Tails You Lose (33 page)
"You're forgetting Night Owl," Kageyama gently reminded her. "She also made enemies."
"I see." That explained at least one of the cellphone messages—the one in which Night Owl had been trying to warn Alma about the Red Lotus and a man with strange white eyes.
Kageyama sighed. "I still don't understand why the dragons think I have one of the Coins of Luck. I've heard of them, of course—three of the coins were listed in Dunkelzahn's will. The dragons obviously think that Dunkelzahn left me the fourth Coin of Luck, together with this condoplex, but they are wrong. The Fu Coin wasn't in the statue that you stole, and it isn't in this building."
Kageyama was going too fast for Alma. He was obviously talking about things that Night Owl had done; she didn't remember stealing a statue. "What's the Fu Coin?" she asked.
"It conveys great happiness to the person who owns it—happiness brought about by good fortune. You insisted that I must have it—that it lies hidden inside a jade statue marked with the character
fu
, somewhere inside this condoplex. But it just isn't here. I have no such statue."
Alma stared at Kageyama, not really listening. The realization that she and Night Owl were one and the same—and the gaping hole that the bomb was about to tear in her future—was just too overwhelming for her to concentrate on anything else. She found herself irritated by Kageyama's bemused smile and jealous of the fact that nothing ever seemed to faze him. He sailed through life, serene and happy, oblivious to the fact that the life of the person he was talking to hung in bloody tatters. She supposed he ought to be happy—just look at the wealth that surrounded him. It was all around him, from the multimillion-nuyen condoplex he'd inherited to the expensive gold chain and blue stone that hung around his neck . . .
Alma's racing thoughts came to a sudden halt as she stared at the
pi
. That wasn't just any stone. A
pi
was always carved from the same stone, one that came in a rainbow of colors, from white to yellow to red to lavender to blue, the most expensive coloration of all. And, of course, green.
That stone was jade.
"Akira " Alma interrupted. Strange, that the first name felt familiar on her lips. Angrily, she pushed that thought aside. "Lean closer."
When he did, she took the
pi
in her hands and peered at it. She found what she'd expected to, carved into the surface of the jade: the Chinese character
fu
.
"What's wrong?" Akira asked.
"Who gave you this?" Alma asked.
"My mother," Kageyama answered. "It was in her possessions—I found it after she died. I wear it to honor her."
"Take it off—please. Just for a moment. I need a closer look."
Kageyama hesitated, and then reached behind his neck, undid the clasp on the gold chain, and handed the jade to Alma. She activated the magnification system in her cybereye and peered at the stone closely. Once again, she found what she suspected she would: a hair-thin line, invisible to the unaugmented eye. Before Kageyama could ask what she was doing, she removed the chain, pressed the jade between her two palms, and twisted. It turned like a jar lid. When she opened her hands, the jade had separated into two halves, revealing a glittering bronze coin with a square hole at its center.
As she held the coin up for Kageyama to see, her smile broadened into a grin. She felt a rush of pure joy so strong that it was disorienting, and her mind flashed back to one of the happiest moments of her life: the day she'd beaten all of the other Superkids on an extremely challenging test and had been rewarded with a trip to the virtual zoo. All of the anxiety that had been growing like an icy finger inside Alma over the past few days melted away, and her vision blurred with unshed tears of joy. Only with difficulty could she focus on the here and now.
"You do have the Fu Coin," she said, forcing the words out in a joyful sigh. "You've had it around your neck since your mother died. It must feel . . . wonderful."
Kageyama's lips drooped as he stared at the coin. For the first time since she'd met him, he looked pensive, even sad. "I wonder," he whispered to himself. "Did Dunkelzahn know all along?"
He held out a hand. Reluctantly—not wanting to let go of the wash of happiness that was filling her—Alma let him tug it out of her fingers. Instantly, the lump of apprehension that had been pressing against her stomach earlier returned.
Kageyama placed the coin back inside the hollow halves of jade. He screwed them back together and then threaded the gold chain through the hole at the center. By the time he fastened the
pi
in place around his neck again, his smile had returned.
"Thank you, Night . . . er, Alma," he said. "You've provided an answer to a question that has been puzzling me for some time. You've forewarned me—and knowledge is power. Now that I know what Mang, Li and Chiao are after, I can take steps to protect it." He stared at her a moment, eyes glittering. "My offer still stands. How would you like to be employed as my bodyguard?"
"That's a foolish proposal," Alma snapped. The brief taste of the happiness the Fu Coin could bring had left her irritable and depressed, now that she was no longer holding it. "I can be trusted—but it's not just me . . . in here." Alma tapped a finger to her head. "Night Owl tried to steal the coin from you, once before. What's to stop her from trying again, once I go to sleep and she wakes up?"
"That would be . . . amusing," Kageyama said. "But think of this: even if Night Owl does steal the coin, who would she sell it to? She has gone to great lengths to convince the three dragons that you're dead. The last thing you—she—wants to do is tip them off to the fact that you're still alive. And besides, I enjoy Night Owl. She is one of the few shadowrunners I have engaged who acts out of altruism. I feel it is only correct to treat her with the same compassion that she takes so much care to hide—but that shines through despite her efforts to conceal it."
