Alice Crenshaw closed the door to the outer office, shutting off the protests of the security director’s receptionist. The little twit should be used to her barging in on the director by now.
The director’s aide, Jhoon Silla, stood halfway between the door and the director’s desk, eclipsing Crenshaw’s view of his master. Silla was dressed in his usual immaculate red jumpsuit, the gold Renraku logo and Captain’s star gleaming on his collar. His white Sam Browne belt gleamed softly in the indirect lighting of the lushly appointed office. The intense young man was rigid, stretched to the edge of action; his hand was under his holster flap and resting on the butt of his pistol.
“Very protective,” she said as she advanced. “But slow. You should have been at the door before I closed it.”
Tadashi Marushige sat back as she stepped around Silla. The security director folded his hands on his desk and gazed at her expressionlessly. He, too, wore the company’s undress military uniform, the collar showing insignia of the exalted rank of General in the Renraku military forces. Crenshaw never knew Marushige to wear his undress uniform except to review the elite Red Samurai guards. When Marushige was in a military mood, he usually forsook his power suits for simple fatigues.
“You’re early,” he observed as Crenshaw lowered herself into the armchair to the left of the desk.
“Useful habit.”
Marushige’s stare was suitably venomous.
“Feel free to continue,” she offered, knowing her insolence annoyed him.
“Quite all right,” he said coldly. “I was just finishing up anyway.”
He called Silla forward with a gesture. The aide began gathering maps from the desk and placing them into a folder. From the far side of the desk, he produced a briefcase and slid the packet into one of its compartments. Crenshaw sat quietly, turning her head to watch as Silla crossed the room to stand the case on the floor and take up position by the door. She noted the uniform hats and topcoats hanging behind Silla; their presence indicated that an operation outside the arcology was in the offing. Curious. She resolved to check with her sources as soon as the meeting was over.
She turned back to find Marushige waiting silently, watching her with his dark brown eyes. He said nothing. Finally, she surrendered to his patience.
“I’m not the only one running ahead of schedule today.” The director’s response was a nonverbal grunt that she took as a request to elaborate. “I thought you might be interested to know that your eleven a.m. meeting is moving itself up. Our friends from the Special Directorate are on their way.”
“Interesting.” If Marushige was surprised, he didn’t show it, though Crenshaw suspected he was ignorant of the development. He had obviously been deeply involved in the planning session with his aide and would have left orders not to be disturbed. “And knowing I would wish you to attend, you dropped what you were doing to come at once.”
Crenshaw ignored the sarcasm in the director’s voice. “Of course.”
“Very commendable.”
Praise from him, even delivered sarcastically, was unusual. Crenshaw kept her face calm, her body language unaffected by the surprise. She reached into her inner coat pocket and removed her cigarette case. Casually, she removed one of the brown-wrapped cylinders and lit it from the hot spot on the case’s lining.
Marushige smiled tightly through the entire operation. When Crenshaw had exhaled her first lungful of smoke, he opened a drawer, took out a crystal ashtray, and slid it across the desk.
“In fact, your entire record here at the arcology has been commendable,” he said in a soft voice. “Have you been enjoying your stay in Seattle?”
“It ain’t Tokyo.”
“Ah, yes. You have spent most of your long career working out of the Tokyo office.”
Crenshaw didn’t care for the way he said long. It sounded too much like a retirement speech. “We both know my record. What’s the point?”
“Your record is the point, Crenshaw-san. Both your performance here and your previous experiences in Japan make you the most suitable candidate for a very special job.”
Drek! The little fragger finally found a job I won’t be able to pass on. He’s so pleased with himself that it must be a suicide run. She took a long drag from her cigarette, letting the dry heat sear through her lungs to warm her body. I didn’t think he had the nerve to try that.
“As you are no doubt aware, one of Renraku’s senior officials, Kansayaku Hohiro Sato, will honor the Seattle arcology with a visit. He is conducting a fact-finding mission and audit for the home office. Naturally, security will be a primary concern. The Kansayaku will, of course, be expecting top-level attention which I, due to other pressing concerns, will not be able to supply in full measure. Therefore, it is my wish that you function as my liaison with Kansayaku Sato.
“You will, of course, be responsible for the Kansayaku’s personal safety as well.”
Crenshaw felt both relief and suspicion. She surely didn’t want to face an outside operation. She was too old for that nonsense, her enhancements at least a generation behind the opposition’s top talent. The assignment Marushige held out had a high risk factor but was not likely a physical one. With Renraku’s resources, no enemy would be likely to take a shot at Sato. But with such a notoriously hard-to-please executive, her career would be on the line. One slip, no matter how small, in the Kansayaku’s sight and she could kiss a healthy retirement goodbye. “What if I don’t want the...honor?”
“Your desires in the matter are largely irrelevant.” Marushige looked down at his desk console. “You seem to have been correct about an early meeting. Two of the Special Directorate have arrived.”
Tapping a key on his console, he communicated to his receptionist his decision to admit the visitors.
