Finn's Golem (4 page)

“Um… yes
,” she
said, as if no one had ever carried her luggage before, which I found difficult to believe. She let me get away with it though, which did my male pride no end of good. She was still looking sideways at me as we started walking towards the main doors. “You said you would wear a red
jacket.”

“What?” I said, my mind more on the possible location of Brown Sweater than on playing the game.

“So I’d know you.” She didn’t seem suspicious at all.

“It’s being cleaned
,”
I said smoothly. The Latino in the windbreaker still hadn’t moved, but I was sure he’d spotted me looking back. It was easily fifty meters to the main doors and I needed her to move more quickly.

“Ah
,” was
all she said.

I took her by the arms and pulled her along as casually as I could. “Is that all you have to say?” I said a little crossly
.
“This is Bountiful, Miss Marsland, it won’t help you to be that innocent. If I said I’d wear a red jacket I should be wearing a red jacket, shouldn’t I? Otherwise-”

“Mister Finn, I appreciate your concern, but your face is practically a business card. You look like a tough private eye right out of an old cinema.” The deeply subliminal purr was back when she said this and I was pleased in spite of myself.

“Well, we aim to please. Let’s go.”

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?” she asked, resisting my hand slightly for the first time.

“Without turning around
,”
I began jovially
,
“
there
is a man in a black windbreaker at the far end of the hall. He hasn’t moved, but he may or may not be waiting for another man in a brown sweater of whom I seem to have lost track.”

She was alarmed, and of course her head swung around in spite of herself. Almost to the doors now. Her head spun back around to me and she walked more quickly
.
“There is a man in a brown sweater coming down those stairs.” She looked back again
.
“And the man in the windbreaker is running now.”

“Yes
,”
I said without looking back and pulling her into a run
,
“
this
is why I suggested not turning around.”

“What do they want?”

“You tell me
,
peaches, they were here to meet your shuttle.”

We hit the doors at full stride. Luck was with us, most of the passengers from the 19:44 were gone and the taxi stand was clear. “Do you have any objection to hiring a very fast taxi to fly very high?” I asked as we ran.

“Do I have much choice?
”

“Good girl.”

We passed by the first two Hovs for a sleek looking late model painted bright yellow. We pulled the door open and bundled in quickly.

“We’re going to the-
,
” she began.

“Up
,”
I said. “All the way. Now.” And closed the door.

The cab roared to the top lane. I gave directions to a corner in midtown I knew to be brightly lit and busy at all hours.

“But my hotel is-
,
” she protested
.

“All in good time, angel
,”
I said with a slight nod in the direction of the cabby. I pushed the privacy button to elevate the sound shield quickly. “Rule number one in losing a tail: never say too much in front of anyone they might be able to find. We’ll get you to your hotel soon enough. Why don’t we get a drink and discuss your father’s case
?”

“My father?” her voice went cold. The change felt like a slap. “I told you I was looking for my sister Katrin.” She looked ready to jump out of the cab in full flight.

Think fast
,
rabbit.

“You’re Claire Marsland, from New Coast Prefecture
,”
I deadpanned
.

“Yes, but-”

“Your father was Viktor Marsland. A cybercypher for Omniframe Internal Security.”

“How could you possibly-?”

“He died last month, under mysterious circumstances.”

“There was nothing mysterious about it. It was cold-blooded murder!” she said in a sudden flash of fury.

I relaxed into the seat. “Then I wouldn’t be much of a detective if I believed the story about the little lost sister, would I?” I smiled
.
“Why don’t we get that drink?”

We changed cabs twice before settling in to a Pho stand with an exit at either side and tinted windows you couldn’t see into from the street, at least not in the haze of neon that was downtown. I stumbled upon the place by luck, but when it proved to be ideal from both a security and a gastronomical point of view, I tried to act like it was a second office
. Finn the brilliant tactician.

My client sipped her soup quietly before looking up at me with eyes that were big and soft and doe-like. I suppose if a girl is inclined to be impressed with a private eye on the basis of jawline and stubble alone, then dodging a tail with a little cloak and dagger must have sealed the deal. Whatever her story proved to be, for the moment I was her knight in hard-boiled armor and it didn'
t seem like a bad role to play.

