Hohiro Sato was not in a good mood.
The morning meeting with Atreus Applications Incorporated had not gone well. The myopic fools at AAI were still being difficult. Even his personal appearance at their headquarters in the Hong Kong Free Enterprise Enclave had failed to convince the stubborn board of directors. When he had told them Renraku’s interest in their company was utterly serious, they had seemed to think he was bluffing. They would learn, though. Sato wanted Atreus’ assets for the foundering Special Directorate. And he would have them. When AAI had refused his offer of a staged stock buyout, they had sealed their fate. Sato would suck them dry as soon as he could arrange the necessary change in circumstances.
But that was a pleasure belonging to the future. He had left the meeting irritated, and then his irritation became tinged with resentment upon receiving word that Grandmother wanted to see him. Now she had the temerity to keep him waiting. He was no junior sarariman to be summoned, however polite the phrasing of the order. Nor was he a lackey to be kept cooling his heels. His unrelieved vexation kindled a smoldering anger.
Staring between the blank-faced guards, he watched the inner door with its teak veneer. Briefly fantasizing that his vision pierced the door’s opacity, he pictured the scene beyond it. The garden was ablaze with rare flowers, a riot of colors tinted ever so slightly more exotic by the faint purple hue of the SunSub light panels. Insects serviced the plants, barely disturbed by the occasional visitor moving between one of the ring rooms and the central hub of the curved stairway that descended into darkness, into her sanctum.
He had long wanted to know what went on in her sanctum when he wasn’t there, but never uncovered more than rumors. What he had learned was she was well-protected. Even using the finest surveillance equipment, his agents had failed to penetrate the walls of the ring rooms. Even the magical skills of his tame mage Masamba could not pierce her barriers. Grandmother liked her secrets.
Secrets were her business.
From her lair, Grandmother ran an international network that traded in information, usually clandestine. She traded in other things, legal and illegal, as well. Despite her personal eccentricities, she was a premier power broker.
Having been only a junior salaryman when he had first encountered her network, Sato had benefited from the association. At several key junctures in his career, confidential material had been passed to him, allowing him to embarrass rivals or blackmail them out of his way. The stimulation to his career was undeniable, but it galled him that she held power over him. She. A woman. At least she was Japanese.
Each time he had used her information, she had sunk her hooks in deeper. He had fed her information in return, all the while knowing it only gave her a tighter hold over him. The opportunities just seemed too great to ignore and her demands inconsequential in comparison. He had been younger then, hungrier…and stupider.
Now he knew better, understood the nature of her hold over him. Someday she would demand something he was unwilling to give, then threaten him with ruin if he denied her. On that day, he wanted to be able to laugh in her face. He wanted to be too powerful for her to touch. So far, however, he had not succeeded in gleaning the information he needed to compromise her. Lacking that, he could make only vague plans. His best depended on a tool not yet ready. Until he knew more about her secrets, he was arming to fight wraiths.
One thing Sato knew for sure was that anger would gain him nothing. He forced it down, leashing it to his will. He would not be shamed into losing his temper before the woman. By the time her servant arrived to lead him into the garden, he was outwardly calm. Inside, the fire coiled, a sullen dragon awaiting its time.
As in all his previous visits, he was required to leave his bodyguards in the ring room. The servant accompanied him along the gravel path, then left him to descend the stairway alone. He followed his own shadow around the central pole and down the winding way. He stepped confidently, even when his shadow obscured the stairs. The hum of the garden insects faded into silence, but the quiet was soon broken by a rhythmic sound that grew louder as he descended.
Click, clack.
Over and over.
Damn! She was at her loom again. He hated it when she was weaving. The noise disturbed his concentration, and he did not like to be distracted when trying to deal with her. She was too sharp; he needed to be ready to pounce on the slightest clue to what might give him a hold on her.
He stopped briefly at the foot of the stairs, remaining in the shaft of light from above. There was deep darkness all around. She was out there in the dark that was part of her protection, but it offered little from him. His Zeiss eyes adjusted at his command, shifting to light amplification, and he saw her bent old shape seated before the loom. She looked no older than the day they had met, nearly two decades ago.
He didn’t doubt she was aware of him, but she made no sign. He called attention to himself by clearing his throat. Her hands never stopped moving. The shuttle flew back and forth. A gnarled hand racked the heddles forward, snugging the latest line in the pattern firmly into place. Without taking her eyes or hands from her work, she greeted him in a wobbling, high-pitched voice.
“Ah, Sato-san, how nice of you to call.”
If she wished to pretend that she had not summoned him, he would humor her. Forcing politeness, he responded, “I was in Hong Kong. How could I not visit my Grandmother?”
She cackled. “Such filial devotion. I wonder, do you show so much to your real grandmother?”
His family was no business of hers, but he was sure she already knew the answer to her question, as she knew so much about him. Why could he learn so little about her? He refused to answer.
Click, clack.
“Well, then, Sato-san. How is your special project in Seattle prospering?”
That was a question she would not let him ignore. “Not very well at all.”
For a moment, the loom was silent. Then click, clack.
“I am most sorry to hear that. I was so hoping you would have good news for me. You raised my hopes last year.”
He was sure he had. His own hopes had risen when the Special Directorate had seemed to have achieved their goal of creating a true artificial intelligence within the Renraku matrix. “I am sorry if you were disappointed. The disruption brought me more trouble than it did you.”
“Very true. But Aneki took it well, didn’t he?”
“Well enough.”
“Well enough, indeed. You have not been dethroned as the director’s heir apparent, and you are still in command of the Seattle arcology. That shows a certain cleverness I shall have to keep in mind when I think of you. Have you been telling your Aneki-sama pleasant things that you have neglected to tell Grandmother?”
