Laney stared out at the towers. Part of a facade seemed to move, but it had to be his eyes.
But Hans says theres no way they can sort the residual molecules out in those rooms anyway. Place has too much of a history.
Kathy Torrance? From Slitscan?
Not like they said they were, but theyve got all these techs, and techs always talk too much, and Ghengis down in the garage saw the decals on some of the cases, when they were unloading. Theres about twenty of em, if you dont count the gophers. Got two suites and four singles. Dont tip.
But what are they doing?
That sensor stuff. Trying to figure out what you got up to in the suite. And one of the bellmen saw them setting up a camera.
The entire facade of one of the new buildings seemed to ripple, to crawl slightly. Laney closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, discovering a faint trace of pain residing there from the break. He opened his eyes. But I never got upto anything.
Whatever. Rydell sounded slightly hurt. I just thought you ought to know, is all.
Something was definitely happening to that facade. I know. Thanks. Sorry.
Ill let you know if I hear anything, Rydell said. Whats it like over there, anyway?
Laney was watching a point of reflected light slide across the distant structure, a movement like osmosis or the sequential contraction of some sea creatures palps. Its strange.
Bet its interesting, Rydell said. Enjoy your breakfast, okay? Ill keep in touch.
Thanks, Laney said, and Rydell hung up.
Laney put the phone back on the lacquer tray and stretched out on the bed, fully clothed. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the new buildings. But they were still there, in the darkness and the light behind his lids. And as he watched, they slid apart, deliquesced, and trickled away, down into the mazes of an older city.
He slid down with them.
12. Mitsuko
Chia used a public dataport in the deepest level of the station. The Sandbenders sent the number theyd given her for Mitsuko Mimura, the Tokyo chapters social secretary (everyone in Tokyo chapter seemed to have a formal title). A girls sleepy voice in Japanese from the Sandbenders speakers. The translation followed instantly:
Hello? Yes? May I help you?
Its Chia McKenzie, from Seattle.
You are still in Seattle?
Im here. In Tokyo. She upped the scale on the Sandbenders map. In a subway station called Shinjuku.
Yes. Very good. Are you coming here now?
Id sure like to. Im really tired.
The voice began to explain the route.
Its okay, Chia said, my computer can do it. Just tell me the station I have to get to. She found it on the map, set a marker. How long will it take to get there?
Twenty to thirty minutes, depending on how crowded the trains are. I will meet you there.
You dont have to do that, Chia said. Just give me your address.
Japanese addresses are difficult.
Its okay, Chia said, Ive got global positioning. The Sandbenders, working the Tokyo telco, was already showing her Mitsuko Mimuras latitude and longitude. In Seattle, that only worked for business numbers.
No, Mitsuko said, I must greet you. I am the social secretary.
Thanks, Chia said. Im on my way.
With her bag over her shoulder, left partly unzipped so she could follow the Sandbenders verbal prompts, Chia rode an escalator up, two levels, bought a ticket with her cashcard, and found her platform. It was really crowded, as crowded as the airport, but when the train came she let the crowd pick her up and squash her into the nearest car; it wouldve been harder not to get on.
As they pulled out, she heard the Sandbenders announce that they were leaving Shinjuku station.
The sky was like mother-of-pearl when Chia emerged from the station. Gray buildings, pastel neon, a streetscape dotted with vaguely unfamiliar shapes. Dozens of bicycles were parked everywhere, the fragile-looking kind with paper-tube frames spun with carbon fiber. Chia took a step back as an enormous turquoise garbage truck rumbled past, its drivers white-gloved hands visible on the high wheel. As it cleared her field of vision, she saw a Japanese girl wearing a short plaid skirt and black biker jacket. The girl smiled. Chia waved.
Mitsukos second-floor room was above the rear of her fathers restaurant. Chia could hear a steady thumping sound from below, and Mitsuko explained that that was a food-prep robot that chopped and sliced things.
The room was smaller than Chias bedroom in Seattle, but much cleaner, very neat and organized. So was Mitsuko, who had a razor-edged coppery diagonal bleached into her black bangs, and wore sneakers with double soles. She was thirteen, a year younger than Chia.
Mitsuko had introduced Chia to her father, who wore a white, short-sleeved shirt, a tie, and was supervising three white-gloved men in blue coveralls, who were cleaning his restaurant with great energy and determination, Mitsukos father had nodded, smiled, said something in Japanese, and gone back to what he was doing. On their way upstairs, Mitsuko, who didnt speak much English, told Chia that shed told her father that Chia was part of some cultural-exchange program, short-term homestay, something to do with her school.
Mitsuko had the same poster on her wall, the original cover shot from the Dog Soup album.
Mitsuko went downstairs, returning with a pot of tea and a covered, segmented box that contained a California roll and an assortment of less familiar things. Grateful for the familiarity of the California roll, Chia ate everything except the one with the orange sea-urchin goo on top. Mitsuko complimented her on her skill with chopsticks. Chia said she was from Seattle and people there used chopsticks a lot.
Now they were both wearing wireless ear-clip headsets. The translation was generally glitch-free, except when Mitsuko used Japanese slang that was too new, or when she inserted English words that she knew but couldnt pronounce.
Chia wanted to ask her about Rez and the idoru, but they kept getting onto other things. Then Chia fell asleep, sitting up cross-legged on the floor, and Mitsuko must have managed to roll her onto a hard little futon-thing that shed unfolded from somewhere, because that was where Chia woke up, three hours later.
A rainy silver light was at the rooms narrow window.
Mitsuko appeared with another pot of tea, and said something in Japanese. Chia found her ear-clip and put it on.
You must have been exhausted, the ear-clip translated. Then Mitsuko said she was taking the day off from school, to be with Chia.
They drank the nearly colorless tea from little nubbly ceramic cups. Mitsuko explained that she lived here with her father, her mother, and a brother, Masahiko. Her mother was away, visiting a relative in Kyoto. Mitsuko said that Kyoto was very beautiful, and that Chia should go there.
Im here for my chapter, Chia said. I cant do tourist things. I have things to find out.
I understand, Mitsuko said.
So is it true? Does Rez really want to marry a software agent?
Mitsuko looked uncomfortable. I am the social secretary, she said. You must first discuss this with Hiromi Ogawa.
Whos she?
Hiromi is the president of our chapter.
Fine, Chia said. When do I talk to her?
We are erecting a site for the discussion. It will be ready soon. Mitsuko still looked uncomfortable.
Chia decided to change the subject. Whats your brother like? How old is he?
Masahiko is seventeen, Mitsuko said. He is a pathological-techno-fetishist-with-social-deficit, this last all strung together like one word, indicating a concept that taxed the lexicon of the ear-clips. Chia wondered briefly if it would be worth running it through her Sandbenders, whose translation functions updated automatically whenever she ported.