I’d learned my lesson in the cab and kept my fool mouth shut. It was Claire Marsland’s nickel, let her call the tune. A cloud passed over the warm embrace of her gaze as her brows knit momentarily.

“What happened to your head?” she asked
.
“That’s a nasty gash peeking out from under your hat.” Her hand reached out as if to lift the battered piece of felt.

“Cut myself shaving.” I dodged slightly and her hand withdrew, rebuked.

“What?”

“Bad joke.”

She smiled and returned to her broth. We both waited.

“So
,
” I said, breaking first.

“So
,
”
s
he repeated softly. She placed her right elbow on the counter space between us and settled her head onto her hand, a funny kind of half-smile on her face. “Forgive me, Mister Finn. I don’t really know where to start. I had this speech all rehearsed on the shuttle, but since you clearly know some of this already, maybe you should lead.”

This was exactly what I did not want. “Don’t be afraid of telling me something I might already know, Miss Marsland. It’s
always
good to get a different perspective. Besides, it’s an interesting way to catch somebody in a lie.”

“I won’t lie to you
,
”
s
he breathed.

I swallowed hard and tried not to show it. This one really knew how to push my buttons. We sat in silence for another moment.

“Those men at the
s
huttle
p
ad...
,
” she began
,
“were they after me or after you?”

This was an excellent point, and I said so, mostly in the hopes that she wouldn’t notice that it wasn’t really an answer. “I think for the moment we have to assume that they’re involved with your business in Bountiful City. They might have been trying to sell us picture postcards, but I wouldn’t like to bet on it.”

She nodded and said nothing. The door opened and two teenaged girls came in giggling and ignoring us completely, which was just as it should be.

“Do you think they could have been
’
Frame Security?” I asked quietly. Her face went pale, and her left hand played about her necklace for no reason I could see. It was a simple gold chain with something larger hanging from it, like a ring. Finally she shook her head.

“I don’t think that they know
,
”
s
he said at last.

“Tough sometimes to know just what they know
,
” I said
,
“
o
n account of the fact they’re supposed to know everything.”

She nodded and sighed. “Why should I be afraid of them?” she said, knowing full well what the answer was
.
“My father gave his life for the company.”

“And you’re certain that he didn’t also give his life
to
the company?”

She looked up at me quickly. This had not occurred to her before
. I decided that I hated today.

She looked out the tinted window. “No, Mister Finn. No, I don’t think it’s as bad as that.”

“Basing that on anything other than an abiding fa
ith in the power of dumb luck?”

She almost laughed. You could just see lines around her eyes and mouth when she smiled. She wouldn’t be any less beaut
iful in twenty years. Or forty.

“If my father’s colleagues... or, at least
,
their watchdogs... knew of my errand, I doubt I would have made it this far
,
”
s
he said with a glimmer in her eye
.
“And I’m not at all sure that changing cabs would have helped us that much.”

I nodded. It was an interesting point, and I said so. She smiled.

“So what can you tell me about this code your father developed?” I asked. The smile faded quickly and her eyes returned to the window. The clouds that had been rolling in all evening had settled in for the night and rain started pelting the
window of the Pho stand, hard.

“E2-476
,
” she said quietly, and with a kind of reverence. “The Holy Grail of illegal interface. Since the day the Omniframe went online men have searched for it. It was thought to be impossible.”

“Because Omniframe said so?”

She nodded, unaware of the irony. I decided to take a different tactic.

“This code manipulates the Master Identity Records, yes?”

Her eyes looked at me with wonder again, but if there was a question behind the surprise, she never phrased it, but merely nodded.

“So why should that be worth killing for? Forgive me if the question seems a bit thick, but does it really matter? This is real.” I tapped the bowl in front of me
.
“You’re real. I’
m real. The rain is real.”

She reached out with her right hand and steadied the bowl. “Mister Finn, do you know what would happen tomorrow if Omniframe decided there was no such thing as Pho?”

