William Gibson: Idoru

The Russian coughed. “An exchange. This gentleman on floor.”

Rez saw Eddie and Maryalice. “Are they dead?”

“Volted, yes? Being most-time nonlethal. Your girl on bed.”

Rez looked at Chia. “Who are you?”

“Chia Pet McKenzie,” she said automatically. “I’m from Seattle. I’m… I’m in your fan club.” She felt her face burning.

The brow above the green eye went up. He seemed to be listening to something. “Oh,” he said, and paused. “She did? Really? That’s wonderful.” He smiled at Chia. “Rei says you’ve been totally central to everything, and that we have a great deal to thank you for.”

Chia swallowed. “She does?”

But Rez had turned to the Russian. “We have to have this.” He raised the nanotech unit. “We’ll negotiate now. Name your price.”

“Rozzer,” the man at the door said, “you can’t do that. This bastard’s Kombinat.”

Chia saw the green eye close, as if Rez were making a conscious effort to calm himself. When it opened, he said: “But they’re the government , aren’t they, Blackwell? We’ve negotiated with governments before.”

“It’s for the legals ,” the scarred man said, but now there was an edge of worry in his voice.

The Russian seemed to hear it too. He slowly lowered his hands. “What were you planning to do with this?” Rez asked him. The Russian looked down at the thing in Rez’s hands, as if considering, then raised his eyes. A muscle was jumping, in his cheek. He seemed to come to a decision. “We are developing ambitious public works project,” he said.

“Oh Jesus,” Maryalice said from the carpet, so hoarsely that at first Chia couldn’t identify the source. “They must’ve put something in that. They did . I swear to God they did.” And then she threw up.

Yamazaki lost his balance as the van shot up the narrow ramp, out of the hotel. Laney, holding Arleigh’s phone to the dashboard map, toning the number of the Hotel Di, heard him crash down on the shredded bubble-pack. The display bleeped as Laney completed the number; grid-segments clicked across the screen. “You okay, Yamazaki?”

“Thank you,” Yamazaki said. “Yes.” Getting to his knees again, he craned around the headrest of Laney’s seat. “You have located the hotel?”

“Expressway,” Arleigh said, glancing at the display, as they swung right, up an entrance ramp. “Hit speed-dial three. Thanks. Gimme.” She took the phone. “McCrae. Yeah. Priority? Fuck you, Alex. Ring me through to him.” She listened. “Di? Like D, I? Shit. Thanks.” She clicked off.

“What is it?” Laney asked, as they swung onto the expressway, the giant bland brow of an enormous articulated freight-hauler pulling up behind and then past them, quilted stainless steel flashing in Laney’s peripheral vision. The van rocked with the big truck’s passage.

“I tried to get Rez. Alex says he left the hotel, with Blackwell. Headed the same place we are.”

“When?”

“Just about the time you were having your screaming fit, when you had the ’phones on,’ ” Arleigh said. She looked grim. “Sorry,” she said.

Laney had had to argue with her for fifteen minutes, back there, before she’d agreed to this. She’d kept saying she wanted him to see a doctor. She’d said that she was a technician, not a researcher, not security, and that her first responsibility was to stay with the data, the modules, because anyone who got those got almost the entire Lo/Rez Partnership business plan, plus the books, plus whatever Kuwayama had entrusted them with in the gray module. She’d only given in after Yamazaki had sworn to take full responsibility for everything, and after Shannon and the man with the ponytail had promised not to leave the modules. Not even, Arleigh said, to piss. “Go against the wall, God damn it,” she’d said, “and get half a dozen of Blackwell’s boys down here to keep you company.”

“He knows,” Laney said. “She told him it’s there.”

“What is there, Laney-san?” asked Yamazaki, around the headrest.

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, they think it’ll facilitate their marriage.”

“Do you think so?” Arleigh asked, passing a string of bright little cars.

“I guess it must be capable of it,” Laney said, as something under her seat began to clang, loudly and insistently. “But I don’t think that means it’ll necessarily happen. What the hell is that ?”

“I’m exceeding the speed limit,” she said. “Every vehicle in Japan is legally required to be equipped with one of these devices. You speed, it dings.”

Laney turned to Yamazaki. “Is that true?”

“Of course,” Yamazaki said, over the steady clanging.

“And people don’t just disconnect them?”

“No,” Yamazaki said, looking puzzled. “Why would they?”

Arleigh’s phone rang. “McCrae. Willy?” Silence as she listened.

Then Laney felt the van sway slightly. It slowed until the clanging suddenly stopped. She lowered the phone.

“What is it?” Laney asked.

“Willy Jude,” she said. “He… He was just watching one of the clubbing channels. They said Rez is dead. They said he was dead. In a love hotel.”

When nobody did anything to help Maryalice, Chia got up from the bed, squeezed past the Russian and into the bathroom, triggering the ambient bird track. The black cabinet was open, its light on, and there were Day-Glo penis-things scattered across the black and white tile floor. She took a black towel and a black washcloth from a heated chrome rack, wet the washcloth at the black and chrome basin, and went back to Maryalice. She folded the towel, put it down over the vomit on the white carpet, and handed Maryalice the washcloth.

Nobody said anything, or tried to stop her. Masahiko had sat back down on the carpet, with his computer between his feet. The scarred man, who seemed to take up as much space as anything in the room, had lowered his axe. He held it down, along a thigh wider than Chia’s hips, with the spike jutting from beside his knee.

Maryalice, who’d managed to sit up now, wiped her mouth with the cloth, taking most of her lipstick with it. When Chia straightened up, a whiff of the Russian’s cologne made her stomach heave.

“You’re a developer, you say?” Rez still held the nanotech unit.

“You are asking many questions,” the Russian said. Eddie groaned, then, and the Russian kicked him. “ Basis ,” the Russian said.

“A public works project?” Rez raised his eyebrow. “A water filtration plant, something like that?”

The Russian kept his eye on the big man’s axe. “In Tallin,” he said, “we soon are building exclusive mega-mall, affluent gated suburbs, plus world-class pharmaceutical manufakura. We are unfairly denied most advanced means of production, but we are desiring one hundred percent modern operation.”

“Rez,” the man with the axe said, “give it up. This goon and his mates need that thing to build themselves an Estonian drug factory. Time I took you back to the hotel.”

“But wouldn’t they be more interested in… Tokyo real estate?”

The big man’s eyes bulged, the scars on his forehead reddening. One of the upper arms of the micropore X had come loose, revealing a deep scratch. “What bullshit is that ? You don’t have any real estate here!”

“Famous Aspect,” Rez said. “Rei’s management company. They invest for her.”

“You are discussing nanotech exchanged for Tokyo real estate?” The Russian was looking at Rez.