“I WANT TO see Morya.”
“It’s not going to happen, Kesi,” said her twin, stern but understanding. “You have to let it go.”
“I don’t want to.” Her tone was the next thing to a pout. “She must wonder where I’ve been all this time.”
Kesada shot her an undecipherable look. “I think about that, too, but it doesn’t help to dwell on it. We have more urgent things to deal with right now.”
“Are we interrupting?” Dr. Metmuri asked, walking in on their conversation. He was followed by Ferris, then Terel bearing a net full of groceries and sundries.
Who knew how much he’d heard, Kesada thought. Though he wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose; they were all cheek by jowl in the small, interconnected suite of rooms they’d taken in a cheap tourist hostel, and voices carried.
It wasn’t an ideal place to stay, she thought, but it would do in a pinch. They needed to go to ground quickly, where their arrival would be unremarked: someplace with basic amenities and a safe place to talk. Arriving at Port Oswin, they’d left their stolen survey vehicle at the main Cutter Dome mag tube station, the one that connected with Lyndir’s world-spanning GTN, the global transit network. It might mislead pursuers into thinking they’d hopped a quick bullet car to some distant city, avoiding the more traceable air travel alternatives.
Metmuri and Terel both dug deep into their personal funds at the station’s automated money changers, swapping electronic creds on their credmeters for the plas chits that served as cash for small expenses. For the near future, at least, the last time their credmeters registered in the datasphere would be at those money changers, the better to aid their GTN smoke screen. Now the fugitives had to rely on the small fortune in chits they’d cashed out, emptying two automats in the process, and using a third to complete the dump.
“It’ll get us by for a while,” Terel said, packing triangular rolls of ten-cred chits methodically into the bottom of a travel bag. There was no need to state the obvious: if they paid cash everywhere, never producing credmeters for ordinary transactions, that in itself would eventually bring suspicion down upon them. Only backstreeters and fences worked exclusively in chits. Kesada liked to think they hadn’t sunk quite that low yet, but Metmuri refused to risk any automated transactions for now. “Not until Prevak can help us,” he said. “It makes us too easy to find.”
“Who’s Prevak?” Kesi asked, but the scientist mumbled only, “Later.” He and the others were preoccupied with three large satchels full of tens of thousands of creds in chits: more cash money in one place than any of them had seen in their entire lifetimes. Kesada knew it didn’t amount to all that much on the grand scale of things, but it felt like an illicit fortune and she was uncomfortable carting it around.
They didn’t have far to haul the stash, however. Kesi recalled a tourist hostel from travel verts, a modest, quaint old structure in the Old Town district of Oswin Dome. The Commander’s Rest was a reconstruction of a berm shelter from the earliest days of colony settlement. Cramped, warren-like, and lacking most services, it was cheap and centrally located. One of the amenities it was happily missing was comprehensive security surveillance. “No routine scans of hallway traffic,” Kesada observed to Metmuri. “That means our faces won’t be randomly cycled through city security systems.”
The doctor grunted his agreement with the choice. As long as they were cautious about their movements and stayed indoors as much as possible, the Commander’s Rest could be a relatively safe haven while they figured out their options.
They’d taken two taxis from the station to the hostel. Metmuri traveled with the twins, packed in with various travel cases salvaged from their flight in the original hauler. He kept one of the money bags as well, entrusting Terel and Ferris with the others. The clutter was more eye-catching, removed from the cargo boot of the survey car and packed into the passenger compartment of the cab. Kesi took it in with a sharp eye. “Given our circumstances, you’re not traveling very light, Doctor.”
The man blushed, stammered something about “essentials,” and let their conversation taper off, for the magstation taxi was a tourist conveyance, and so had a human driver ready to answer questions and overhear his passengers as well. The short journey passed in relative silence, during which Metmuri sucked on a pink lozenge, and the twins looked out over the city as if they’d never seen it before. Indeed, from this perspective, they never had.
Ferris rented the rooms, her native Tion accent bolstering the fiction that they were offworld travelers. Terel went out briefly for food, returning with an assortment of meals in hotpacks, self-heating when the seal was broken. The group gathered in the twins’ room—the largest of the three—and fished through the varieties of brightly colored and labeled containers. Terel produced a ten-pack of Phizz from his shopping net as well, and the refugees settled into the food, savoring the first real meal and break they’d had since their tense hours of flight had begun.
“Ah.” Esimir leaned back, a contented smile on his face. “Rather crude, but surprisingly tasty. Thank you, Terel.”
“Sir.”
Kesi curled up in an armchair, legs tucked beneath her, looking ready for a nap after her meal. Terel puttered the mess away, and Ferris sorted through the grooming kits and other necessaries they’d picked up, sharing them out in growing piles on the table before them.
