The Wheeler Drive could have gotten her herequickly enough, but why would she bother? So far as I knew, she hadnothing against her Uncle Yoshio.
Yoshio’s brother Masanori had been a littlemore prolific. He had fathered fifteen children on eight wivesbefore he finally died. There were a couple of hundred descendantson that side, but most of them had no real ties to the corporateclan; in fact, most of them were working for New Bechtel-Rand orITD or other interstellars, not for Nakada Enterprises at all.
I thought I could safely ignore Narumi andmost of Masanori’s brood, but that still left quite a crowd.Figuring out which of them had a motive to do in their ancestorwould call for some processing. So would figuring out which oneshad the capability. Jiggering the old man’s personal com with afatal dream enhancement program wasn’t something everyone coulddo.
I frowned. You didn’t need to get in therewith your own hands to set that up, but you did need real-timeaccess to the family net, which meant you had to be on Prometheusat some point-not necessarily the night it went off, but at somepoint before that. I could eliminate anyone who had never set footon Prometheus.
And accessing the ITEOD files-again, youdidn’t need to be there at the time, but I didn’t see how thatcould be done safely from off-planet. The fake death reports, yeah,those could be done from Prometheus, though it would be tricky tokeep the cover on the hoax for very long, but the ITEOD downloadhad been done through the Nightside City nets. Someone had loggedon here.
Which members of the Nakada family had beenon Epimetheus recently?
Akina Nakada, for one. She was the only onewho had been here openly on family business.
But all the tourists in the Trap-there mighthave been a few Nakadas in that crowd.
And I didn’t really know it was a familymember who had accessed the ITEOD files; it could have been someother corporate officer. There were plenty of trusted people whoweren’t part of the clan-Vijay Vo, for one, or Grandfather Nakada’saide, Ziyang Subbha.
Or maybe someone had been acting as an agentfor someone higher up, someone who could tell her how to accessthat account. Any of the older members of the Nakada family couldhave arranged that, from the old man’s surviving children-therewere two of the five still alive, a son named Ryosaku and adaughter named Kumiko-all the way down to the dozens in Sayuri’sgeneration.
Agent or principal, if I could find out whowas using that particular corporate account when the ITEOD fileswere accessed, I might have a real lead on the assassin-or I mightnot.
I did what I should have done sooner, andbeeped Nakada’s ship. “Incoming data,” I told it. “Store it andback it up, maximum security, for access only by myself or YoshioNakada.” I hoped that would keep it away from any back doors thatother Nakadas might have installed, but I wasn’t really all thatvery concerned, since after all, most of what I was sending wasstuff my mysterious conspirators presumably already had. I told mydesk to transmit its entire content, old and new. A spaceship wouldhave enough capacity for that, I was sure.
Now I’d have everything somewhere relativelysafe, and if I managed to get my head blown off, or found myself onthe dayside again, at least Grandfather Nakada would have somethingto show for his investment, even if most of it was his own ITEODfiles.
While that was transmitting I sat back andtried to think, which was what I was doing when the front doorbeeped and I heard someone say, “Damned squatters.”
I sat up. I hadn’t heard that voice in over ayear, but I knew who it had to be. I must have tripped an alarmsomewhere, and my old landlord, George Hirata, knew someone was inhis building.
He should have known who I was, though. Thedoor knew. That’s why it let me in.
I tapped a command, and as the door’s vidfeed appeared on the desk I said, “Hello, Mis’ Hirata.”
He looked up at the cam, scowling. It wasdefinitely Hirata.
He had two cops with him, though; I hadn’texpected that.
I’d left my gun on the ship, since I hadn’tthought I could take it into the Ginza with me. One cop had aweapon in his hand, though I couldn’t tell whether it was a stunneror something more lethal. This was not going to be a situationwhere I could play tough.
“Who the hell are you, using Hsing’s ID?” thelandlord demanded.
“I’m Carlisle Hsing,” I said. “It’s myID.”
“Hsing is on Prometheus,” Hirata said. “Oroff-planet, anyway.For all I know she’s on Cass II or Earth orFomalhaut II. Who are you really?”
He could hear me, but he couldn’t see me; theentryway didn’t have a proper screen. And of course, I could havefaked the image if there were one.
“It’s really me, Mis’ Hirata,” I said. “Icame back for my brother.” Before he could say anything else, Iadded, “I know I don’t have any right to be here, but I needed acom, and you didn’t change the codes. I’ll be happy to pay you halfa month’s rent.”
I love expense accounts.
“Now I know you aren’t Hsing,” hesaid. “She wouldn’t have offered more than three days.”
“I’ve done well on Prometheus, Mis’ Hirata.Come on up and see for yourself.”
“We’ll do that.” He stormed up the stairs,out of range of the door cam.
I opened the door between the office and thecorridor, to make it clear that I was being open and honest, and afew seconds later there was my old landlord with two city cops,charging in to confront me.
I wasn’t exactly being confrontational,though; I was standing there with my hands over my head, and mytransfer card in one hand, ready to tab the rent.
Mis’ Hirata didn’t waste any time; he reachedout for the card, and as I handed it over he said, “So it isyou. What the hell are you doing back here?”
“Working,” I said. “Investigators who knowanything about Nightside City are scarce on Prometheus. Guy inAmerican City hired me to check out a few things.”
“And he paid your fare?”
“Fares are cheap right now, if you’re comingfrom Prometheus.” Which was true, even if it didn’t apply in mycase. I didn’t want good old George getting any clever ideas if hefound out my client was rich enough to have his own yacht.
“I’ve heard that,” Hirata grudginglyadmitted, as his reader accepted my card. “They sure aren’t cheapleaving, though.” He looked up from the reader. “You said half amonth’s rent?”
“Let’s put that in credits,” I said warily. Iglanced at the cops, who had yet to say a word; one of them waspointing a stunner at me, and the other had a hand on the butt ofhis gun, though it was still more or less in its holster. “I don’twant any misunderstandings.”
“Four kilocredits?”
I stared. “That’s half a month’s rent?Since when?”
“Since the tourist rush drove up prices.”
“That’s grit, Hirata, and you know it-if youcould get anything like that kind of money, this place wouldn’thave been empty since I left.”
He sighed. “Fine. Two?”
“It’s still robbery, but that’s the nationalsport around here, so what the hell. Two kilocredits, not a bytemore.”
“Hey, I’ve got expenses, Hsing.” He keptlooking at me, but he moved one shoulder, and I got themessage-he’d have to pay off the cops.
Two kilocredits ought to more than coverthat, though. “Life’s tough all around,” I said.
He tabbed the reader, then pulled out my cardand handed it back. I was tempted to run a balance check rightthere, but decided there was no reason to piss him off. And afterall, it wasn’t my money.
“Next time,” he said, “beep me if you want ashort-term rental.”
“Next time,” I replied, “you might want tochange the door codes when a tenant moves out.”
“I’ll do that, Hsing. In fact, I’ll do itright now, as soon as you get out of here.” He glared.
“Then I’ll let you get on with it.” I loweredmy hands and headed for the door. The cops stepped aside; the taserwas lowered. I nodded to them. “Good to see you, boys. Hope you’llhave a lucky night.” I glanced back over my shoulder at Hirata.“Enjoy your credits, George. I hear the New York has the bestpay-outs in the Trap.”