“I told him what I have told you. Since mismanagement in the Security Directorate allowed the loss of one of the principal designers, the Special Directorate has been stymied, demoralized, and beset with unavoidable delays. A significant amount of data was destroyed, and what remained needed to be checked. Hutten, the designer who was lost, was clearly defecting, as evidenced by his theft of key datafiles and custom components. As he was the architect of some of those lost components and left no reliable notes, the Directorate has not yet been able to duplicate the functions. We are no closer to achieving the goal than when Aneki assigned me to move things along.”
Click, clack. “The touted abilities of your toy would have been most useful. You have, of course, punished those responsible for the disappointment. What progress have you made in recovering Hutten?”
“None.”
Click, clack. The sound was harsher now.
Sato knew he’d better explain. “There have been no notable advances among our competitors. The security agent responsible for the debacle was seen to have injured Hutten before she herself fell to her death. Perhaps fatally. He may be presumed dead. As to punishment, there is still no clue as to who was manipulating the rogue Verner.”
Click…
“Verner? The name seems familiar. Refresh an old woman’s memory, Sato-san.”
…clack.
He doubted her memory needed refreshing. She was testing him, as always.
Years ago, she had set him the task of tracking a handful of individuals. Renraku Corporation was a world leader in data technology, and his placement with the firm made him an obvious choice to arrange for surreptitious information-retrieval. He might have understood if the individuals she’d wanted tracked were important people, but most were inconsequential. But she was persistent over the years—wanting to know everything about these people and their relatives—that he had come to believe she had some deep concern beyond that of an information broker. She seemed obsessed with the fate of these individuals, but he had never learned why.
They seemed to have nothing in common save traumatic experiences during the turbulent year of 2039. Especially common were brushes with death on the infamous Night of Rage and in the turmoil that had followed. He had come to suspect that this matter touched upon something she…was “feared” too strong a word?
His belief in her fear had solidified two years ago, when she had commanded the interrogation of Janice Verner. The questions he’d been required to ask the girl were filled with paranoid suspicion. What did “they” want? What connection did “they” have with the Verner family? Then so many seemingly unrelated questions. He did not know who “they” were, but he had come to believe “they” really existed. Grandmother might be paranoid, but even paranoids have enemies. Anyone who gave her concern gave him hope. If he was careful, “they” might provide him a lever to pry loose her hold over him.
Not wishing to betray himself, he chose his words carefully. “The Verners are among those you watch.”
“Ah, yes. The woman was such a disappointment. Whatever happened to the man?” Click, clack.
“Little new information has emerged since he went rogue. We know he survived his raid on the arcology. We also know a shadowrunner matching his description has been linked to a number of petty operations, mostly in the Seattle area. His continued existence seems likely, but remains untraceable.”
Click, clack. “Surely the largest information corporation in the world keeps records.”
“On him, we no longer seem able to. His file vanished from Renraku’s banks a few months after the Hutten incident, and every attempt to begin a new one has been fruitless. Each entry vanishes almost as soon as it is made. I believe he is or has acquired the services of a computer expert of the highest ability. He or his accomplice has inserted a dedicated virus of hitherto unknown sophistication into the Matrix. Renraku resources have failed to isolate it. We know of its existence only by its actions as it destroys all data connected to Samuel Verner.”
Click, clack. “But not his sister’s data?”
“No. And in any case, that would be unnecessary. Her death was recorded on Yomi Island nearly a year ago.”
“I am intrigued.” Click, clack. “He was involved with Hutten. Perhaps your missing computer expert is still alive after all. Perhaps the nascent artificial intelligence was used to strip Verner’s identity from the Matrix. As you said, he had gone rogue. As a shadowrunner, he would find his corporate records a detriment.”
Sato thought little of the theory, but decided it would be best not to scoff. If Hutten and the AI still existed, some corporation would have them and would have used them. He would not be unaware of such a situation. “There is no evidence that the AI survived Hutten’s sabotage. The Renraku matrix retains nothing more than sophisticated analogs and knowbots, and Huang and Cliber are unable to duplicate their earlier apparent success. Nothing comparable has been observed in any other corporate matrix or in the worldwide Matrix.”
Click, clack. “And the current rash of ghost-in-the-machine tales?”
“Simply that. Tall tales, rumors, and lies. There is nothing verifiable, nothing to suggest that Hutten or the AI remain in existence.”
“I am disappointed.” Click, clack. “Ah, well. New lines of endeavor are not always rewarding. One must always have enough interests that a disappointment does not prove overwhelming. I understand that Atreus has made some interesting refinements in their Haas biochips.”
He was growing tired of her patronizing. Irritated by the constant rattle of the loom, he snapped, “I know.”
“I am sorry. Of course you would.” Click, clack. “You have been showing quite an interest in their operations of late. Regrettably, they have shown little interest in your offers.”
“As usual, you are well-informed.”
Click. Clack. “I have a new interest. I wish some data. Awaiting you upstairs are chips with details on the subjects.”
“I will see what I can do.”
“I am sure you will, Sato-san. You are always good to Grandmother. And because you are, Grandmother is good to you. The chips also contain other juicy tidbits. Atreus could become suddenly vulnerable were such data to fall into the wrong hands.”
Sato smiled. For Atreus, the wrong hands would be Sato’s. For Grandmother’s purposes, however, Sato’s would be the right hands. His own plans would be advanced, but her schemes would be furthered as well. Of that he had no doubt. He would take advantage of her offering.