The air taxi had dropped him off on the edge of a large canal that ran through the center of the metroplex, and the driver explained that flying any closer to his destination was far too dangerous. With apologies, he still took the full fare before pointing Clay in the direction he wanted to go and wished him luck.
“Where are you, Clay?” Ness asked through the comm.
“A few kilometers north of the city. Apparently, about to wander a few more through a frozen desert.”
“You mean a war zone. That’s no place you want to be.”
“Maybe not. Distract me then. What are the kids doing these days.”
“Well, Tariq Saleh is now head of Tachibana’s Shadow. That’s one I didn’t see coming.”
“Max Van Der Jilk assured me that Tachibana’s Shadow collapsed. He seemed pretty sure of it. That name, Tariq Saleh came up yesterday though, who is he?”
“Not a guy you want to meet. They say he’s a ruthless warlord and cold-blooded killer. Possibly former Tokusha who has turned on his masters. There’s always a rumor about him killing some faction leader and taking over their operations, but they never pan out. I think he’s an urban myth, personally.”
Clay approached a large dune of discarded scrap, now covered by the elements, reduced to a snow mound with bits of metal jutting out. It was too big to circumnavigate, so he began to climb, struggling to stay on solid footing and not misstep and fall into its depths.
“Prevo and/or Mother Eye are manipulating facts again. Why? To start a war between the factions?”
“Well, it’s working. It’s all a powder keg ready to blow at any minute. You gonna tell me where you’re going?”
“Harba City.”
“You’ve got to be joking. Why?”
“Mother Eye pinned Hoefer’s murder on me, but claimed I was working for the Eyes of Baal. Last night, she blamed the Eyes of Baal for the break-in at Klein’s. From what I understand, that would be very out of character for the Eyes of Baal, since they rarely, if ever, leave Harba City. I think she’s trying to direct me there.”
“At the same time, she’s also trying to direct you to a prison cell in a government correction center? You realize, the one thing all the factions have in common is, none of them trust Mother Eye?”
“Yet she persists. That should tell you something about this planet.”
“Just wait, you’re about to visit the garden spot.”
“You’re sure? This place looks more like an abandoned war zone than part of the metroplex.”
“You’re still on the outskirts. You’ll see it once you get over the defensive ridge. You’re sure you want to do this? Harba City isn’t exactly friendly to off-worlders.”
Clay’s right foot sank into snow, and he fell two feet into the drift before catching himself on an outcropping of pipe. He struggled for a moment, then finally got a foothold and hauled himself back up on top of the dune. “Not a lot of choice. Unless you really think poking around Low Town, as Obryn suggested, is a better idea.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion. It was a trap. There’s no way she or Hei Gezi are hiding out there.”
“How do you figure?”
“Low Town residents hate outsiders. They’d rip a Tokusha to shreds if they caught one there. Maybe you fell for the helpless, doe-eyed, blonde shtick, but nobody in Low Town would. It’s literally the last place I would expect to find her.”
“What are the odds she’s in Harba City?”
“Fit’s her profile, anyway. Nearly a hundred thousand people live there, and half of them are on the run from something. It’s a great place to disappear. ‘Eyes of Baal’ administers it. They’re reasonable enough until you cross them. The government and local security won’t go into the city, so the residents keep things relatively orderly, if completely lawless.”
Clay climbed the last meter of smashed plascrete to the top of the dune. In the distance, across a wasteland of crumbled buildings and wrecked machinery, were ten square blocks of makeshift structures, piled 75 meters high and so close together that they appeared to be one giant structure, similar to what Clay remembered as a late-20th- and early-21st-century Brazilian favela.
Clay started down the far side of the rubble pile. He took note of the vidcams the local authorities would have on alert for him and pulled his hat low. In the distance, he heard gunfire, explosions, and screams of rage, fear, and agony. “You said, ‘relatively orderly.’“
He could picture Ness Grinning. “That’s just local street gangs defending their territories in the wastelands. They run drugs for the minor factions and make the government generally look ineffective in exchange for improvised explosives and low-powered ballistic guns. Stay out of the crossfire and try not to look scary; you’ll probably be okay.”
Clay checked the load in his sidearm and shoved it back in his shoulder holster. Then, he patted the inside of his jacket, carrying the remains of his arsenal: Two stuncaps, two smokers, a stash of credslips, and one vial of Shard with hypogun. Ness would probably argue against him carrying Shard around openly, but Clay decided he needed a peace offering to convince Ursza to trust him.
Clay nodded. “How do you find anything in a place like that?”
“Find an information broker and tell him what you’re looking for. They have a network that runs all through that place. Just knock over the first slimy rock you find,” Ness said. “Watch your back when you do it, though. You’re just as much commodity as customer to them.”
“Get up here as soon as you can. If all goes well, I’ll meet you here on the dune, due south of the city, when I’m done. If it doesn’t, I’ll signal you for a more improvisational exit.”
