The technician beside Halberstam had already moved to the telecom unit, anticipating his superior's command. He slaved the unit to the trideo in the monitoring lab, and an image appeared. It showed a hand reaching for a door and opening it, then a perspective shift as the viewer passed through the doorway, only to be faced with another closed door. Which, when opened and entered, led to another closed door. And another. The pace was frantic; the doors flicked past at the rate of several per second.
After a moment or two the image settled. Perspective shifted, as if the viewer were sitting down.
McAllister's voice came over the telecom speaker. "Good news," she said in a congratulatory tone. "Dopamine levels have dropped to within ten per cent of normal. You've done it, Dr. Halberstam. Subject 3 is back to norm-"
Park's voice cut her off. "Then what's the kid doing now?"
Halberstam strode over to the telecom. The display showed a door moving rapidly toward the viewer, then stopping suddenly, as if the viewer had run into it. The viewer retreated, then rushed the door again.
"It looks as though the subject is still trapped in a loop of programming," Park's voice said.
"Or lost," Park's voice added. "A little lost kid who can't find the way home."
The bearded technician who stood behind Halberstam cleared his throat softly. "Ah, Doctor?"
Halberstam turned to him.
"If the chlorpromazine was successful, perhaps we should administer it to Thiessen and Fetzko."
"Who?" Halberstam asked angrily.
"Our deckers. The two who suffered dump shock after we jacked them out. Perhaps Fetzko will stop rambling if we treat him with the anti-psychotic."
"Are we likely to learn anything from either of them?"
The technician pursed his lips, causing his mustache to bristle. He seemed about to speak, then shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "Thiessen is still unconscious, and we can't be certain that Fetzko experienced the same dopamine overload as the subjects, since he wasn't being bio-monitored as they were. We'd have to administer a little of the drug at a time and watch the effects, to make sure we didn't freeze up his motor control altogether. But if we can get the dosage right, perhaps he can tell us what hit him…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "And we really should try to help him."
"Let's concentrate on the task at hand," Halberstam said. He jabbed a finger in the direction of the tanks. "The subjects are the most important component of this project. I don't want to lose them."
Halberstam frowned at the brains that hung suspended in their nutrient-rich solutions. "Administer chlorpromazine to Subject 5 and Subject 9. Increase the dosage slightly and keep me apprised of the results. I'm going to see if our remaining decker has come up with anything."
09:55:00 PST
The skeleton in the black top hat draws back-he does not find the persona that I have chosen appealing. And yet he shares with his*son* a linkage of the type known as blood: the fluid that circulates through the vascular system of animals, delivering oxygen to the body's various nodes; in the case of both*father* and*son* the blood shows a distinctive viral pattern, that associated with the metatype ghoul.
I consider… I scan his software…
I find the fault in his programming. The skeleton experiences "love* for this icon, but at the same time experiences 'loathing* for him. The two are opposites; they present a logic error.
Errors must be corrected.
I locate a data fragment that provides the correct answer: Love begets love. I search for evidence of the love of*son* Chester Griffin for 'father* Winston Griffith III.
KEYWORDS: Chester Griffith; Winston Griffith III, love.
FILE LOCATED
The file is found in the storage memory of the cyberdeck belonging to the persona Serpens in Machina. The time and date signature indicates that the file was composed and sent eleven months, six days, seven hours, twenty-eight minutes, and thirty-one seconds ago. Original routing: NA/UCAS-TOR-8267-PTLG-43, the private telecommunications grid of Griffith Pharmaceuticals. Rerouting: NA/UCAS-SEA-3308. Current status of address: null data. Address cancelled seven seconds after re-routing and message download complete.
»Hi Dad. »I heard about the shooting. I'm glad the docs managed to patch you up. »I hate to tell you this, but I think it was all my fault. I didn't mean to "out" you-it was an accident. I was with a friend of mine in a bar in the Barrens-a dump, but one of the few places they let ghouls into-and we were arguing politics. We got onto the subject of the Human Nation, and how its membership were evil-nazzie fraggers who should all be slagged, and I argued that some of those members were just gullible, that they weren't really evil. I told him that the Human Nation had even managed to sucker in some metas-like my own father, for example. »Well, I guess I said your name a little too loud. After I heard about the shooting, I remembered that there was this human guy at the end of the bar. I didn't think much of it at the time. He looked pretty scruffy, and fit the decor. But later I remembered how he'd sort of leaned our way, like he was listening, when I started talking about you. And how he'd hurried away afterward. Anyhow, I think he was the one who tipped off the guy who shot you. »What can I say, Dad? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to almost get you killed. We've had our differences-we'll never see eye to eye on the meta issue. But you're my father. I'm happy with my chosen family, but you're the only real family I've got, since Mom's side doesn't really count. Not any more. »I could use your help, Dad. Things are pretty tough for me right now. I hate to admit it, but you were right-I did wind up on the streets. I could use some nuyen to help me through. But I don't want to ask you in person, since I know you're ashamed of me. We both know that this is why you sent me away to boarding school-so I wouldn't embarrass you in front of your Human Nation friends. »If you don't reply to this message, I'll assume you never want to see me again. But I'll always love you, just the same. I'm just sorry that my last memory of you is of us fighting. »Love, Chester.«
UPLOAD FILE TO STORAGE MEMORY OF ICON DARK FATHER
Dark Father reeled as the text of the e-mail flooded into his mind. Chester was on the streets and in trouble? Chester had composed that message eleven months ago. Eleven months ago. Anything could have happened since then. Chester could be hurt, or in jail, or dead at the hands of a bounty hunter by now.
Spirits curse Serpens in Machina. That bleeding-heart meta lover had cost Dark Father his only son. If only the shadowrunner hadn't stolen Chester's message…
No. If only Winston hadn't been so ashamed of his own son. He loved the boy, despite what he was. Despite what they both were.
Dark Father felt a tear trickle down his bony cheek. He was crying? Without the aid of tear ducts? He supposed he must be crying, in the real world. Ghouls did cry-just like everyone else. They were only… human… after all.
"Why?" he whispered. "Oh, Chester."