William Gibson - Idoru

“Did you find what you were looking for, when you left me in Stockholm, Mr, Laney?”

He looked into her eyes. What sort of computing power did it take to create something like this, something that looked back at you? He remembered phrases from Kuwayama’s conversation with Rez: desiring machines, aggregates of subjective desire, an architecture of articulated longing…“I started to,” he said.

“And what was it that you saw, that made you unable to look at me, during our dinner?”

“Snow,” Laney said, and was startled to feel himself begin to blush. “Mountains… But I think it was only a video you’ve made.”

“We don’t ‘make’ Rei’s videos,” Kuwayama said, “not in the usual sense, They emerge directly from her ongoing experience of the world. They are her dreams, if you will.”

“You dream as well, don’t you, Mr. Laney?” the idoru said. “That is your talent. Yamazaki says it is like seeing faces in the clouds, except that the faces are really there. I cannot see the faces in clouds, but Kuwayama-san tells me that one day I will. It is a matter of plectics.”

Yamazaki says? “I don’t understand it,” Laney said. “It’s just something I can do.”

“An extraordinary talent,” Kuwayama said. “We are most fortunate. And we are fortunate as well in Mr. Yamazaki, who, though hired by Mr. Blackwell, has an open mind.”

“Mr. Blackwell is not too pleased about Rez and…” Nodding toward her. “Mr. Blackwell might be unhappy that I’m talking with you.”

“Blackwell loves Rez in his own way,” she said. “It is concern that he feels. But he does not understand that our union has already taken place. Our ‘marriage’ will be gradual, ongoing. We wish simply to grow together. When Blackwell and the others can see that our union is best for both of us, all will be well. And you can do that for us, Mr. Laney.”

“I can?”

“Yamazaki has explained what you are attempting with the data from the Lo/Rez fan archives,” Kuwayama said. “But that data says nothing, or very little, about Rei. We propose the addition of a third level of information: we will add Rei to the mix, and the pattern that emerges will be a portrait of their union.”

But you’re just information yourself, Laney thought, looking at her. Lots of it, running through God knows how many machines. But the dark eyes looked back at him, filled with something for all the world like hope. “Will you do it, Mr. Laney? Will you help us?”

“Look,” Laney said, “I only work here. I’ll do it if Yamazaki tells me to. If he takes the responsibility. But I want you to tell me something, okay?”

“What is it that you wish to know?” asked Kuwayama.

“What is all this about ?” The question surprised Laney, who hadn’t quite known what it was he was about to ask.

Kuwayama’s mild eyes regarded him through the rimless lenses. “It is about futurity, Mr. Laney.”

“Futurity?”

“Do you know that our word for ‘nature’ is of quite recent coinage? It is scarcely a hundred years old. We have never developed a sinister view of technology, Mr. Laney. It is an aspect of the natural, of oneness. Through our efforts, oneness perfects itself” Kuwayama smiled. “And popular culture,” he said, “is the testbed of our futurity.”

Arleigh made a better espresso than Shannon. Laney, squatting in the back of the green van, on popping shreds of bubble-pack, watched Yamazaki over the rim of a foam cup with a fresh double shot. “What do you think you’re doing, Yamazaki? You want us both to wind up wearing smaller shoes, or what? Blackwell likes to nail people’s hands to tables, and you’re making deals with the idoru and her boss?” Laney had insisted that they climb in back here for privacy. Yamazaki squatted opposite him, blinking. “I am not the one making deals,” Yamazaki said. “Rez and Rei Toei are in almost constant contact now, and recent improvements allow her new degrees of freedom. Rez let her into the data, all that you first tried to access. He did this without informing Blackwell.” He shrugged. “Now she accesses the fan data as well. And what they propose may well allow us to bring this to a conclusion. Blackwell is more than ever convinced there is some conspiracy. The attack in the nightclub…”

“Which was about?”

“I do not know. An attempted kidnapping? They wished to harm Rez? To abduct the idoru’s peripheral? It was handled with amazing clumsiness, but Blackwell says that is the earmark of the Kombinat… Is that the word, ‘earmark’?”

“I don’t know,” Laney said.

“ ‘Hallmark’?”

“You don’t think Blackwell’s going to cut our toes off, if we do this?”

“No. We are employed by a Lo/Rez shell corporation—”

“Paragon-Asia?”

“—but Blackwell is employed by the Lo/Rez Partnership. If Rez tells us to do something, we must do it,”

“Even if Blackwell thinks it endangers Rez’s security?”

Yamazaki shrugged. Past his shoulder, through the van’s rear window, Laney could see Shannon trundling the gray module they’d unloaded from the rear of Kuwayama’s Land-Rover. It was twice the size of the black ones that Arleigh used.

He watched Shannon push it past the orange barricades.

Not yelling, please,” said the one who held her, and then he took his hand away from her mouth.

“Where is it?” Eddie’s pale eyes.

“There,” Chia said, pointing. She could see the ragged edge of blue and yellow plastic sticking up out of her open bag. Then she saw that Maryalice was asleep on the pink bed, curled up with her high-heeled shoes still on, clutching a pillow to her face. The top of the little fridge was covered with empty, miniature bottles.

Eddie took a black-and-gold pen from his coat pocket and went to the bag. He bent over it and used his pen as a probe, moving the plastic aside so he could see. “It’s here,” he said.

“Is there?” The other hand was still holding Chia’s shoulder down, where she sat on the carpet.

“This is it,” Eddie said.

“Stay putting.” The hand left her shoulder and the man, who must’ve been kneeling behind her, got up and joined Eddie, peering into Chia’s bag. He was taller, and wore a tan suit and fancy Western boots. Big bones in his face, his hair a lighter blond than Eddie’s, a reddish, crescent-shaped birthmark high on his right cheekbone. “How you are being sure?”

“Jesus, Yevgeni…”

The man in the tan suit straightened up, looked at Maryalice, bent to pull the pillow away from her face. “How is your woman sleeping on bed in this room, Eddie?”

Eddie saw that it was Maryalice. “Fuck,” he said.

“You are telling us girl and your woman, is ‘incidental.’ You are telling us they meet on plane, is only accident . Is accident your woman is here? We do not like accident.”

Eddie looked from Maryalice to the man—he must be Russian– to Chia. “What the fuck is this bitch doing here?” Like it had to be Chia’s fault.

“She found us,” Chia said. “She said she knew somebody at the cab company.”

“No,” said the Russian, “ we know somebody at cab company. Is too much incident.”

“We’ve got it, okay?” Eddie said. ‘Why do you want to complicate things?“

The Russian rubbed his cheek, as though the birthmark might come off on his hand. “Please consider,” he said. “We are giving you isotope. You want to know is isotope, you can test. You are giving us this.” He poked the sharp toe of his cowboy boot into the side of Chia’s bag. “How are we sure?”

“Yevgeni,” Eddie said, very calmly, “you must know that deals like this require a certain basis of trust.”