One of these, freshly microwaved, was hot in Chias hand. The coffee was strong, sugary, thickly creamed. She sat beside him on the lumpy bed ledge, a padded jacket wadded up behind her for a cushion.
It smelled faintly of boy, of ramen, and of coffee. Though he seemed very clean, now that she was this close, and she had a vague idea that Japanese people generally were. Didnt they love to bathe? The thought made her want a shower.
I like this very much. Reaching to touch the Sandbenders again, which hed brought from upstairs and placed on the work surface, in front of his black cube, sweeping aside a litter of plastic spoons, pens, nameless bits of metal and plastic.
How do you see to work yours? Gesturing toward his computer with the miniature can of coffee.
He said something in Japanese. Worms and dots of pastel neon lit the faces of the cube, crawling and pulsing, then died.
The walls, from floor to ceiling, were thickly covered with successive layers of posters, handbills, graphics files. The wall directly in front of her, above and behind the black computer, was hung with a large scarf, a square of some silky material screened with a map or diagram in red and black and yellow. Hundreds of irregular blocks or rooms, units of some kind, pressing in around a central vacancy, an uneven vertical rectangle, black.
Walled City, he said, following her eye. He leaned forward, fingertip finding a particular spot. This is mine. Eighth level.
Chia pointed to the center of the diagram. Whats this?
Black hole. In the original, something like an airshaft. He looked at her. Tokyo has a black hole, too. You have seen this?
No, she said.
The Palace. No lights. From a tall building, at night, the Imperial Palace is a black hole. Watching, once, I saw a torch flare.
What happened to it in the earthquake?
He raised his eyebrows. This of course would not be shown. All now is as before. We are assured of this. He smiled, but only with the corners of his mouth.
Where did Mitsuko go?
He shrugged.
Did she say when shed be back?
No.
Chia thought of Hiromi Ogawa, and then of someone phoning for Kelseys father. Hiromi? But then there was whatever it was, upstairs in her bag in Mitsukos room. She remembered Maryalice yelling from behind the door to Eddies office. Zona had to be right. You know a club called Whiskey Clone?
No. He stroked the buffed aluminum edges of her Sandbenders.
How about Monkey Boxing? He looked at her, shook his head.
You probably dont get out much, do you?
He held her gaze. In Walled City.
I want to go to this club, Monkey Boxing. Except maybe it isnt called that anymore. Its in a place called Shinjuku. I was in the station there, before.
Clubs are not open, now.
Thats okay. I just want you to show me where it is. Then Ill be able to find my own way back.
No. I must return to Walled City. I have responsibilities. Find the address of this place and I will explain to your computer where to go.
The Sandbenders could find its own way there, but Chia had decided she didnt want to go alone. Better to go with a boy than Mitsuko, and Mitsukos allegiance to her chapter could be a problem anyway. Mainly, though, she just wanted to get out of here. Zonas news had spooked her. Somebody knew she was here. And what to do about the thing in her bag?
You like this, right? Pointing at her Sandbenders.
Yes, he said.
The softwares even better. Ive got an emulator in there thatll install a virtual Sandbenders in your computer. Take me to Monkey Boxing and its yours.
Have you always lived here? Chia asked, as they walked to the station. In this neighborhood, I mean?
Masahiko shrugged. Chia thought the street made him uncomfortable. Maybe just being outside. Hed traded his gray sweats for equally baggy black cotton pants, cinched at the ankle with elastic-sided black nylon gaiters above black leather workshoes. He still wore his black tunic, but with the addition of a short-billed black leather cap that she thought might have once been part of a school uniform. If the tunic was too big for him, the cap was too small. He wore it perched forward at an angle, the bill riding low. I live in Walled City, he said.
Mitsuko told me. Thats like a multi-user domain,
Walled City is unlike anything.
Give me the address when I give you the emulator. Ill check it out. The sidewalk arched over a concrete channel running with grayish water. It reminded her of her Venice. She wondered if there had been a stream there once.
It has no address, he said.
Thats impossible, Chia said,
He said nothing.
She thought about what shed found when shed opened the SeaTac duty-free bag. Something flat and rectangular, dark gray. Maybe made from one of those weird plastics that had metal in them. One end had rows of little holes, the other had complicated shapes, metal, and a different kind of plastic. There didnt seem to be any way to open it, no visible seams. No markings. Didnt rattle when she shook it. Maybe What Things Are, the icon dictionary, would recognize it, but she hadnt had time. Masahiko had been downstairs changing when shed slit the blue and yellow plastic with Mitsukos serially numbered, commemorative Lo/Rez Swiss Army knife. Shed glanced around the room for a hiding place. Everything too neat and tidy.
Finally shed put it back in her bag, hearing him coming up the stairs from the kitchen. Which was where it was now, along with her Sandbenders, under her arm, as they entered the station. Which was probably not smart but she just didnt know.
She used Kelseys cashcard to buy them both tickets.
19. Arleigh
There was a fax from Rydell waiting for Laney when Blackwell dropped him at the hotel. It had been printed on expensive-looking gray letterhead that contrasted drastically with the body of the fax itself, which had been sent from a Lucky Dragon twenty-four-hour convenience store on Sunset. The smiling Lucky Dragon, blowing smoke from its nostrils, was centered just below the hotels silver-embossed logo, something Laney thought of as the Droopy Evil Elf Hat. Whatever it was supposed to be, the hotels decorators were very fond of it. It formed a repeating motif in the lobby, and Laney was glad that it didnt seem to have reached the guest rooms yet.
Rydell had hand-printed his fax with a medium-width fiber-pen in scrupulously neat block capitals. Laney read it in the elevator.
It was addressed to C. LANEY, GUEST
I THINK THEY KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. SHE AND THE DAY MANAGER HAD COFFEE IN THE LOBBY AND HE KEPT LOOKING AT ME. HE COULDVE CHECKED THE PHONE LOG EASY. WISH I HADNT CALLED YOU THERE. SORRY. ANYWAY, THEN SHE AND THE OTHERS CHECKED OUT FAST, LEFT THE TECHS TO PACK UP. A TECH TOLD GHENGIS IN THE GARAGE THAT SOME OF THEM WERE ON THEIR WAY TO JAPAN AND HE WAS GLAD HE WASNT. WATCH OUT, OKAY? RYDELL
Okay, Laney said, and remembered how hed walked to the Lucky Dragon one night, against Rydells advice, because he couldnt sleep. There were scary-looking bionic hookers posted every block or so, but otherwise it hadnt felt too dangerous. Someone had painted a memorial mural to J.D. Shapely on one side of the Lucky Dragon, and the management had had the good sense to leave it there, culturally integrating their score into the actual twenty-four-hour life of the Strip. You could buy a burrito there, a lottery ticket, batteries, tests for various diseases. You could do voice-mail, e-mail, send faxes. It had occurred to Laney that this was probably the only store for miles that sold anything that anyone ever really needed; the others all sold things that he couldnt even imagine wanting.