Vanessa Cliber announced her arrival with a bang, slamming the door out of Silla’s hand and sending it crashing into an antique credenza. Her tightly bound hair was leaking from the chignon on her neck, and her face was flushed, set in an expression of grim determination. She stomped to the desk and backhanded a stack of data disks at the security director. Disks bounced in every direction. Most clattered to a rest on the desk’s surface, but some escaped to the floor.
Crenshaw shook her head at Cliber’s lack of restraint. This was no way to make points with Japanese.
“Just what is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “Sherman is going to have kittens.”
Marushige remained unperturbed. He stood and performed a formal welcoming bow before speaking. “Good day, Director Cliber. I do not understand your reference to President Huang, but I suspect you imply that he will be as upset as are you.”
“Damn straight.”
“Well, then, it will take some time to gather the disks you have so forcefully delivered, so perhaps you can tell me what it is about them that upsets you.”
Marushige sat down as Silla moved a chair behind Cliber. She ignored the offered seat. “You know damn well what the problem is.”
The security director shrugged. He turned his attention to the other new arrival. “Ah, Doctor Hutten. Please excuse my poor manners. Your arrival was somewhat overshadowed. Silla, get the doctor a chair as well.”
Hutten nodded his thanks before whispering something to Cliber. She gave a short jerk of a nod, then took a deep breath and sat down. Hutten followed suit as soon as Silla moved another chair from its place along the wall.
“Please excuse Vanessa, General Marushige. She’s had very little sleep in the last few days. We’ve been having some severe problems with the integration sequencers.”
Marushige nodded sympathetically. “I understand perfectly, Doctor. As you have arrived before your appointment, I sense that the offering of proper amenities would not be appreciated. So let us get straight to business. How may I be of service?”
Cliber snorted. “You should already know. I’ve sent you enough memos. We can’t seem to get any action out of your people.”
“Ah, yes. I assure you, Director, that your memos have all crossed my desk. We of the Security Directorate are moving as quickly as possible in this matter.”
“Then your staff are all fragging turtles,” Cliber snapped.
“Vanessa!”
“I’m sorry, Konrad,” she said apologetically to Hutten, then spent several moments visibly calming herself before continuing. “Security has not approved any of our personnel requests in the last four months. We are impossibly understaffed. We need bodies. If you can’t clear the computer experts we need, at least let us have some technicians. Even researchers would help.”
“Yes, indeed,” Hutten agreed. “There were several promising ones among the last batch of personnel requests. We were especially interested in Schwartz, Verner, and Martinez.”
Crenshaw stabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray she had placed on the arm of her chair. The force of her movement rocked the bowl from its perch. It fell to the carpet, spilling its contents into the deep pile.
“Take this Verner, for example,” Cliber said curtly. “This guy worked in the Tokyo office for years. High-level, fast-track stuff in the operations staff. He even had citations from Aneki. What’s it going to take to get you people to approve someone?”
“Times change, people change,” Crenshaw growled.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Verner is classified as a security risk.”
“I don’t believe I saw that notation in his dossier,” Hutten commented.
“He’s a risk, I said.” Crenshaw spat the words. She never liked it when the soft worms in research questioned her. She expected them to know their business as they should expect her to know hers. Why wouldn’t they just accept her word?
Marushige cut off Cliber’s response. “We need not get caught up in specific situations. Director Cliber, Doctor Hutten, I have noted your formal complaint.”
“And Sherman’s.”
“And President Huang’s. But I am constrained in this situation. The Special Directorate’s responsibility is to produce a fully sentient artificial intelligence. If this is possible, it will be a feat of world-altering significance. But we cannot let our competitors steal all our hard work.”
“They couldn’t catch us in years.”
“So you say, Director. But if their own research programs are caught on some point that we have already solved? Wouldn’t a spy then be able to bring them the crucial information?”
“No one is as close as we are,” Cliber insisted.
“That may be so, Director. You can afford that belief. I cannot. The Security Directorate is responsible for keeping even the existence of Renraku’s research into artificial intelligence from reaching our competition. Most of our own people don’t even know about it. I cannot afford to let an agent into the project.”
“You didn’t do such a good job last week,” Cliber sneered.
“Ah, you are referring to the usurpation of the Tanaka persona program.”
“What else? Or have you got more security breaches covered up in your cozy hierarchy?”
Marushige’s smile froze on his face. His eyes went hard, but his voice remained supple and smoothly comforting. “Of course not, Director. My directorate always owns up to its mistakes. We informed you of the incident at once, did we not?”
“Sure you did. But you haven’t told us anything since.”
“There has been nothing worth reporting. You know better than most just how intricate our Matrix security measures must be. Most of our security deckers are working in strictly limited areas, operating without full knowledge of what they are protecting. Some report irrelevant incidents that they believe to be significant, while others are quite likely failing to report the very data we need. Our Zeta clearance operators are reasonably certain that no data was removed, but we are no closer to determining who was controlling the Tanaka’s program.
“Does Verner’s involvement have something to do with your assessment of him as a security risk, Crenshaw?” Hutten asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“He was in the node when the intruder assayed our defenses.”
