The Lucifer desk

6

The Street kids were clustered near the base of the Space Needle, listening to a simsense deck, and it looked to Carla like a Sony Beautiful Dreamer. Two of the teenagers were simming the music directly, via datajacks slotted into their temples. They jerked in time with the music, eyes focused on some distant point as the deck pumped sights, sounds, and other sensory input directly into their brains. The rest of the kids heard only the music that blared from the speakers. Some lounged about, smoking, too chill to acknowledge the driving staccato beat. Others danced, arms flailing, occasionally knocking foreheads together like wild rams. One of the kids-a troll dressed in black leather pants and a Japanese kimono hacked off at the waist-even had the curling horns necessary to complete the picture. Overhead, the night sky was a solid black, devoid of stars.

Carla shouted over the din from the speakers. “Do any of you know an ork girl named Pita? She came looking for me at my office the other day, but left before I had a chance to really talk with her. The last bunch of kids I talked to told me she hangs somewhere down here, at Seattle Center. Have any of you seen her? This is what she looks like” She held out a playback imager. Its flatscreen showed a still of Pita sitting in the KKRU lobby.

The teenagers stared at the imager, their eyes a mixture of boredom and suspicion. “You her social worker?” one asked. By the way his nose flared as he looked up and down Carla’s expensive Armante jacket, he wasn't impressed with her corporate image. Maybe she should have dressed down before trying to interview street kids. But the Armante was bullet-proof as well as stylish.

“I’m not a social worker,” Carla answered. “I’m a reporter. Carla Harris of KKRU Trideo News. Pita had a story for me. A story we’re willing to get behind. Be sure to tell her that if you see her.

The troll stopped dancing and ambled over to stand behind Carla. He loomed over her like a building, throwing her into shadow. She resisted the urge to back away, even though he reeked of sweat. Never let a dog see that you re afraid of him, she thought. It only encourages him to bite.

“Unless you got some credit to spend right here, lady, you’d better just frag off,” he grumbled.

Across the parking lot, a car horn beeped twice. That would be Masaki. He had cut the tint on the windows of his car, and was gesturing frantically inside it.

Carla met the troll’s eyes and smiled. “I’d love to stay and chat,” she told him. “But my father doesn’t like it when I stay out late, and he’s quite particular about which boys I talk to. That’s him in the car over there. Perhaps you’d like to meet him?”

Carla almost hoped the troll would call her bluff and say yes. If Masaki saw the huge brute shambling toward his car, he’d wet himself. He’d been working the lifestyles beat too long, and had gone soft. He'd rather spend the evening behind the multiple locks of his apartment door than chasing down stories. Carla had practically dragged him out tonight. She would have gone on her own, except that Masaki knew more about the background to the piece, including the background of the mage who’d wanted to spill the beans on Mitsuhama’s special project. But the way Masaki was acting, she wasn’t sure if her fellow so-called “reporter” still deserved a byline on the story.

The troll shifted his kimono slightly so that Carla got a good look at the Streetline Special pistol tucked into the top of his pants. She knew better than to flinch.

“You got cojones coming out here at night, lady,” he said grudgingly at last.

Carla smiled sweetly at him. “Ovaries, actually.” Behind her, Masaki honked the horn twice more. “Remember,” she told the other kids as she turned to go, “if you see Pita, tell her Carla Harris of KKRU Trideo is looking for her.” She handed the kid her business card.

Carla strode across the parking lot and wrenched open the car door. She and Masaki had been trying all that afternoon and evening to find Pita, but none of the street kids would admit to seeing the girl. She’d disappeared into thin air-and taken the Mitsuhama data-chip with her. Their producer had given Carla and Masaki one day to dig up some proof that there really was a story. So far, all they had were dead ends. And now Masaki was acting like an idiot, honking the horn like a frightened kid. He even had the engine running, as if fearing that a fast getaway would be imminent.

“What the hell are you doing?” Carla asked Masaki angrily. Trying to wake up all of Seattle? If you weren’t such a timid-”

Masaki didn’t wait for the insult. “Look at this!” he said, pointing urgently to the compact trid built into the dash of his car. “I was channel surfing and stumbled across this pirate broadcast. Looks like they’ve found Pita for us.”