I didn't have to think long. This sort of thing had happened before. “Sure. The menu here would say
Noodle Soup
the next morning.”

“Yes
,
it would
,
” she smiled
.
“But what if the same thing happened to you?”

I had no
thing to say to that, so I didn’
t.

“You must know that there are people whose lives have become so hopeless that they pay enormous sums to have all traces of their profile erased from Omniframe
,
” she said, her eyes on the sky.

“Sure
,
” I said
.
“They call them Shades. It’
s a pretty desperate sort of life from what I hear.”

She nodded
.
“It is. No profile, no interface. No interface, no existence. A living death, denied the most basic of services. Many people would prefer prison, or the grave.”

I shrugged. “Sure
,
” was all I said.

“Do you know how many people there are out there living that kind of life?”

“I guess I don’
t.”

“No one does.”
H
er eyes were moist with what seemed like genuine empathy
.
“Becau
se Omniframe says that they don’
t exist. The erasure is achieved by means of a fairly unsophisticated worm. Difficult to protect against because it is so small. All it can do is destroy. Imagine if instead of taking your identity away, it could make you a
new
one. A clean slate, if you will. The opportunity to create a whole new profile, a whole new identity, as real as any other in Omniframe. Become a new person, or just one with better education or qualifications, more money...”

“Whe
n you put it that way, it doesn’
t sound half bad.”

She nodded. “I can’
t imagine too many would disagree with you. But if it became common enough, it would tear the very f
abric of our world apart. I can’t let that become my father’
s legacy.
And y
ou won’
t let that happen, will you
,
Mister Finn? You’ll help me, won’
t you?”

The question was hushed and breathless. It fell from perfect lips like rose petals on the wind. I figured any side deals had gone out the window with my memory. Time to pick a team.

“Sure I will
,
kid
,
” I said. “Sure I will.”

We sat in silence for a moment as a busb
oy came to take our bowls away.

“So tell me,” I asked
,
“why would your father create this code if he worked for internal security?”

“Men like my father have protected the Omniframe for a generation.” She led ever so slightly with her chin as she spoke, real pride in her voice. I tried to forget that the father
she loved was a ’
Frame spook. “They devote their lives to defeating interface security in order to improve it. He was thrilled when he was put on the M.I.R. Project. It was his dream. Until Carter got wind of it.”

“Carter?”

“A big man. Very slick. I only saw him once, but he struck me as a dangerous sort. Looked like a businessman I suppose, but there were too many bodyguards.”

“Carter the first or the last name?”

“The last name. As I say, I
only met him once, at my father’
s house. It was obvious that something was hanging in the air, but he was very polite to me. Insisted that I call him Cyrus.”
S
he shivered
.
“But there was something in his eyes even then. I knew something was wrong.”

“Back up a tick, angel
,
” I said, my heart floating in the small, warm sea of Pho in the pit of my stomach
.
“Cyrus Carter?”

“You know him?”
S
he seemed surprised.

“Not personally.”

Cyrus Carter. Cyrus the Locust. Even my Swiss-cheese head remembered who that was. The biggest and the deadliest underworld kingpin in... well, in wherever he happened to be at any given moment, and two co
ntinents on either side. And he’
d done it all without getting his hands dirty. I checked to see if I was still breathing and made a note of what it felt like for later.

“At first my father wouldn’
t tell me anything, but I insisted. Somehow
Carter had learned of my father’
s discovery. He hounded him day and night. He br
ibed him, threatened him, and I’
m convinced he killed him. Or had him killed.”

I stood. “We should get you to your hotel.”

I looked up at the video screen above the counter as she gathered her things. The info scroll at the bottom of the display promised new revelations in the gruesome homicide in Section 23 in the NewsNet at the top of the hour.

Ah yes, the body. Which meant that if the bad guy
s didn’
t kill me, the good guys probably would. And
I still didn’t know why. There’
s a strange feel
ing of invulnerability when you’
ve got nowhere left to run.

It couldn’
t possibly last.