Alma nodded, not really listening. Night Owl was a wild card inside her head. Whenever she was turned face-up, anything could happen. Fortunately, she too would be gone in—she activated the countdown function of her cybereye—four hours, fifty-three minutes and thirteen seconds.
"I can offer you a very generous salary," Kageyama continued. "It will include cosmetic surgery to alter your appearance, if you wish." He glanced briefly down at his fingers. "Dr. Silverman is very . . . discreet. She could do the surgery today—in fact, you told me earlier that you already have an appointment booked with her this afternoon."
He reached out and tipped Alma's head up. "Think about my offer, won't you?"
Alma didn't even bother to answer. She found herself staring at her own hands. The trembling that had seized her left hand a few minutes ago had stopped, but now it felt empty. She realized suddenly that she had yet to cast the I Ching for today. She only had a few hours left—but she might as well find out what they had in store for her.
Kageyama was standing near the door. He gave a slight bow, like a host bidding his guest good morning. "Is there anything I can get for you?" he asked.
"Yes," she said decisively, looking up at last. "Three coins."
Kageyama looked surprised. "Why? Are you going to flip one of them to decide whether you'll work for me?"
Alma smiled. "In a manner of speaking, yes. I'm going to cast the I Ching."
"
So
ka
!" Kageyama laughed. "You do delight me, you know. Both as Alma—and as Night Owl. I think I'm going to enjoy having you around. Very much. Wait here; I will find you three coins."
Bowing once more, he hurried from the room. While she waited, Alma activated the countdown sequence and glumly watched the numbers blink down. She shook her head slowly at the irony. Just like Akiko, she knew the time of her death and could count the seconds until it arrived. All she could do was sit and wait . . .
No. There had to be a way to deactivate the bomb. Carefully, she thought back over everything that Hu had told her about it. He'd said it would activate if all brain function ceased—if she died. No solution there.
The bomb would also activate if anyone other than a PCI technician tried to surgically remove the REM inducer. Which meant that the tech had to enter a code of some sort.
No—not the technician. As Alma thought about it, she realized that there was just one way to enter that code: input via a mental command. It was the same mechanism that Gray Squirrel had used as an activator for the REM inducer and that Mr. Lali had used to activate the bomb's countdown.
All Alma had to do to save her life was think of the right code.
Gray Squirrel had used a descending sequence of prime numbers as the trigger for the REM inducer and a descending sequence of squared numbers to start the bomb ticking. A similar sequence of numbers had to be the key to "defusing" the bomb.
Alma ran through every combination she could think of. She counted down by cubed numbers, by ever-diminishing fractions, in binary code, by units of measurement, and by right-angle degrees, from 360 to 270 to 180 to 90 to zero. When none of them worked, she tried each of the sequences in ascending order. Still nothing. The countdown just kept ticking.
Consulting her retinal clock, Alma saw that it was 7:30 a.m. precisely. As of this moment, she had exactly four hours and thirty minutes left to live.
She switched back to countdown mode to confirm this—and her breath caught in her throat. According to the countdown that was slaved to the bomb, she had four hours and
thirty-one
minutes to live. Somehow, she'd gained an extra minute—and she had no idea how. One of the sequences of numbers had
almost
worked. Which made no sense. Why would the countdown pause and then start up again?
She ran through all of the number sequences she had just tried and even ran through the series of numbers that had triggered the bomb, visualizing a different date at the end of it—one far in the future—but the countdown continued, just as it had before. Alma suddenly realized that the one-minute reprieve might not have been the result of anything
she
had done. It might have been Night Owl who . . .
Just at that moment, Kageyama returned. He placed three coins on the table beside the bed. They were Taiwanese commemoratives from the year 2000—probably part of a specially minted collector's set.
Without speaking, Kageyama bowed and walked to the door. He paused with one hand on the doorknob to glance back at Alma, his face set in a pensive expression, but she hardly noticed. Yet another bout of trembling had seized her left hand: Night Owl, trying to wake up and take over her body. Fortunately, the tremor was a light one—Alma still had enough control to scoop up the coins, rattle them between cupped hands and let them fall.
A deep sense of tranquillity descended upon Alma as the familiar motions of the I Ching soothed and steadied her. A second or two later, the tremor stopped. She cast the coins six times, shaking them briefly and letting them fall onto the table when she felt the time was right. Then she contemplated the hexagram she had just cast.
The result was lake over fire—the hexagram for Change. Alma nearly laughed out loud when she saw it—change was the very thing she was reaching for so desperately—and could not grasp.
As always, the reading was precise and ambiguous in one. She could recite it by heart:
Change
is
represented
by
two
women
living
together
,
but
at
cross
purposes
.
One
lights
the
fire
,
the
other
extinguishes
it
with
water
from
her
bucket
.
One
draws
water
from
the
well
,
the
other
hangs
the
bucket
over
the
fire
until
the
water
has
boiled
away
.
Only
when
the
two
women
live
together
in
a
civilized
manner
will
the
change
be
complete
.
Only
when
the
change
has
happened
is
it
believed
possible
.
A thoughtful expression on her face, Alma picked up her cellphone and recorded a memo. Then she lay down on the bed, holding the cell against her chest, and began counting backwards by prime numbers from 19.