Carla climbed hurriedly into the car, thumbing the volume key beside the tiny trideo screen. Pita’s voice crackled from the speaker and her image wavered. At first Carla thought it was just the trideo unit acting up. but then she saw the channel display. The broadcast was coming in on Channel 115-a channel that should have been carrying nothing but a blank blue field. This was clearly a pirate broadcast, fed illegally through a cable booster into a “dead” channel. The pirates were probably transmitting via remote feed to avoid getting caught, should their input be traced. The resulting distortion had caused the color to shift; Pita’s face was distinctly green. But her voice was coming through, loud and clear, despite the occasional pop of static.

“This is where it happened.” she said in a quavering voice. “This is where my friends were killed.”

The camera pulled back from Pita, revealing the wall behind her. The words that had been painted in the orks’ blood were faint but still legible, thanks to an overhang that protected them from the rain that had been falling steadily throughout the day: “Human Power!”, “Goblin Scum Must Die!” and “Keep Our Human Family Pure!”

Carla jabbed a finger at the screen. “That’s Rainier Avenue South, the spot where those three orks were killed by Humanis Policlub. I shot trid there a couple of days ago. If this is a live broadcast, that’s where Pita is right now.”

“It’s live all right,” Masaki said, wheezing with excitement. “But the pirate would be a fool to broadcast from an identifiable location. Lone Star would be all over him before he’d even finished his intro.

“See this faint blue line?” He traced Pita’s outline with a finger. “The kid’s image has been inserted over a shot of the corner where the kids were killed. The pirate is shooting with two portacams. one slaved to the other. He’s using a mixer to paste the two images together.”

“So how do we find him?” Carla asked.

“The portacams can’t be more than a few hundred meters apart,” he said. “He’s got to be within a block or two of that corner or else the signal would suffer too much distortion and the images wouldn’t match up. And he must be shooting outside to capture traffic noise. We’ll find him.” Masaki put the car into gear and punched the accelerator. “Now what was that name you wanted to call me? A timid what?

“Shh!” Carla hissed, “I’m trying to listen to this. Has the kid said anything about the dead mage?”

“Not yet.” Masaki rounded a corner, tires squealing. “It’s been nothing but intro so far. After introducing Pita, the reporter went into this rambling spiel about the coming revolution and injustice against the metaraces. Usual bulldrek. About what you’d expect from amateur propagandists like Orks First! They’re eating up the kid’s story with a fork and-”

“Quiet!” Carla leaned closer to the tiny screen. The camera was back on the ork girl, locked in a closeup that showed the tears at the corners of her eyes. Carla made sure the machine was set on record, for review later in case she missed anything.

“We were stopped outside an apartment a few blocks from here,” Pita began, gesturing up the Street, “by two Lone Star cops. There were four of us. Me, Chen Wah…” She paused, blinking furiously. “And two younger orks, Shaz and Mohan Gill. The cops took our simsense headset and…”

Carla glanced up as the car came to a halt. They were stopping for a yellow light. Cross traffic was light. “Let’s move, Masaki!” she said impatiently. “The pirate is going to wrap this story and disappear.”

“This intersection is monitored!” Masaki protested. “I don’t want to risk getting a tick-”

Carla grabbed the wheel, slid across the seat, and punched her foot down on top of Masaki’s, depressing the accelerator. Masaki gasped in fear as the car leaped across the intersection, narrowly missing the oncoming traffic. Horns blared, but then they were through and racing along Rainier. Masaki glared at Carla as she released the wheel, then drove on, grinding his teeth. Carla was pleased to see that they were at last making some decent speed.

She returned her attention to the trideo screen. The pirate reporter was standing beside Pita, one arm draped protectively over her shoulders. He was talking earnestly into the camera, his eyes glittering with intensity.