Crenshaw flashed a look at Marushige. The director’s face was closed. If he knew, he hadn’t told her. But she didn’t like the implications of that at all.
“Ms. Crenshaw is handling the personnel aspects of the problem,” Marushige asserted. “There is no solid evidence of Verner’s involvement in the attempt to penetrate the AI project. I assure you that the Security Directorate is making full efforts to uncover the perpetrator.”
“As full as your efforts to clear the personnel we need?” Cliber asked scornfully.
“This persona usurpation is an example of the difficulties we face. Surely if someone like Verner was involved in an attempt to breach the security of our computer systems, you would not wish him assigned to a position that would make it easier to steal our secrets. Would you, Director?”
Cliber narrowed her eyes. “If Verner is a risk, kick him out. Otherwise give him to us.”
“There is a risk to the project’s security here, and I am responsible for security, Director.”
“And I am responsible for seeing that this project makes its deadlines.”
“Then you must understand the weight of responsibility and the need to do the job right.”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Cliber declared. “I’m going to make sure Sato knows, too.”
“Kansayaku Sato will make his own observations and draw his own conclusions, Director,” Marushige responded placidly.
Cliber glared at him. “We may as well leave, Konrad. We certainly aren’t getting anywhere here.”
She stood abruptly and headed for the door. Hutten rose awkwardly, a pained half-smile on his face. He sketched a bow before following his superior.
“Silla,” the security director said softly, “arrange a car.” As the door closed behind his aide, Marushige turned back to her. “You are too open about your hostility, Crenshaw. They may report what you said in regard to Verner.”
Already annoyed by his previous ploys, she didn’t feel like playing games with him. “Let them.”
“You should be concerned,” he warned. “It’s your ass on the line.”
“Why don’t you worry about yours? If my ass gets chewed, I’ll feed yours to the dogs, too. Why didn’t you include Verner’s computer log in the security record? You knew about him being there when the Wall was hit.”
Marushige stiffened, telling her that the shot had scored. He had known. She smiled as she prepared to twist the knife and remind him who had the upper hand in their relationship. “You won’t be able to claim your drug pump slipped on this one.”
His nostrils flared, as they always did when she brought up his not-so-secret shame. Marushige had an implanted monitor-dispenser system to keep him supplied with special psychoactive drugs, chemicals to control the imbalance in his brain that fostered violent rages. Before the implant, he had been a slave to his impulses, and had almost been dismissed from the corporation. The drugs corrected the problem, but the occasional inaccuracies in the chip’s calculation of dosages let Mr. Hyde crawl out. Marushige, desperate to hold his position with Renraku, did his best to cover up those lapses. His shame gave her a powerful hold over him.
“Just remember who has the monitor trideo showing you abusing the late, lamented Claybourne. That kid would never have been crippled if you hadn’t kicked him that way.”
“He should never have gotten himself shot,” Marushige said through gritted teeth.
Crenshaw chuckled and took out another cigarette. “Doesn’t matter what he should have done. You shouldn’t have kicked him. There’s lots of ways to be a damned fool. You’re the one who damaged his spinal cord.”
“He was incompetent.”
“That’s what your superiors will say about you if they learn that you were responsible for crippling a company asset.”
“Trideo can be doctored. It would be your word against mine.”
“You must be getting a little hot, Marushige. We’ve been over this before. That trid will show up pure in any test you care to name.”
“If you produce it, you will implicate yourself in the break-in. You could have stopped those shadowrunners out in the streets.”
“Wasn’t in my contract.”
“The Kansayaku may not see it that way,” Marushige said. “It is said that he places a premium on personal initiative.”
“That’s what got me where I am today. Got me back to the arcology security center. Got me a very useful trideo file. See, I’ve got initiative,” she said with a cold smile, “but I believe in keeping its use personal.”
Marushige leaned back into his chair, making a fist with his right hand and laying his other hand over it. “You were rewarded for your silence concerning Claybourne. Despite your repulsive method of achieving the office, you have been an efficient deputy. I will only be pushed so far in this matter, Crenshaw. Be careful that you do not overstep the line.”
“I’m not pushing, Marushige. You can keep the top slot as long as you want. I really don’t want it. But if you try to force me out, just remember if I go down, I take you with me.”
Marushige ran his thumb along the ragged scar on his left cheek. After a few moments, he said, “It would be wise for you to bury your obsession about Verner while Sato’s around. The Kansayaku is tightly connected to Director Aneki, and Verner used to be some kind of pet of the old man. Surely neither of us needs to borrow trouble.”
“Your concern is touching,” Crenshaw drawled. Marushige was less concerned with her embarrassment than the possibility of Sato looking into things and discovering the security director’s manipulation of the records. He would, most likely, be relieved if she managed to screw up and get canned. That way, he’d be rid of her. “I don’t think you have much to worry about. Sato doesn’t like Verner any more than I do.”
“That is a bold assertion, and interesting, if true,” Marushige commented. “How would you know such a thing?”
“Hey, I still got a few connections in the biz.” Crenshaw laughed.
Marushige smiled broadly in response, but his eyes were cold and wary.