That made sense. It was something that I could live with. I didn't like it, but I could live with it. It would make everything simple. I nodded.
"Carlie," 'Chan said, "what's going on? Is this something of yours?"
I shook my head. " 'Chan," I said, "if it is, do you really want to be involved?"
He considered that. "No."
"That's what I thought," I said. Something occurred to me. "Hey," I asked, "how'd you hear about it?"
"It was on the casino grapevine," he said. "I'm at the Ginza now, and we get a lot of feed from the New York."
"Oh." I couldn't think of anything more to say. 'Chan just stared out of the screen at me.
"Thanks for calling," I finally said.
"No problem," he replied. "Carlie, are you in trouble? Is there anything I can do?'
"No," I said. "Thanks, but I'm okay," I exited.
But I wasn't sure I was okay. I wasn't sure at all.
Sayuri Nakada had removed one threat and done a fairly neat job of it-but I was still around. Mishima's employees were still around, too. She'd started removing enemies; could she really stop with just one?
And did I really want to leave her free to buy up Nightside City? Did I want to risk the crew at the Ipsy trying a little demonstration blast, despite their promise? Could I be sure that Orchid and Rigmus wouldn't decide to remove me, ITEOD files or no ITEOD files?
Did I really want to stay in Nightside City, in my rundown little office in the burbs, taking two-buck jobs from the dregs of the city, hanging out at Lui's because I wasn't welcome anywhere better, ignored by my friends back in the Trap and by my father dreaming eternally in Trap Under-just sitting and waiting for the sun?
I was sick of it all. I had known all along that I had to get off Epimetheus eventually, and I decided that the time had come. I could still beat the rush. I didn't have the fare, but I knew just what to do about that.
I didn't want to try blackmail-Big Jim Mishima, with his broken jaw to keep him from talking, had tried that. I couldn't very well go to the cops. But I had information to sell, and I knew where to sell it. Mishima had told me.
I did a little work on the com, pulling stuff back into active memory and packaging things up neatly on a pocket datatab; when I was finished with that, I put all my best working software on another pocket tab.
After that, I erased my whole system, right back down to the landlord's lousy original housekeeping programs. I was done with it; even if something went wrong, I was done with it all.
Then I called a cab and went down to the street. I took the shoulderbag with the HG-2 in it.
The cab was a Daewoo; I'd never seen one before. I took it as an omen, of sorts, that new things were happening, that my life was about to change. I got in out of the wind and told it to take me to the New York-the business entrance on the roof, not the street.
It dropped me there, in the middle of a shimmering holo that was half siren, half demon, and I buzzed at the door.
The scanners gave me the once over and asked my business.
"I have an important message," I said. "For Yoshio Nakada. About his great-granddaughter Sayuri."
The scanners locked in on me. The door didn't open.
"Ask Mis' Vo," I said. Old Vijay Vo was still the manager of the New York. "He'll know whether Mis' Nakada will want to hear about this."
I waited, and after a moment the door opened. A floater hung inside, blocking my way. "Leave the gun," it said.
I gave it the HG-2, and it gave me a receipt and let me pass. A line of golden flitterbugs formed an arrow and led the way.
The manager's office was done in dark red plush; the ceiling shimmered with red and gold field effects. Vo sat behind his desk. I stood.
"You ought to know who I am," I told Vo.
"I do, Mis' Hsing," he said.
"And you know I've been investigating Sayuri Nakada.
He nodded.
"Well, I think that Yoshio Nakada will be very interested in what I found out, and I want to talk to him. You must have a line to him here."
"We have a line to his office, yes. You can't just tell me, and trust me to act accordingly?"
I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Mis' Vo," I said. "But this is a matter of vital interest to Nakada Enterprises and the Nakada family, and I hope to earn a fat fee out of it. I don't know you. I don't know how you stand in relation to either Yoshio or Sayuri. I know nothing at all against you, but no, I can't, at present, trust you."
He leaned back and watched me thoughtfully for a few seconds.
"All right," he said. He was a man of decision; I appreciated that. I'd also expected it, from what I'd heard of him.
"You understand the com delay, don't you?" he asked me.
I nodded. "How much is it at present?"
"About twelve minutes each way, a little over twenty-three round-trip. Prometheus isn't too far away just now."
That might not seem to far to him, since he was used to it, but I realized I was about to start the slowest conversation of my life. You can't put a message on a Wheeler drive unless you put it on a ship, and you can't hold a conversation by ship. I was limited to light speed.
I nodded again. "All right," I said.
He turned me over to the flitterbugs again, and they led me out of his office and into the New York's holy of holies, or of holos anyway, a bare little room with holos on all six sides.
One of Vo's assistants was there. She jacked in for a minute to put me through.
I'd expected them to keep the line open full-time, but I suppose the power bill would have been ridiculous.
She unplugged. "You'll get his office, but probably not the old man himself. It's all yours."
She turned and left me alone-but I didn't doubt that Vo was listening somewhere. I didn't mind; as long as I got through to Yoshio Nakada's people on Prometheus I figured I was all set.
The holo signalled that I was transmitting, and I began talking.
I wanted to get as much in each message as possible- to keep those twenty-three minute delays to a minimum.
"My name is Carlisle Hsing," I said. "I'm a free-lance private investigator here in Nightside City. I recently had a case that led me, unexpectedly, to investigate Sayuri Nakada. I believe the information I acquired may be of great interest to her family and her financial backers. The client who originally hired me for the job has refused to pay my bill, so that I feel justified in offering the information for sale on the open market. My asking price is five hundred thousand credits. If you accept this, I'll include an account showing that more than ninety percent of that is to cover legitimate expenses incurred in the investigation. The rest is mostly needed to pay my fare from Nightside City to Prometheus, since I believe my life is in danger here. I also ask for protection once I'm there, if it's necessary. This information may lead to several felony prosecutions. It may also remind you of certain episodes in Sayuri Nakada's life prior to her departure from Prometheus. And I hope very much that it will prevent a large waste of money, and consequent damage to the Nakada reputation. End of message."
Then I sat, and I waited.
Twenty-three minutes later the wall in front of me vanished, and I had a view of an office on Prometheus, done in slick white and chrome. A window showed me a rich blue sky, and I realized I was calling the dayside there- but that didn't mean much. The day on Prometheus doesn't burn the skin from your back or the sight from your eyes. It doesn't last forever. It's nine hours of pleasant warmth and light.
A handsome woman looked at me from that office, listening to the words I'd spoken, and then said, "Please wait here, Mis' Hsing; I don't have the authority to act on this, but I'll get someone who does."
I won't drag you through it step by step. I was locked in that little holoroom for eleven hours, time enough to see the sky outside that window darken and sprinkle itself with stars and even a small moon. I spoke to four different people. I never did speak to Yoshio himself; I only got as far as an aide named Ziyang Subbha. He approved my request, not even dickering very seriously about the price. He authorized a draft against the New York for 492,500 credits.