I trotted down the stairs and out onto thestreet, where the wind whipped my hair into my eyes. I’d let itgrow out some back on Prometheus; they don’t have the same windsthere that Nightside City has. Hell, they don’t have anythingclose-half the time you can walk down an open street inAlderstadt and there’s no more wind than there is indoors. Maybeless, if “indoors” includes a decent ventilation system. Prometheusdoesn’t have the planetary convection cycle Epimetheus does. Iturned my back to the wind and tapped my wrist for a cab.
I was still waiting when Hirata and his copscame out of the building; they barely glanced at me as they turnedand marched away down Juarez. They had just turned the corner whenmy ride finally swooped down.
“The port,” I told it.
“There’s a surcharge from Westside,” the cabreplied.
“Since when?”
It didn’t answer audibly. Instead a displaylit up with a notice that the city hereby accepted the petition ofthe Transit Association for higher fares between low-traffic areas.It was dated nine days ago.
“The port’s a low-traffic area?” I asked.
“That’s what the regulations say.”
“I didn’t pay a surcharge on the wayout.”
“It doesn’t apply if you start or end in theTrap.”
“Fine.” I slid my card in the slot. “Take meto the port.”
“Yes, Mis’.”
Wind and cops and high prices-I was feeling agood bit less nostalgic about Nightside City as the cab lifted offand swung around to the south.
Hirata had interrupted me before I had reallyhad a chance to look at what was actually in Grandfather Nakada’sITEOD files, or do anything to identify whatever it was that hadchased me away in the middle of my download. I wanted to get onwith that; the sooner I knew whether I had any chance of doingNakada’s job, the better.
I also wanted to see if I could find justwhere my father was stashed, and I wanted to talk to CaptainPerkins about getting ’Chan off-planet. I decided there was noreason to hold off on that conversation, and used my wrist com tobeep the good captain.
He answered instantly, as if he’d beenwaiting for my call. “Mis’ Hsing,” he said. “Something very strangeis going on.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. But I don’t think I should talk aboutit on the air.”
“Then don’t. I’m on my way there now.”
“Good! Is there anything I need to haveready? Will we be lifting off?”
“No, I still have more to do here,” I said.“We won’t be going anywhere for awhile. If you could have somethingready to eat, though, I haven’t had a bite since I left theship.”
“Of course. I’ll have supper waiting. Justfor you?”
“Just for me.”
“I’ll see you, then.” He ended the call.
I stared at my wrist for a moment, trying toguess just what sort of strangeness had Perkins worried. Had thatthing that chased me off the net followed my transmission back tothe ship? Had one of the Nakadas planted something aboard? The shipwasn’t fully sentient, but it was pretty bright, bright enough tofly itself if it had to, and that meant there were a million waysto sabotage it.
Or maybe it was nothing to do with the case.It occurred to me that someone might have noticed a dead man’syacht turning up on Epimetheus. Were a bunch of floaters hangingaround, asking Perkins for interviews? Were the cops demanding toknow how he got the ship?
“If you can hurry,” I told the cab, “doit.”
“Yes, Mis’.”
I didn’t notice much of a change, but wereached the port a little more quickly than I’d expected, so when Itabbed the fare I added a juicy tip.
“Thank you for using Midnight Cab and Limo,”the cab said. “Shall I wait?”
“No.” I waved it off.
The cab closed up and buzzed away, and Imarched across the field to Grandfather Nakada’s littleplaytoy.
I’d been at least partly right, I saw-therewere floaters hovering around the ship, about half a dozenof them. I wished I had my gun. I pretended to ignore them as Iwalked up the steps and into the airlock.
They didn’t ignore me, though. Two ofthem swooped down to barely-legal distance and began haranguing me.Since they were both talking at once, and each one kept cranking upthe volume in an attempt to drown the other one out, I didn’t catcheverything they said, but one was demanding to know who I am andwho had authorized me to board the Ukiba, while the otherwas asking questions about Yoshio Nakada’s private life.
The others were watching me, too; one of thempositioned itself ahead and above me for a good shot of my face. Ireally wished I had my gun.
The outer door had opened as I approached;once I stepped through it slid closed, locking the floaters out andcutting off the shouting of the two that had been questioning me. Iexpected the inner door to open, but it didn’t; instead there was ahum, and my symbiote informed me that I was being scanned.
“That your idea, Perkins?” I asked theair.
“I’m afraid so, Mis’ Hsing,” his voiceanswered. “I think I need to be very careful right now.”
I couldn’t disagree. “Well, hurry it up,” Isaid.
Perkins didn’t reply, but the green lightcame on and the inner door slid aside. I stepped aboard.
Perkins wasn’t in the entry. I went on up tothe main lounge and found him there, jacked into the pilot console.He turned to look at me, but didn’t unplug.
“Mis’ Hsing,” he said. “Do you know what’sgoing on?”
“It depends how you mean that,” Ianswered.
“That data you sent-that’s Yoshio Nakada’sdeath files,” he said. “And all the nets here say he’s dead.”
“I know,” I said.
“But they say he died a couple of days beforewe left Prometheus, and I saw him alive in American City. Hebrought you aboard the ship. Did he die while we were en route, andthe reports have the date wrong?”
“He isn’t dead,” I said. “At least, I don’tthink he is.”
“But they all say he is, and you havethe death files.”
“Someone faked the reports from Prometheus toget those files,” I said-which I didn’t know to be fact, butit was definitely a promising theory.
Perkins still looked troubled. “Are yousure?”
“Reasonably.”
“You don’t think that could have been animposter we saw in American City? A simulation, maybe?”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know,” he said unhappily. “I’venever seen a hologram that realistic before.”
“You still haven’t,” I assured him. “That wasthe real Yoshio Nakada.”
“You’re sure?”
“I could smell him,” I said. “Couldn’tyou? I’ve never heard of a simulation that good.”
Of course, I had only spoken to him face toface in a heavily-shielded secure room where it would have beeneasy to set up a projection with vid, audio, and smell, andthen very briefly on the ship, another controlled environment. Ididn’t mention that; I didn’t think it would be a positivecontribution to the conversation. I was fairly sure, though, thatif that had been a projection I spoke to, either time, somethingwould have shown up on my recordings as being off, and nothinghad.
Not to mention that I had never yet seen aholographic projection that was completely convincing. Forthat you needed a feed over wire, not just visual input.
I was not totally ruling out thepossibility that Yoshio really had been dead all along and I hadbeen hired by an impostor, but I didn’t think it was likely. Whywould anyone bother? Those interplanetary transmissions would havebeen much easier to fake than our face-to-face meeting.