more worn, and with several old, dark stains. Onewall shone with the gentle blue of a welcome screen. Two tables anda dozen chairs were randomized; I settled onto a chair, let it fititself to me, then waved at the screen.

“Public access?” I asked.

“Available,” it replied.

“Tell me about Seventh Heaven Neurosurgery,”I said.

After all, if I was going to have to wait, Imight as well put the time to good use.

Half a dozen images appeared, waiting for meto choose-an ad for their services, a financial statement, customerreviews, and so on. I pointed at a newsy.

At least, I thought it was a newsy, but itwas hype. “There are many companies offering neurologicalservices,” it told me, “but one stands out from the crowd. The namemay be Seventh Heaven, but these dreams are second to none.”

It went on to tell me that Seventh Heaven hadbeen around for over a century, and was based on Mars, in SolSystem. I asked a question at that, and found out that theoperation on Epimetheus was a franchise operated entirely by localtalent-they leased the name and the equipment from the parentcompany.

So when Nightside City fried, what wouldhappen to their tanks? These people didn’t even own them,and somehow I doubted corporate back on Mars was going to comereclaim them if the locals packed up and left when the sun roseover the crater rim.

The com I was talking to didn’t have any dataon that, of course. I was trying to decide what I could ask thatmight be useful when the door opened and ’Chan stepped in. Heglanced at the screen, blinked, then looked at me.

“Carlie,” he said, “what are you doing here?I thought you were on Prometheus!”

“I was,” I said. “I came back.”

“You did what ?”

“I came back.”

“Why? Why would you do something stupid likethat?”

“Two reasons,” I said. “First, I got hiredfor a job that includes poking around the old place a little.Second, I wanted to get you and Dad off-planet before the sun comesup.”

“Me… and Dad ? Carlie, he’s in atank. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that, but what I don’t know is what Seventh Heaven’s going to do with the tanks when thedawn comes. So I want to transfer him to somewhere onPrometheus.”