“So how’s Prevak supposed to help us?” Kesada tossed out casually.
Ferris’s hand paused before setting down a tube of shampoo. Terel’s brow furrowed. Metmuri continued to study the cracked ceiling tiles from his half-reclining position on the couch.
“What do you know about AI systems, Hinano Kesada?” He spoke into the air, equally casually, addressing them both with the one name.
The twins exchanged glances; Kesada replied. “Isn’t it time to drop the evasions?”
“Not evading.” Esimir angled his gaze down and across to the fair-skinned, tousle-haired blonde sitting opposite him. “Seriously. What do you know about AIs? That will tell me how much detail I need to get into.”
Kesada’s brow creased, thoughts switching gears. “I’m rigged. Or was.” Her hand brushed the nape of her neck, felt nothing where there should have been the soft plas divot of a direct neural interface jack. “I’ve had basic training on ships’ AI systems, as part of my astrogation courses. It gets fairly technical.”
“Ah, that’s right. You’re not certified, I recall.”
“I’ve done everything short of the test.”
He nodded to himself. “Then you know how pervasive AI subsystems are in critical functions—not just in discrete systems like ships, but in data clouds and bubble networks everywhere. They control the nexus points in the data- and infospheres; that’s probably their most public use. The most sensitive is in financial and security systems. In-house entities, usually.”
The twins nodded.
“And they’re so routine, they don’t draw much attention these days.”
“Why would they?”
Esimir leaned his head to one side, looking quizzical. “Yes, why would we worry about AIs? They’re a known quantity, well integrated into our systems, strictly contained and regulated. Just a tool we’ve grown accustomed to—which is why Prevak will be able to help us. No one will expect his kind of intervention.”
Terel grunted a muffled exclamation. Esimir ignored him and looked from twin to twin. “Prevak is an AI, you see. But not just any AI. He’s … extraordinary.”
“Sir,” Terel spoke in hushed tones. “Do you think we should be talking—”
“—about a project that has effectively been taken away from us, and turned to ends we never intended for it? Yes, I do.” Esimir turned back to the clones.
“Prevak was my mentor and friend. He invented the splintegration process and died unexpectedly. When he died, well … the AI has his personality. It was necessary, to have the internal mind of our project think like Prevak even after his death.”
“What good does that do us?” Kesada asked pointedly. “An AI, left behind in a secure facility. You can’t even get in touch with it.”
“Him.” Esimir corrected her automatically, staring off into the distance. “If we can get him out of the research station, he can help us. He can interface with other systems in, um, unusual ways.”
“Unusual enough to throw the Navy and Ilanya off our tracks?”
Metmuri opened his mouth as if to say more, but halted himself. “Yes,” he replied simply, confining himself to the one word.
Terel and Ferris exchanged a glance with each other and sat as attentively as the twins. “Like you said, Doctor,” Terel ventured, “Prevak’s inside RS 207. We’re not.”
“Now that’s the interesting thing.” Metmuri leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled as he spoke. “We don’t need to move him physically. All we need to do is give him a way out. Poke a hole in the cybersecurity of the station, and Prevak will do the rest.”
“I don’t understand,” Kesi grumbled. “Do what?”
“Why, escape, my girl.” Metmuri blinked owlishly at her. “Once he’s out of there, he’ll help us. He promised me.”
Kesada shook her head in disbelief. “You’re saying you made a deal with an AI? Spring it, and it helps you?”
“Him. I made a deal with Prevak, yes.”
She shook her head again. “This sounds crazy. I’m not saying it’s not possible, but it sounds crazy.” She looked over to Ferris. “What do you think about this?”
Ferris looked startled. “Me? I … I think, if the Doctor says Prevak will help, then he’ll help.”
Kesada fixed Terel with her gaze next. “You?”
His lips thinned, unhappy at being addressed in this manner. Still, he shrugged and looked to Metmuri. “I trust the doctor,” he announced to the room at large.
Metmuri quirked a half smile. “It’s quite simple,” he said. “The AI remembers me as the friend I was to Prevak Rohar in life. He wants to assist me in these unhappily altered circumstances. So we struck a bargain. It’s not a difficult thing to understand.” He looked around the table. “What’s going to be difficult is breaching station security long enough for Prevak to find his own way out.”
Kesada shook her head. “I don’t even want to know how you think he’s going to do that. But back at the jungle waystation, you said something about needing a cyberdecker.”
Metmuri nodded eagerly. “That’s the only way this can be done. We need a netrunner. A good one. No—better than good. A truly superior one.” He smiled at the twins. “That’s where you come in.”
Kesi laughed, a short trill of mockery. “You know we trained for astrogation, not netrunning, right? Big difference, Doc.”
