"A case?" An instant of puzzlement seemed to flicker across her face. "Oh, you're a detective." From the way her eyes moved when she said that, I didn't think she figured it out; I thought she'd gotten the word over an internal receiver. She'd have one, of course, or more likely several. She probably had more control over the com when she was just lying there than I did when I was jacked into my desk.
"Yeah, I'm a detective," I said.
"But how did you find out? And however you found out, don't you already know what I'm planning?"
She was trying to be slick, I think, trying to find out what I knew and what I didn't know by playing dumb. I didn't mind playing along; the best way to get information out of someone, short of a brain-tap or drugs or torture or otherwise doing things that I couldn't do to someone like Nakada, is to make her feel good, make her think she's outwitting you, so she gets careless.
"I found out that you're buying up city real estate," I said. "I found out that you've been making secret calls to the Ipsy that they won't talk about. I talked to people and found out that you've got people at the Ipsy working for you to keep the city out of the sunlight, so that your real estate will be worth a fortune. But that's all I found out, so far, and I don't like it. I want to know just how you plan to keep the sun off. I want to be ready for it."
"The Ipsy?" She looked puzzled for an instant again, and then her eyes twitched again, and she said, "Oh, the Institute!"
I wondered how in hell anyone could live on Epimetheus as long as she had and not know that it was called the Ipsy. This woman, I realized, was badly out of touch with the city and probably the rest of the world around her.
"Yes, the Institute," I said.
"They wouldn't tell you anything?"
"No," I said.
"Well, good for them." She almost smiled.
"Mis' Nakada," I said. "They wouldn't tell me anything because it's not their place. They're working for you. But if you don't tell me, then I'll have to tell the whole city everything I know. I don't know everything, but I know enough to convince people that you're planning something. How much real estate do you think you could buy cheap if that happened? You've got to tell me what you're doing, or I'll crash the whole deal." I tried to make it very intense, very sincere.
She waved that away. "What if I just run some free-form scrubware through your com instead, Mis' Hsing? And then kill you, of course."
It was my turn to wave away nonsense. "You must know better than that, Mis' Nakada," I said, with maybe a hint of a reproving tone. "I'm a licensed detective, and I'm in good health and still young enough. If I die, the city's got copies of all my files in the high-security event-of-death section, and they'll give them a good, close going over. I don't think even you can get into the ITEOD files without causing more trouble than you want and probably giving the whole show away."
"All right, then," she said. "How do I know you won't put it all on the nets anyway, even if I do tell you?"
"You don't," I said. "Not really. But why should I? Look, I don't want to see the dawn any more than you do. My whole life is here. If you're really going to save Nightside City, I'm all for it, and I don't give a damn if it does make you richer than your old man and leave you running the city for the next century. That's none of my business. My business is staying alive, and knowing whether I really need the fare to Prometheus or not, or whether there's a particular time that might be a good time to go visit the mines, or whatever. I wouldn't be adverse to maybe picking up some investment advice, for that matter, but that's strictly on the side; it doesn't affect the basic issue."
"So you're just worried about when I'll do it?" she asked, and it seemed as if she was a bit calmer, less angry.
"That, and how," I said. "Because for all I know what you have in mind might make the neighborhood unpleasant for a while. After all, the real estate is still valuable even if half the city gets knocked around."
She nodded. "That's right, that's exactly right."
I nodded back and waited.
She smiled.
"So tell me," I said.
She sighed a little, or maybe just pouted. "All right," she said. "I'll tell you. It's simple enough. My people are going to set off a directed fusion charge that will stop the planet's rotation dead. Nightside City won't go anywhere after that; it'll stay right where it is now." She smiled again.
I waited for her to go on, but she didn't. I considered what she'd just said.
"One charge?" I asked.
She nodded.
"You're planning to stop the entire planet with one charge?" I asked.
"That's right," she said, with a big, stupid, self-satisfied smile.
"That's all?" I was having trouble controlling my face.
"What else do you want?" she said, exasperated. "It's simple enough."
I chewed on my tongue for a minute to keep from screaming and calling her an idiot. That was the problem; it was much too simple.
I wasn't ready to say that straight out. Instead I asked, "But isn't that likely to cause a lot of damage?"
She looked puzzled. "Why?"
"Because," I said, "if you stop the entire planet all at once, there's going to be something of a bump, isn't there?"
That was a truly unforgivable understatement, but she was so calm about it all that I couldn't bring myself to say anything more. I thought that, if I did, I'd start shrieking at her.
"Oh, I suppose so," she said. "But not too much. The planet's already moving so slowly that it should be easy to stop."
"Are you sure?" I demanded. It didn't sound right.
"Of course I'm sure!" she insisted.
"The people at the Ipsy all agree with this?" I persisted. "They don't think it's risky?"
She waved that away. "Of course they agree."
"All of them?"
"They aren't all involved. What business is it of yours, anyway?"
I backtracked. "It isn't, it isn't. Sorry. I was just curious." I tried to look innocent. "So when's the big day? Why haven't you already done it? You've bought a good chunk of the city, haven't you?"
"Not enough!" she said, suddenly surprisingly vehement. "Not hardly enough! Besides, the charge isn't ready. It's got to be calculated perfectly and set up in just the right places. I really don't want to hurt anything."
I nodded. "So when will it be ready?"
"I don't honestly know," she admitted. "My people at the Institute will let me know. They tell me it should be ready in a few weeks."
I nodded again. I had to get out of there. "Mis' Nakada," I said. "You've been very kind, and I just have one more favor to ask. As soon as you have a definite date, could you let me know? Please? Just call my com and leave a message; it'll get to me."
She smiled and gave me her best condescending-to-peasants look. "Of course," she said. "I'd be glad to."
"Ah… I know how busy you must be," I said. "Could you put that in your tickler file now, while you're thinking of it?"
The look wasn't quite as friendly now. "Of course," she said again. "It's done."
"Thank you," I said.
Then I left. I had to get out of there fast, before I lost control and shot her.
Chapter Twelve
DEPENDING ON WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT EPIMETHEUS and planetology in general, you may be wondering either why I wanted to shoot her, or, if you're a little more up on the subject, why I didn't shoot her. I'll take the second question first.
I didn't shoot her because I knew that if I did, I would never make it out of the city alive. I probably wouldn't make it out of the house alive. And the idiots at the Ipsy might just be dumb enough to go on without her. I needed a less direct approach.