This Alien Shore (45 page)

CUT THE SHIT, MAN.

OOH. BAD MOOD. NO NEW PROJECT FOR YOU, P I'LL GO FIND SOMEONE ELSE....

LIKE HELL YOU WILL. WHAT'S UP?

There was a long pause. He knew Nuke well enough to know what that signified, that the subject being discussed might really be serious. He leaned closer to the screen.

SOMETHING IN FROM DOCKING RING GREEN. RIGHT UP YOUR ALLEY

He frowned. That was one of the inner rings, dedicated to smaller ships. It handled mostly local traffic, pods from the many habitats in Paradise, smaller shipments from nearby stations ... and smaller ships that wanted to slip into Paradise unnoticed. Customs kept a close watch on Green, but not close enough; it was a known fact that half the contraband that passed through the waystation came in through the juncture. So if something was happening out there that was interesting enough for a hacker to contact Phoenix ... interesting enough for him to hack all the overrides that protected Phoenix's current work, so that he could take over the monitor screen for com use ... that might be worth sparing a minute to hear about. Maybe even more than a minute, depending on what it was.

SO WHAT IS IT?

Numbers scrolled across his field of vision, flashes of code, commands in English. Halfway through, he realized he hadn't put his recorder back online, and cursed the loss of all that had come before as he did so.

SLOWER, OKAY? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT CRAP ANYWAY?

DON'T RECOGNIZE IT? SHAME ON YOU. The frowning face stuck out its tongue. IT'S EARTH CODE FOR DAMN IMPORTANT SHIT, IS WHAT IT IS. IT TURNED UP ON A FINANCE CHIP.

Finance? He ran the last section of code before his eyes again, then stiffened as he saw where this was heading. WHERE DID YOU GET IT?

GIRL FROM REIJIK NODE. NEWBIE, I THINK. PAYING FIVE THOUSAND FOR ME TO DOCTOR THE CHIP FOR A CLEAN WITHDRAWAL. ODDS 50-50 RIGHT NOW FOR ME, I FIGURE. I KNOW YOU SPECIALIZE IN THIS KIND OF THING.

He considered carefully before responding. I COULD DO IT.

WOW. REALLY? HEY, MAYBE THAT'S WHY I COMMED YOU?

He ignored the sarcasm. WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

95 BAY WEST, 36C. The address was false, of course; one never knew when the law was listening in. The real address was in the code he'd been sent, next to a marker Phoenix would find later. YOU COMING?

MAYBE.

MAKE IT FAST. THIS ONE'S HOT.

THE CHIP OR THE GIRL?

YES.

Then the face was gone from his screen, and the words also, and in its place the slow and stately dance of the foreign virus had begun once more. He watched it for a minute and then muttered “Damn!” He knew he'd been hooked, and good. How like Nuke to give him barely enough data to draw him into something, too little for him to assess the possible risks—or rewards—without showing up himself. Damn it all, the guy lived halfway across the waystation. Why couldn't they just 'net this stuff back and forth, like sane people?

With a sigh he saved all his work, picked up his backpack, and ordered his grayware to decode the directions he'd been
sent. This had better be good.

I
t was three tubes, two flyways, and a damn long walk to where Nuke was holed up. Or a docking tram, if you had the money. That was the problem with 'netting for a living. You could be working with people halfway across the node for all you knew, which was fine until you had to have lunch with them or something ... then it was a bitch and a half. He started toward the tram and then his wellseeker kicked in, reminding him that he got so little exercise these days, and didn't he think that once, just
once,
he could do the right thing for himself and walk a little? He could hardly object to its nagging, since he'd programmed it himself, and with a wry smile he set off on a hike along the periphery of Paradise. At least the guy was on the same station as Phoenix; give thanks for small blessings.

The address that had been sent to him was on the waystation proper, near the middle of one of the vast public malls that encased Paradise like a colorful candy shell. Whatever had come in on Docking Ring Green to find Nuke, it had traveled a long way since then. Phoenix took a crowded public tube to the proper level and then made his way through the familiar chaos of ten thousand locals and a hundred thousand tourists, all shopping at once. Anyone living on Paradise was used to such a press of crowds, and to the buzz of a station net overloaded with local traffic. He'd been down in the processor chamber once—strictly illegally, of course—and knew from that experience just how much equipment had been dedicated to tourist services alone. Which was what kept Paradise afloat, of course, when several hundred rivals had sunk under their own weight. Paradise knew that data flow was the lifeblood of any station, and made sure that the riff-raff chatter of its million daily visitors didn't jam the channels that were needed for legitimate business. Phoenix flashed an icon that would segue him to a private channel, and could almost feel the signal speed up as he did so. One nanosecond instead of two. Any hacker could sense it.

SO WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? he sent.

There was a momentary delay—Nuke must have been working on something in his own head, usually he kept the com link open otherwise—and then the answer came. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

He looked around, at the stores surrounding him, the holo ads flickering brightly above, the distant flash of a directional sign. MATA HARI CONCOURSE, BY SOME BIG ARCADE.

THERE ARE FIVE ARCADES ON MATA HARI.

He muttered a picturesque curse under his breath and looked for a more helpful sign, trying to make out details among the hundred or so flashing advertisements that competed for attention in the airspace over the arcade. As he did, he heard someone inside the arcade suddenly squeal in delight, and a blast of holo rockets took off from the roof, blinding all who watched for several annoying seconds. BIG WINNER-BIG WINNER-BIG WINNER flashed overhead, drowning out everything else. Already the mall police were moving in to guard whomever it was that had hit whatever jackpot ... she'd have to pay them off later for their service, but that was only to be expected. You wouldn't last five minutes in a mall like this, with that kind of cash in your account.