He pulled his coat tight around him when he reached the bottom of the pile and started towards the massive structures, crouching as he darted across an abandoned stretch of flat ground. Eventually, he reached the plascrete wall, three meters high, that stretched along one side of the city. It was crumbling in places, making it relatively easy to scale, if necessary. Sliding corrugated metal gateways provided more conventional entrances every few hundred meters. He quickly realized these were not fortifications for defense but merely means of delineating anarchy from order.
He gave one of the gates a gentle tug to open it and stepped inside. The counterweight on the gate caused it to slide gently back into position. He was in a small courtyard with three narrow hallways leading deeper into the structures. It took him a minute to register that these hallways were formerly alleys between buildings and that he was standing in the middle of what used to be a street.
It was no wonder that neither the government nor city law enforcement wanted anything to do with this place. There were no defensible routes where invaders could gain a foothold and hold it, and none of the “streets” were more than a meter across, negating any advantage from heavy arms or armored vehicles.
He picked the passageway that seemed to run the furthest, nearly to the open park area in that quarter of the city. Along the way, he passed several small alleys and chambers. Most were living quarters, though he did spot shops, clinics, temples, and even cafes randomly dotted amongst them. There was no urban planning or organization of any sort. It seemed people just picked any available spot and established their trade there. Desperately needing information, he stepped into a café, which was nothing more than a three-meter-square room with three tables adjacent to a makeshift kitchen, where a surprisingly pleasant aroma of spices emanated. A kindly woman, who appeared to be well over a century old, though probably only half that in reality, set a plate containing flatbread, beans, and some kind of meat in front of him, along with metal cutlery. He gingerly sampled everything, most of which he found palatable, and none of his enhanced biodefenses tripped.
He smiled at the woman in appreciation and placed a credslip on the table. She began to protest when he held up a hand to stop her. “I’m looking for an information broker,” he said as matter-of-factly as he could manage.
“Broker? Well, that depends on the information you’re looking for.”
“I’m trying to find someone.” He tried to sound non-threatening, then added, “I need their help.”
“Someone who lives here?” She scowled.
“That’s what I’ve been led to believe.”
“You want Dex, then. He knows where everyone is.” She turned to go. It was obvious she didn’t trust him and wanted the conversation to end.
“Dex,” Clay repeated.
She pointed down the corridor outside. “Avenue A to the park, immediately turn left. When you hit the park’s edge, turn right, second street.”
“Thank you,” Clay said. He caught the woman examining the credslip to determine if it was genuine.
The temperature dropped rapidly as he walked, and the corridor opened into a large park in the middle of the city, with a view of the sky dozens of meters above. To his surprise, it appeared to be used strictly as a recreational area rather than farmland. As he looked up, he noted various fruits and vegetables being grown on hydroponic shelves on the balconies all along the park’s perimeter, making the entire view seem lusher and more picturesque than it was.
He turned and walked next to the structures along the garden’s edge until he reached the corner. Then, as instructed, he turned right and walked to the second street. This part of the city didn’t look much different from the part he had just left, though the energy was much livelier. A few people even smiled at him as they passed in the corridor. Finally, he decided he was never going to find Dex on his own.
“Excuse me,” he said to a passing man. “I’m looking for Dex.”
The man froze and stared at Clay, who shrugged and held up a credslip. The man eyed him curiously, as if he were something he had just found under a rock. Without saying anything, the man took the money and gestured for Clay to follow. He led him through several adjoining rooms; all seemed to be small, one-room apartments. Clay apologized to each occupant as he passed through. After several turns down narrow corridors, they came to a room tucked neatly beneath a stairway, which gave it a long, sloping ceiling. It contained just a desk and chair, and its walls were lined floor to ceiling with books. A man sat at the desk, apparently reading. The escort pointed to the man and then returned the way he came.
“You’re looking for me?” the man asked. He was in his early thirties, dressed in a brown leather tunic, and had a curious piece of cybernetic hardware affixed to his shaved head. The look was completed by a pair of round, oversized spectacles with reflective lenses, which Clay assumed to be an old-style terminal display.
“That depends. Are you Dex?”
“I’m a dex, yes.” The man smiled. “Name’s Ren. Ren Sato.” He stood up, pulled a threadbare blanket aside, and ushered Clay into the next room. It was larger than the previous one. The walls were lined with old two-dimensional photographs and drawings. A worn cot was in one corner, and a large terminal looked very out of place sitting in the other.
Ren made his way to the far side of the room by the terminal, retrieved a canister from a shelf, shook it—revealing the distinct clang of credslips—and placed it on the desk. He then walked around and sat behind the terminal, smiling warmly. “How can I help you today?”
“I need a job done, and I’d like it done by a specific group of people living here in Harba City.”
“Gotcha,” Ren said non-committedly, holding up a hand to stop Clay from going further, and began extracting a cable from the console.
