Hammerjack (8 page)

“You believe in crusades, Dex?”

“Not since I started working for a living,” Dex replied. “You planning some anarchy? We could use the entertainment around here.”

“I’ll work on it. How soon can you run the pathology?”

“The constructs need a little bit of time to cook. Should be ready about the same time as the numerics.”

“Good,” Cray said, heading for the door. “If anybody asks you what you’re doing, make something up. I don’t want any of this circulating until I know what’s going on.”

“Suits me fine. I get paid by the hour. So where are you going?”

“To stir up some trouble.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dex said, as Cray disappeared.

Yin’s sanctuary was at the apex of the tower, another 250 floors up. Cray had visited the place on only one occasion, and that had been ten years ago—back when he was impressed by such things, and the illusion that he was a free man gave him a sense of hope. It was then he had met the man who would become his boss, and the expectations the Collective had for him became clear.

Cray could still hear the words Yin spoke echo off the walls:
It all sounds so harsh, doesn’t it? I know that in this moment, and from this moment on, you will hate me for it. But I have already made you a rich man by bringing you here—and you will become richer still as you serve me. That is my promise and your price.

Every word of it had been true. Cray’s endeavors for Phao Yin had earned him a fortune—and therein lay the irony. The art was in how Yin had used the money as a way to twist the knife in Cray’s back. He had all of the spoils, but none of the victories. His conscience wouldn’t allow it.

There was no one to greet him as he stepped off the elevator. Only the automated sentry acknowledged his presence, and allowed him to proceed to the twin oak doors that guarded the entrance to the sanctuary. The doors parted by themselves, revealing an ornate foyer that was even more magnificent than Cray remembered. Twin marble pillars rose up to touch a domed ceiling, the styles and architecture uniquely Muslim. A collector of antiquities, Yin had put on display some of his most formidable pieces—a sculpture by Leonardo, a bust by Rodin, works of art that demanded an exorbitant price in both blood and money. Not that he was such an admirer of beauty, but the rarity of the relics conveyed the opulence that was Yin’s living and working space—as well as the power of the man who occupied it.

As if anyone could forget,
Cray mourned. GenTec was one of the Collective’s seven charter companies, and although Yin was not officially on the board, his was the kind of influence that made gangsters tremble. Cray worked in shadows—but even that couldn’t compare with the darker regions of Yin’s existence.

Cray heard footsteps across the foyer—not hard clicks against marble, but bare feet. He looked into the garden atrium beyond and saw someone coming toward him. It was a kid, no more than fifteen years old; but as the kid drew closer, Cray could see how that youth was belied by a detached vacuousness. It was an expression Cray recognized from the street.

The kid was a hustler. A pale torso was exposed beneath an open silk shirt, probably something Yin had given him to wear. Cray noticed the uneven ripple of his muscle tone, evidence of a botched myostim implant some butcher had given him in an illegal clinic. Pimps provided the service for their younger hustlers to accelerate their bodies past puberty and put them on a paying basis. Kinks liked their meat that way. From the looks of this one, he had been in the profession for some time.

“You here to see the man?” the hustler asked. His head was lilting to the side, a neuropatch visible beneath a shock of dirty blond hair. He looked right through Cray.

“Yes.”

The hustler smiled, amused by something only he could see. “Follow me.”

He made a lazy turn and shuffled across the atrium, not caring whether Cray was behind him or not. The hustler was only half-there in any case. Neural and chemical stims had long since robbed him of any capacity to feel emotions, let alone pain—the evidence tracking across his back in a patchwork of scars Cray saw through transparent silk. Kinks also liked their meat tenderized.

Flying on autopilot, the young hustler led his charge through a maze of rooms that ended at Yin’s office. Unlike the rest of the sanctuary, this space was actually elegant in its simplicity—but it was no less an exhibit. Artificial gaslight kept the atmosphere dim, like something out of a previous century, the rows of ancient books that lined the walls lending a faint undertone of must to the otherwise sterile air. The only intrusion from the modern world came through a large window that opened upon a panoramic view of Kuala Lumpur’s transport grid—pulser vehicles suspended on intricate tendrils of laser light, a complex dance of perpetual motion.

