“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 gave him a smile 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 went wide, 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 tape 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’re 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.”
“Tapes 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 tape 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 tape. 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 that 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 Sate looking into things and discovering the security directors 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.
7
Sam was nervous. No doubt about it. His palms were wet and he wanted to find the nearest rest room. If they didn’t call him in the next few minutes, he could be out and back again before it was time to go in.
Sam tried to catch the eye of the red-uniformed guard who had been his escort ever since he had stepped out of the elevator carrying him to the upper stories of the arcology. The man’s stare remained as fixed straight ahead as it had since he’d taken up position across from Sam’s seat on the leather couch. His stance was only slightly less fixed and rigid than his manner. It was pointless trying to communicate with him.
Reaching a decision, Sam levered himself free from the sticky embrace of the couch. Before he had straightened, the guard was by his side, face expressionless, waiting for Sam’s next move. Doubtless, the samurai was as ready to be executioner as escort. Sam hoped the man wasn’t too disappointed by his charge’s slow walk to the receptionist’s desk.
“Excuse me.” He smiled politely when the woman looked up from her console. “Will it be much longer?”
Her earlier warm smile was a memory. She said nothing for a few moments, her stare and expression so harsh that all the beauty dissolved from her face. He had overstepped the bounds of expected politeness, and she intended to let him know. “Sato-sama will call for you when he is ready, Verner-san.
“But I just wanted to…”
“Please take a seat,” she interrupted icily.
Her lack of polite forms told Sam how rude she thought him. Rather than retreat to the clammy confines of his former seat, he gave himself a promotion based on length of wait. Crossing in front of the desk, he entered the other half of the spacious room, though he knew this was trespassing into territory reserved for those of more exalted rank. The receptionist did not react to his breach of manners, but he was sure she would record it. Let her. His minor rebellion against proper etiquette made him feel a little more in control of the situation.
This side of the reception area was no more capacious than the other, but its furnishings were more posh and it was more crowded. Two Red Samurai guards flanked the heavy wooden door to the inner office. Two more men sat on a couch that backed against that wall. One of those seemed to be dozing, but the other turned his head as Sam crossed the Persian rug. Though he couldn’t see the eyes behind the implanted chrome lenses, he was sure they were studying and evaluating him.
Sam selected a chair. This time, it was one upholstered in fabric; he didn’t need any help sweating. As much as he wanted to return the scrutiny of the man with the chrome lenses, Sam decided it was unwise to do so directly. Turning his head toward the glassed-in area behind the receptionist’s desk, he feigned interest in the activities of the bevy of office ladies hard at work inside, occasionally letting his gaze drift over the Red Samurai with him in the waiting area.