Clay shook his head, confused. “Can you help or not?”
“Don’t know,” Ren shrugged.
Clay smiled and threw a few credslips in the canister. “How about now?”
He paused and looked at Clay with curiosity. “Still don’t know.” Ren shrugged, smiled, and continued unraveling the cable. “But thank you for that.”
“I don’t understand. I was told you could help me.”
Ren arched an eyebrow. “I’m a scrub, boss.” He seemed to laugh as he said it, pointing to the cybernetic device attached to his head.
“I thought you were a dex.” Clay was beginning to lose his patience.
“Most of the best dexes are scrubs. Give me just a minute.” He connected the cable to a neural jack behind his left ear, removed his glasses, and powered up the terminal. Instantly, he closed his eyes and smiled broadly as if a wave of pure pleasure had washed over him.
“Okay, here we go. You have a job and want to hire someone in the city. So, what’s the job?”
“I don’t think you need to know that. That’s between them and me.”
“Boss, you don’t know what I need to know. I don’t even know what I need to know. That’s why you have to tell me what the job is.”
“I’ll tell you about the job if you assure me you can find a woman named Ursza Venter or a man named Hei Gezi.”
“Of course, I can find them.”
“You weren’t so sure a minute ago.”
“No, I wasn’t sure I could help you a minute ago. I’m still not sure.”
“You’re intentionally being cryptic, now.”
“Sorry, boss. Love to take the piss out of visitors, I guess. We’ll start over. I will help you, but I need to know what your business is.”
“I assure you, if you’re protecting them, I mean them no harm.”
“There are twenty sensors on you right now, boss, and you just lit up with lies. Are these bad people?”
“You tell me. You’re hooked into that machine. Can’t you pull up everything about them?”
Ren smiled and nodded. “One man’s evil … is another man’s most pious day.” He arched an eyebrow. “You aren’t exactly a saint yourself, Mr. Sean Clay, Sol Directorate Division 5.” He quickly began reading the information on the screen in front of him. “Wow. This is exciting.”
Clay, amazed at how fast Ren had pulled his cover and hacked Division’s systems, kept his expression neutral. “So, what is this? Some kind of judgment day? Only the worthy shall pass? Are you to be judge and jury?”
“No, nothing so grandiose, Agent Clay. I’m just a scrub trying to keep himself sane when he wakes up and has to live with himself tomorrow.” Ren tapped the implant on his head again and looked at Clay expectantly. “So yes, I know what they are and what you are, and now I just need to know your business.”
Suddenly, Clay began to understand. “That’s a neural leucotome attached to your frontal cortex, right?”
“Now you get it.”
“As soon as you disconnect from that terminal, it erases all your memory of what you did while you were connected.”
“Wouldn’t last long in this business if I knew too much now, would I?”
“The ultimate in privacy. I’d heard about such things decades ago but never dreamed they were still in practice.”
“Well, hey, I never thought I’d meet a secret agent either, so let’s just get to business, and you tell me what the business is.”
“One question,” Clay said, holding up a finger. “Why do you care what my business is if you’re just going to forget in a few moments?”
“Because a man can’t pray for forgiveness if he doesn’t know he’s sinned against his fellow man. Therefore, I long ago promised my sleeping self that I would turn down the job if I were asked to betray anyone or do anything evil. This way, I know my honor is still intact when I wake up. Well, aside from some rigidly defined gray areas where I will sometimes operate. So, one last time, what’s your business with the girl and the ninja? They’re bad people. You gonna kill them?”
“I’ve been asked to,” Clay said. “As you say, they’re bad people.”
“I don’t know. They’ve never done me harm. They haven’t broken any laws in the city that I know of. Maybe they did evil things for one of their faction friends, but as I said, one man’s evil. You’ve probably killed more people than they have.”
“Fine,” Clay said. “Forget about Hei Gezi. Let’s stick with the girl. She’s in trouble. She’s addicted to Shard and probably starting withdrawals. The problem is, her regular supplier is dead, so right now, I’m the only person on this planet who can give her that next fix and keep her alive.”
“And you’re gonna use this fix to get what you want out of her, aren’t you, boss?” Ren clicked his tongue. “I know you’re speaking truth, and I know if I help you, you’ll use her to get to the ninja. I also know she’ll die if I don’t help you. This is creating a huge moral dilemma for me.”
“You and me both. This planet is insane. Why don’t you comfort yourself knowing that the girl is smart? When she finds out I have Shard, she’ll likely send the ninja to kill me for it long before I can harm either of them.”
“There’s still a stain on your soul, even if you took a risk getting it. A few bruises and scary nights don’t absolve you.” Ren closed his eyes and lowered his head. Clay couldn’t tell if it was concentration or prayer.
“I’m not asking for absolution. I’m not expecting to win. I need to try though.”
Ren opened his eyes. “I suppose I’ll just have to have a little faith that there’s still some light in you, then.”
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