But who else could have sent them? Obviously,someone who’d been listening in-maybe through my gun, maybe throughdatafeed from Seventh Heaven or the casino cops-but who would havecared enough to send this pair?
I didn’t understand what was happening, and Ididn’t like that. I wasn’t going to take any more big risks until Ihad a better idea what was running.
“The port,” I told the cab. “Hurry!”
“But the Ginza…”
“We aren’t in their jurisdiction,” I said.“Go!”
“I’m going.”
It was; we soared up out of the shaft, and upSixth Street, then diagonally over the rooftops toward theport.
“Oh, gods!” my father said.
I turned, thinking something was wrong,thinking maybe his heart was giving out without the steady streamof meds and fluids he’d had in the tank, but no, if anything he waslooking better than ever. He was sitting up and staring out at thecity.
Specifically, he was staring at the westernwall of the crater, where the morning sun was gradually creepingdownward from the rim, and at the higher towers, where sunlight wasgleaming from their top few floors..
“It’s the dawn,” he said. “It is, isn’tit?”
“Not yet,” Singh told him.
“Soon, though,” I said. “That’s why I’mgetting you out. I expect Seventh Heaven to declare bankruptcy theminute that light hits the streets of Trap Over. Maybe they won’tjust leave all the dreamers to rot in their tanks, but I didn’twant to take the risk.”
“How long was I in there?” Dad asked.
I glared at him. “I was sixteen, almostseventeen, when you went in,” I said. “Look at me now.”
“It’s horrible,” he said. “Sobright!”
I almost laughed. I’d spent a year onPrometheus. I’d even been stranded on the Epimethean dayside once.To me, Nightside City was still an island of comforting darkness,even if the sky was no longer black. “What, none of your dreamswere out in the sun?” I asked.
“Some of them were, yes, but those weren’treal. I always knew that. And they weren’t in NightsideCity, in my home.”
“Your home is about to get hit with hardultraviolet,” I said. “The temperature’s already climbed at leastten degrees, and it hasn’t rained since you bought your dream. Youknew that was coming.”
“I… I knew it, but I didn’t believeit.”
I snorted. “So you ran and hid in adreamworld where you wouldn’t have to see it,” I said. “You know,when I pulled you out, I wasn’t sure whether you would wake up ornot, but I’m glad you did, so you could see this.”
“I don’t like it,” he said. “I want to goback.”
“Too late for that,” Singh muttered.
“No, it isn’t,” I said. “I could drop the twoof you, you could tell the authorities I had you at gunpoint thewhole time and you never wanted to cooperate, and you could takeMis’ Hsing here back to his happy fantasy life in the tank.”
Singh looked at me. “And what do youdo?”
“I get back to the port and head forPrometheus, and hope my rich friends there can buy my way out ofthis mess.”
“And what about those?” He pointed.
I followed his finger to where the two bigblack floaters were following us at a frighteningly small distance,maybe ten meters behind our cab. “Oh,” I said.
I didn’t know who sent those two, which meantI didn’t know what they would or wouldn’t interfere with. Theymight not let me dump anyone, or flee anywhere.
There was no sign of the Ginza cop floater,though. That was something. I wondered whether the black ones haddisabled it somehow, or whether it had realized it was outmatchedand backed down, or whether it had been called back by the casinomanagement.
Any of those was possible.
Who had sent the black floaters? Werethey helping me, or just keeping me for themselves?
I didn’t think Yoshio had sent them. If hehad, wouldn’t they have told me? But if he hadn’t, who had? Wassomeone from the New York tracking me? If so, was it at Vo’sdirection, or without his knowledge?
Or was someone keeping an eye on the SeventhHeaven dreamtanks?
Nakada floaters, according to the cab. And itwas presumably a Nakada who had used the back door into SeventhHeaven’s data. If someone was keeping an eye on them, it wasa Nakada, or at any rate someone with access to the clan’s innerworkings.
And someone with access to the clan’s innerworkings had tried to kill Grandfather Nakada. Someone had madecopies of the old man’s ITEOD files, including back-ups of a dozenhigh-ranking Nakadas.
I didn’t think Vo had anything to do withit.
It might all be coincidence. It might beunrelated intrigues or corporate espionage. I didn’t think that wasthe way to bet it. It looked to me as if it was all part of thesame conspiracy, and the only coincidence-if it was acoincidence, and not somehow connected-was that the dream companyinvolved happened to be the same one that had my father tucked awayin their tanks.
Dreams-someone was monitoring the top dreamcompany on Epimetheus, and someone had tried to kill Yoshio Nakadaby tampering with his dream enhancer. Another link.
But it wasn’t about me or my father at all,then, and I could still try to grab my brother.
“Wait a minute,” I told the cab. “Can you getback to the Ginza without attracting any unwanted attention?”
“What?” Singh said. “I thought we wereheading for this ship of yours, to get the hell offEpimetheus!”
“There’s another passenger,” I said. “Someoneelse I want to bring.”
“Where are you planning to put her?”Singh demanded. “This thing’s full!”
It didn’t look that full to me; yes, therewere three of us on the main seat, but there was a luggagecompartment in the rear, and I suspected a second seat could befolded up. “Cab, how many passengers are you licensed for?”
“Six, mis’.”
“Then can you get back to the Ginza?”
“I don’t know, mis’,” it said. “Those twofloaters are following me, and I’m on the navigation grid; ifanyone wants to find us, they can.”
“I thought you were in a hurry!” Singhprotested.
“My brother’s in the Ginza,” I said.
“Sebastian?” Dad croaked. He was slumpedagainst the side of the passenger compartment, staring out throughthe transparent bubble at the glittering ads that filled thestreets of Trap Over.
“Yes, Sebastian,” I told him. “He’s acroupier.”
Dad lifted his head from the plastic. “I’dlike to see him,” he said.
Just then Singh’s com buzzed. He tapped itfor speaker.
“Minish Singh,” he said.
“Singh,” it replied, in a woman’s voice,“what the hell is going on?”
“Damned if I know,” Singh said.
“That woman you’re with has been identifiedas a private investigator named Carlisle Hsing, except Hsing issupposed to be off-planet, on Prometheus. Do you have any idea whoshe really is?”
“She gave her name as Hu Xiao,” Singh said,throwing me a questioning look.
“She’s not Hu Xiao-at least, not the courtofficer Hu Xiao.”
“Then I don’t know any more than you do.”
“She’s listening to this, isn’t she?”
“Yes, mis’.”
For a moment no one spoke; then the cabasked, “Am I supposed to be going to the port or the Ginza?”
“The Ginza,” I told it. Then I told Singh’scom, “I’m Carlisle Hsing. My brother Sebastian can identify me.He’s a croupier at the Ginza.”
“I’m assistant director of security for theGinza, Mis’. I know Sebastian Hsing.”
“Then you can arrange for him to talk tome.”
“I could, yes, but why should I?”
“Because I asked nicely?”
She sighed. “Mis’ Hsing, what do you thinkyou’re doing? According to the records you’ve occasionally cut afew corners, but you’ve basically stayed clean. Now you’ve shot afloater and kidnaped an attendant and someone from a dreamtank, notto mention trespassing, avoiding arrest, impersonating anofficer-what is this?”