“Most of us have gone through what Pita has just described,” he was saying. “Lone Star seizes our property without warrant, stops and questions us without due cause, and talks to us in the most derogatory way they can think of. We live our lives in the Underground, afraid to venture onto the streets of our own city, shut out from the homes we once owned. Governor Schultz and Lone Star Chief Loudon have promised to ‘clean up’ Seattle. They pretend they’re talking about street crime. But anyone who remembers the events of 2039 will read between the lines and realize that the ‘housecleaning’ these humans are talking about is far more serious than the round-up that triggered the Night of Rage. We at Orks First! are about to bring you the true story of the links between our city’s ‘security’ force and the policlub that was notorious for-”

“We're close now!” Masaki called out. “They’ve got to be around here somewhere.” He weaved around another vehicle, cut off a truck, and pulled back into the curb lane.

The pirate’s voice was lost in a roar of static. The trideo screen had gone blue.

“Damn!” Carla thumped the dash above the trideo set. “We’ve lost the transmission.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Masaki wheezed, slowing the car. “There they are!”

Carla looked up. The ork girl was perhaps a block away, standing near the curb. Her body posture was hunched, frozen. She looked like a frightened animal, caught in the glare of headlights and uncertain which way to run. The pirate reporter lay at her feet, tangled in his tripod as if he had tripped over it. He was struggling to raise himself to a sitting position, to point something black he held in his hand. At first, Carla thought it was a portacam. But then she recognized the streamlined shape of a pistol. She was just powering down her window when shots coughed out from across the street. The ork reporter sagged to the ground, then went still.

“That’s gunfire!” Masaki said, slamming on the brakes. Around them, other drivers were also reacting, some accelerating away as quickly as possible, others spinning in tight fishtail turns. Two cars slammed together with a dull crunch and the scraping squeal of torn metal in the intersection ahead.

As their car skidded to a stop, Carla peered around Masaki. On the opposite side of the street, a man was tucking a pistol into a holster under his arm. A smaller man sprinted out into traffic, heading for the ork girl.

Cursing the power window for its slowness, Carla stuck her head out the opening. “Pita!” she cried. “This way!”

The girl hesitated no more than a millisecond, then sprinted for the car. The man chasing her changed direction, angling across the Street to intercept her. A car narrowly missed him, honking furiously. But he was gaining on the girl.

Masaki had thrown their car into reverse. It jerked backward, wheels spinning.

“What are you doing?” Carla screamed. “Wait for the girl!”

Masaki was wheezing heavily, obviously scared. His pudgy hands were white on the steering wheel. He shook his head, eyes wide. “That guy’s got a gun! Close the window before he shoots!”

Instead, Carla cracked the car door. The force of the backward acceleration made it slam open. She leaned out, reaching for Pita, who by now was running alongside the vehicle. One hand on the door! the other on the wrist of the ork girl, Carla yanked. At the same time, Pita jumped, knocking Carla back into the car.

The man chasing Pita, a willowy Asian fellow, was barely a few steps behind her. His face was set in a determined grimace. Something snaked out from the gun he held in his hand, licking against Carla’s wrist with a hot electric snap. A wave of pain coursed through her as her body convulsed. For a moment or two, the world spun. Or perhaps it was the car. They were whipping around in a tight backward turn, leaving the man with the Laser behind. The corner of the open car door caught his shirt, tearing it open and spinning him around. Then the car was rocketing forward, away from the spot where the pirate reporter had been gunned down. Something heavy was in Carla’s lap-the ork girl, she remembered fuzzily. The car door thudded shut. Then the kid clambered into the back seat.

Carla shook her head to clear it. Her right wrist was on fire; looking down she saw a bright white circle on the back of it. She blinked, testing the focus on her cybereye. The response lime of the miniature camera inside it was a fraction of a second too slow, but the unit appeared to be undamaged. She hoped it had caught a good, clean shot of her assailant. If this story panned out, she could probably use it.

Beside her, Masaki was cursing steadily, sweat rolling down his temples. His moustache and goatee framed white lips. He was at last ignoring the speeding limit, running lights and driving with terrified determination.