“Obviously.” He was short with the word, and addressed himself to Kesada. “You’ve associated with a, shall we say, mixed class of people for the last few years. All manner of riffraff come and go in the Shelieno—pardon me. I don’t mean you, certainly. But some of the people you’ve dealt with—well. You must know netrunners. I need you to find a good one for us.”
Kesada stared at him a moment, then chuckled, a sound less mocking but more ironic than her twin’s. “You think we know netrunners? That’s a good one. Might as well just put an ad on the net, Doc. You’ll find one quicker.”
The smile faded from his face. “But … you work in the Enclave.”
“The licensed entertainment district, yes. What, you think we’re like derevin, with gray-market connections? Surely you’re acquainted with the shigasue, Doctor, a high-caste gentleman like yourself?”
“Surely you’ve been to the district in Tion?” Kesi added. “I gather that’s where you’re from. They have a wonderful Enclave there. Not to be missed.”
Esimir blushed. The truth was, he’d never been to the Between-World of the shigasue in his life. Wanted to go; entertained the fantasy; but never had time or the courage to give it a try. And if he went, he knew he’d be more interested in the benko girls, the shigasu-in-training, than the mature entertainers themselves. And that might raise questions.…
Flustered, he looked from face to face around the table, his brow creased now with worry. “Do you mean to tell me you have no connection to deckers at all?”
The twins shook their heads.
“Surely among the Icechromers you formerly worked with?”
Their looks turned sour.
“Don’t know any freelancers?” he pleaded.
Head shakes.
“Anyone jacked for VR, even?” He sounded hopeless as he looked at each of the twins. “I … I assumed because you work as you do, well, you know, that you, you—”
“Hang out with riffraff? People doing things not quite legal?” Kesi retorted. “You don’t know a hell of a lot, do you?”
Terel bristled as Kesada put a calming hand on Kesi’s arm. Her thoughts were racing.
“Wait. Maybe we do know someone.” She said it slowly, tentatively. “I don’t think he’s what you’re looking for. But he would know who to refer us to, I think. That is,” she corrected herself, “I don’t know about us, but he’d give the Winter Goddess anything she wants.”
Kesi sat up, her eyes searching her twin’s face. “A client? Who?”
“You know.” Kesada waved her fingers as if to conjure his image out of the air. “That boy. Well, young man. Very young man. So much money, so smitten with the Winter Goddess. Peculiar tastes. The one with the sensie-feelie jacks.”
The memory was coming to Kesi as well. “Ohhh,” she breathed. “You mean SeF Boy. The one who wanted to do a sense recording of his cock-and-ball torture.” She giggled.
Ferris coughed; Metmuri blushed bright red; Terel’s face registered disapproval. “What’s the matter?” Kesi shot him a glance. “Some men really like it. When it’s done right, it heightens orgasm, too. You should try it some time.” She turned back to her twin, ignoring the sputtering across the table. “He’s the one. Big on net-crawling. Records and uplinks every little thing.”
“And we could never let him, because of the recording rights issue with the House—but every time, he’d beg so very nicely.” A slow smile stretched her lips.
“Riiiiight. He was all jacked out like a decker, all kinds of ports and plugs. Fashion statement.”
Kesada nodded. “He follows netrunner culture obsessively, and he’s devoted to us. Well, Her, anyway. But I think we could fake it.”
“You might have something there.”
The doctor had found his tongue again. “And this young man—you know how to find him?”
Kesada paused. “That could be a problem. The client records are all at Tryst. And we can’t go there, you say.”
Metmuri looked puzzled. “You don’t recall your clients’ names?”
Kesi rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Doc? You go through sixty or more a month and see how many you keep straight. After a while most of them run together. There are a few types you see repeatedly, though, and some individuals stand out.”
“We give them nicknames for easy reference,” Kesada interjected. “That, I can remember. Like SeF Boy.”
Kesi nudged her twin’s arm. “Hey. He told me his net name, once. Told us. In the heat of things. What was it? Do you remember?”
Kesada looked blank.
“It was an unusual nick,” Kesi went on. “I remember thinking it had to be real. Netboys pick their names with such care.”
“Ahhhh.” The memory surfaced at the same time and lit up both their faces. They turned to Metmuri as one. “FlashMan.”
“All right,” said Kesi. “We’ll give him a try. He’s a fan-boy. I’m sure he’ll know where to find the kind of decker you need.”
Metmuri blinked in happy surprise. “Well! Well, then. Thank you.” He rubbed his hands together. “And the sooner you move on this, the sooner we’ll all be safe. When can you contact him?”
“We have to find his com code, first,” answered Kesada. “But we can start looking for that right now.”
“This will be fun.” Kesi giggled. “I want to see the look on his face when he hears from his idol. Ha.”
Kesada cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, about that. Let’s have a word.”