Never deal with a Dragon

50

The ebon boy in the glittering cloak raced along the pulsing paths of the metroplex air traffic control computers. He ran unerringly, headed for a destination he had visited before. Up a flight of stairs and through a shining door he went making his way among the hierarchy of subsystems and past barriers as though they weren’t there. Reaching the command center at last, he dipped a hand into the data stream and left behind a command. Then he was gone, slipping out past countermeasures that never knew he was there.

The Aztechnology airport shuttle would be delayed on the Mitsuhama pad. In its place, a Federated Boeing Commuter tilt-wing shuttle with Aztechnology markings would land at Renraku Pad 23 precisely on time at 10:42 P.M.

A stop at the transmitter controller belonging to Hadley’s Hacks made sure that the launch signal went out along with the regular traffic between the innocent Mr. Hadley and his roving cabbies. With that signal. Sam’s plan went into motion. The snatch team was headed for their destination and he needed to be there to meet them. The ebon boy spread his cloak and launched himself into the dark sky of the Matrix, soaring toward the great black pyramid of Renraku.

He circled the construct cautiously, Looking for any hint that the system was at other than normal status. Seeing nothing after three passes, he alighted near the same back door he had used during the expedition with Sam. He entered with the code he had stolen and was relieved to find the node quiet. In his excitement, he had forgotten to activate his masking program, and he did so now. Then he rested for a moment, considering the best path to the security systems monitoring Landing Pad 23.

The arcology was still being built. It stood to reason that certain security systems had to be installed during construction. Installation meant plans, and to Dodger, plans meant a map. He ran a path through the elevators’ maintenance monitors, to the systems used by the installers, and back up their lines to the master plan.

Dodger slid into a subprocessor and satisfied himself that the pattern of energy pulsing in the walls was the one he sought. Fingers tapped display instructions as the ebon boy waved his hands in pseudomystical gestures. A map of the control system for security monitors glowed into existence. Another gesture, and the image scrolled and expanded, highlighting the intermediary junction between his current location and the subprocessor overseeing slaved security nodes guarding Landing Pad 23. He scanned the path and set out again, leaving his handiwork to dissolve back into nothingness.

Two nodes later, he noticed an odd translucency to the constructs. Everything appeared as though overlaid with a deep, almost mirrorlike, polish. The ebon boy halted and stared at his own reflection in the walls of the message center. The pulsing circuitry characteristic of the architecture’s construct imagery seemed to be retreating, vanishing under the glare of reflective surfaces.

Turning to flee, the ebon boy came featureless face to featureless face with an ivory girl, her jet cloak sparkling with highlights as though made from inky diamond.

“For myself, there was hope of your return.”

Dodger could not find words.

Fingers flew, seeking the correct program initiations to escape the node, as the ebon boy’s head twisted in search of an exit. A hand slapped at the escape pad, but the mirrors only flashed brighter.

“For myself, there was desire of your company,” the girl said, her voice more seductive than any Dodger had ever heard from a fleshly woman. She reached out a hand to caress his cheek. “Come.”

And they were elsewhere.

The new construct was walled with myriad jet dark mirrors, each a small segment of the walls, floor, or ceiling. There was no apparent entrance or exit. The ivory girl, her slim Elven body hidden by the folds of her cloak, was almost invisible where she stood in the center of the chamber. All he could see clearly was her elegantly shaped head. Though the head had neither hair nor definite features, Dodger was unassailably convinced of its beauty and femininity. She was a cyber siren, calling to his soul, anima to his animus, a part sundered from him by flesh but now here and waiting.

If only he could move and take her in his arms.

“He’s not all there, you know,” a new voice said.

Dodger was suddenly aware of another persona in the construct. On the far side of the chamber stood another female figure, her outlines blurred and refracted as though encased in water ice. She looked to be wearing biker leathers, though made of chrome rather than black synthleather. Her long platinum hair hung in a sheet down one side of her face, obscuring the left lens of her golden wraparound sunglasses.

“Who are you, Maiden in Ice?”

“My friends call me Jenny. You must be the Dodger.”

“Guilty, Lady Jenny. Have you any idea where we are or what she is?”

“She?”

“Our lovely hostess.”

“Your interface circuitry’s gone bad, Dodger. Lovely is hardly the word I’d use for the most wizard hunk of beefcake I’ve ever seen.”

Dodger listened to her words, staring the whole time at their hostess. This was not an ordinary manifestation of the Matrix. “I believe my circuits are fine. Jenny, I begin to suspect that we are in the presence of history.”

“Swell. I just want to go home.”

“Home,” a lovely contralto voice said, but Dodger suspected that Jenny heard a bass, masculine voice.

One mirror panel of the wall lit up, a brilliant white that focused into an image of Holly Brighton, international simsense star. “I’m so glad you could join me tonight,” Holly’s face said before her image froze.

Another panel on the opposite wall flashed on, and an aged, flabby man stood on a bare stage backed with curtains. “We have a really big shew for you tonight,” he announced as the image locked into immobility.

A third panel blinked on, This time it was an intense-eyed young man in what looked like turn-of-the-century chic. He stood in some kind of conference hall and pointed at the picture recorder as he said, “Evil pure and simple, by way of-”

The rest of the panels flared to life, images flickering on and off with eye-searing speed. Dodger couldn’t make sense of any of them until, after a few moments, they slowed. Each panel flashed its own random series of images from the arcology’s security cameras and internal broadcast channels. One slowed further, picture rolling over picture, until it settled on an image of a flight deck. Another flickered to a halt on the identical scene. A third followed and a fourth until all had frozen on the same picture. Surrounding him as completely as had the mirrors were thousands of images of Landing Pad 23.