The ork girl sat in the back seat, pounding a fist against the upholstery. “Fragging cops!” Her voice held an edge of hysteria. “Fragging, fragging bastards!”

“Did you see that guy’s shoulders?” Masaki asked in a low voice, his eyes darting to the rear-view mirror. “They were covered with tattoos. Those weren’t cops. They were yakuza. I hope to drek they didn’t get my license bar code, or we’re all dead.”

“Yakuza? But what would they want with me?” The girl twisted around to glance fearfully out the rear window. “They killed Yao, didn’t they? They must have been aiming at me.”

Carla turned her anger on Masaki. “You’re not helping!” she told him. And slow down. There’s no one following us.”

She turned to the girl, who now sat with her arms wrapped around her chest, hunched into herself. Carla took a moment to compose herself, then spoke in a soothing voice. “Everything’s all right now, Pita. We’ll take you back to the station. The building has a tight security system; you’ll be safe there.”

Carla took a breath, brushing her hair back into place with one hand. Her heart was still beating rapidly, but whether it was from fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell.

Things were falling into place now. Somehow, Mitsuhama must have found out that the ork girl had acquired the datachip containing the specs of the research project and had sent its goons out after her-apparent]y the rumors that someone at MCT Seattle had connections with the local yakuza were accurate. The yaks had panicked when they saw her being interviewed by a reporter, and had geeked the guy-while he was on-air, yet. It was stupid and brutal, just the sort of thing you’d expect from gangsters. But it meant that the datachip was a top-priority item. Something worth killing for.

Wetting her lips, Carla did her best not to seem too anxious. “Those men were chasing you because of something you found, Pita. Something you picked up in an alley from a man who had burned to death. An optical memory chip like those used in cyberdecks. Do you still have it?”

Carla scarcely dared the breathe. If the kid had tossed the memory chip away…

“What if I did?” Pita asked defensively. “The guy was already dead. It’s not like I stole it or anything.”

“That doesn’t matter to those men back there,” Carla said soothingly. “They want the chip back, and they won’t stop chasing you until they get it.”

“Then I’ll give it back to them.” The kid reached for the window button. “Right now”

“No!” Carla fought to control her voice. So the kid did have the chip, after all. Now she’d just have to talk her into handing it over.

“Even if they get the chip back, they’ll want to make sure the information it contains doesn’t get out,” Carla told the girl. “You’ve had the chip for twenty-four hours. Even if the information on the chip is encoded, that’s plenty of time for an experienced decker to decrypt it. You’re just a kid, without any connections, but those goons don’t know that. They’ve got to assume you’ve read the data it contains. And that means-”

Masaki cut her off. “Stop it, Carla!” he said. “You’re scaring her. You’re scaring me, too.”

“I was going to say,” Carla said, an icy tone in her voice, “that it means we’ve got to air our story on Mitsuhama as soon as possible. Once the technical data on the chip is public knowledge, there’ll be no need for the corporation to try to keep us quiet.”

“Oh.” Masaki was still driving quickly, but not recklessly. They were only a few blocks from the KKRU building. It was late, but Carla was keyed up with the excitement of the chase. This story was going to be a big one; she could feel it in her bones. After all, Mitsuhama had killed the mage to make sure word of their top-secret project didn’t get out, and had burned the hard copy printout he’d been about to give Masaki, Funny, though, them overlooking the chip.

She reached out a hand. “Give me the chip, and I’ll make sure the story airs. Then you’ll be off the hook with the yakuza.”

The kid rummaged in the pocket of her jacket. She pulled out a tiny bronze disk. But when Carla reached br it, the kid yanked her hand back. “I want you to promise me something, first,” she said.

“What?”

“That you’ll do the story on my friends,” the girl continued. About how the cops killed them.”

“Sure, kid,” Carla promised smoothly. “Just as soon as the Mitsuhama story airs. That’s the important thing right now. Getting those goons off your back”

The kid studied Carla for a long moment, then grudgingly agreed. “O.K.,” she said, dropping the data-chip into Carla’s hand.

“Now!” Carla said, “tell us everything that happened the night you found the dead man.”