Finally he just visualized the façade of the arcade, and hoped that Nuke would recognize it. Apparently he did.

THAT'S CAESAR'S DEN. GOOD, YOU'RE CLOSE. HEAD WEST FROM WHERE YOU ARE ... HERE.

A map sketched itself out line by line in Phoenix's head, which meant that Nuke was creating it for him, not just flashing him something from storage. He responded with an affirmative icon, lidded his eyes halfway to shut out the worst of the visual distractions, and began to follow the route indicated.

It was no big surprise that he was soon squeezing between the gaudy tourist shops and gambling dens, to the narrow service corridors which lurked behind them. Autobots rumbled by him, their armored exteriors marked with a small shield which guaranteed that not even a thief with a death wish would try to break into them. All the denizens of the vast station-low-life, high-life, and everything in between—knew better than to screw with the businesses that kept Mama Ra happy. You saw her sigil on a bundle of merchandise, and it was strictly hands off from then on. Which meant, of course, that the small shields with their engraved Guild-sign were themselves worth a bundle ... but a girl had to make her profit somehow, right? Paradise Station was big enough and free enough that there was something on it to make everyone happy, and its grateful tenants policed their own.

The 'bots drove by him, delivering rare foodstuffs to the back doors of restaurants, precious gems to legal and illegal jewelers ... whatever. He stepped aside to keep them from having to slow down as they maneuvered around him. It was a passing token of respect to the woman who ruled them all. Why not? Paradise was a haven for moddies, and he'd been in enough places that weren't to appreciate what that meant.

A narrow and low-ceilinged avenue gave access to an open space that must have once been meant for storage; certainly it had not been designed for the ragtag assortment of cubicles that had since been stuffed into it. He didn't even want to know what some of them were here for. The place looked much the same as his own street, truth be told, but he was willing to bet that here, this close to the center of tourist activity, there were far darker goings-on than ever took place in his sector.

The map indicated a door to his left and then blinked out as he put his hand to the lock. Apparently it had been programmed to accept him, for it opened even before the person inside could put a hand to it.

“Hey, Phoenix.” A hand clasp of ritual warmth welcomed him into a dark and somewhat cluttered abode. An office, he guessed, rather than a home, and probably not Nuke's own. There was too much shit around that wasn't hacker stuff, and he knew from his time on the net that this guy lived, breathed, ate, and probably even dreamed on the outernet. He'd met Nuke several times before, and always in a place like this, filled with someone else's stuff. Maybe the guy didn't even have a real home, Phoenix mused. It was possible. There was a waiting list a mile long for apartments on Paradise Station, and it wasn't like you couldn't manage to live without one if you had to. Especially if you had enough friends ... or did enough favors for people that friends weren't necessary.

“What's this all about?”

Nuke nodded toward a back door, a cryptic smile on his face. He was pale, pale as the bundles of fiberoptic that coursed through the central processor chamber; you could almost see the veins pulsing blue beneath his eyes and along the side of his neck. No solar chambers for this boy. “She's in the back room. I'll introduce you in a minute. What did you think of that stuff I sent you?”

“Damned nasty security shit. That was on her chip?”

“Those were the gateway programs. You haven't even seen what was beyond that yet.” He glanced toward the back of the room, where the door to the next room waited. “I don't think she knows. Which means ... shit. Someone programmed all that for her and then didn't tell her?”

“Maybe it's stolen.” He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, not much caring whether it was true or not. Theft might complicate this job a bit, but he'd never let a factor like that affect whether or not he took on the project. Leave that to the politicos, who had to pretend they had morals.

“Don't think so. No proof there, just a gut feeling.” Nuke reached down for a drink box on the table beside him and sipped it dry of its last few drops. It looked like it had been around for quite some time. “Doesn't look like the type.”

He smiled dryly. “Oh, and you're a great judge of women?”

“You'll see. Trust me.”

“So how did she find you?”

“Pawn sector in Green. Not a bad move, actually. Hinted around that she needed some help with unusual programming, someone adaptable, capable of dealing with equipment that had been, well, sorta modified ... like you might find in one of those shops.” He grinned. “I don't think she knew how loaded that word is around here ... but anyway, Petroy put her in touch with me.”

“Shit, she could be a Pol.”

“Petroy didn't think so. I trust him. Besides, she was subtle, that's an after-the-fact summation. Never told anyone what she wanted, just let them understand that she needed ... one of us. They figured it out.”

“So they sent her here? Sheesh. Real discreet, those guys.”

“You don't deal with them a lot. I do. Sometimes interesting business comes in that way ... hey, some of us really do earn a living, you know? How do you think I find clients?”

Clients.
Jesus, that was a laugh. His amusement must have shown on his face, for Nuke's own colored a bit. “Hey, some of us have a real business, you know?”

He put up his hands in a no-contest gesture. If that was what Nuke wanted to call his online games, so be it. They all had their own pretty names for what they did. He himself was on the Yellow List as a
Technology Consultant.

“So does she know I'm helping you?”

“Ah ... sorta ...”

“And sorta not. Okay. So why does she think I'm here? Just passing by and stopped in to say hello ... and oh, do you happen to have any high-security debit chips lying around that I could glance at while I'm here?”

“More or less, yeah.”

“Jesus.” He shook his head in amazement. “You really are something. All right, show it to me.”

“Don't you want to see the girl first?”

For a moment he just stared at him. Then he realized that Nuke was right. Of course he would want to see the girl first. That was the human thing to do, wasn't it? “Sure.”

She was in a back room, nursing a drink box of her own. She stood up when they entered, with a kind of awkward politeness that spoke volumes for her lack of experience in this kind of situation. Whatever she'd come to the moddies for, it was pretty clear she'd never done this kind of thing before. Or dealt with this kind of people, he was willing to bet.