The hustler flopped down on a calfskin couch, closing his eyes and zoning out.

Cray stayed on his feet, walking over to a huge marble desk that sat in front of the window. He ran a hand along its smooth, cold surface. The piece had been fashioned from a single slab of rock, its origins probably as ancient as everything else in the room.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?”

Yin made his appearance as he always did—out of the dark, with no warning. Cray was used to the theatrics, and paid it no mind.

“That depends on what you’re talking about.”

It had been at least two years since he had last seen Yin, but the man looked exactly the same. Laotian by birth, he lacked the striking features of the Japanese—his face round and soft, solid black hair flanked by gray at the temples. With his demeanor, he could have been mistaken for a businessman if not for his eyes, which radiated an unmistakable intensity.

“The same old Cray,” Yin observed as he stepped into the light. “Still no appreciation for the finer things.”

“I know the score,” Cray replied. “That’s enough for me.”

Yin strolled over to his young charge, who remained prone on the couch. “Then it’s the score you’ve come to settle,” he remarked, running a hand through the kid’s hair. “It’s a pity your needs aren’t simpler. Your life would be so much the better for it.”

“You want to have this conversation in front of Sleeping Beauty?”

“I prefer not to have this conversation at all. This isn’t part of our arrangement, Cray.”

“
What
arrangement?” Cray snapped. “The one where you tell me what to do and I do it?”

“I believe those were the terms.”

“Null and void when you don’t give me the whole truth.”

“
Ahh . . .
” Yin pronounced, circling around the marble desk and taking a seat behind it. He leaned back and regarded his guest in an amused way, like a teacher with a slow student. “The betrayal. The righteous indignation. You play the part of the wounded soldier quite well.”

“I’m not playing, Yin.”

“Of
course
you are, my boy. We’re all players here—although I must admit a little disappointment. After the ruthless way you dealt with those Zone agents, I had cause to hope you had evolved beyond this.”

Cray had no intention of allowing this to continue. In a fluid motion, he swept a small device out of his pocket and leveled it in front of Yin’s face.

“Maybe I have,” Cray said.

Yin didn’t show any fear—only a detached interest. “I’m impressed,” he said. “The sentry scan should have detected your weapon and stopped you.”

“I’m handy that way. Ever seen one of these before?”

“A v-wave emitter, isn’t it?”

“Close-quarters assassination tool,” Cray finished for him. “I pulled it off of a Zone agent—right after Zoe took his head off with it.”

“Resourceful girl.”

“
Dead
girl. You saw to that from the start, didn’t you?”

“You think waving that thing in my face will get you answers?”

“Maybe I’ll just settle for your life.”

“That wouldn’t be very productive,” Yin said. “And if murder were your intention, you would have done it by now.”

A long moment passed between them. Somewhere in the interim, Cray admitted to himself that Yin was right. Pulling the trigger would have given him a moment’s satisfaction, but wouldn’t change anything. It was a meaningless form of revenge—and the price would have been his life.

He disarmed the emitter, shoving it across the marble desk. The weapon came to a rest in front of Yin, who picked it up and examined it dispassionately. “Clearly, the Zone Authority underestimated our Zoe.”

Cray seethed quietly. “
I
didn’t.”

“So I heard. The Authority was rather displeased with you. They swear that if you ever show your face in the Asian Sphere, they’ll kill you as many times as possible.” Yin got up, patting Cray on the shoulder as he walked over to his own bar. “But I wouldn’t worry. From the looks of things, you’re quite capable of fending them off.”

Cray shook his head in amazement. “Nothing gets to you, does it?”

Yin poured himself a scotch, not bothering to offer one to his guest. “Not in the course of business,” he replied. “I’ll confess, I hold you in a certain regard, Cray—but I hold no reservations about using you in the manner best suited to accomplish my objectives. If that means withholding information, then so be it.”

“I could have brought her in
alive,
Yin.”

“Perhaps,” Yin said, returning to his desk, “but that’s very unlikely. I knew you would try, however—and
that’s
why I deceived you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The girl was
Inru,
Cray. Or didn’t you surmise that for yourself?”

The mention of the word sapped both his anger and his strength. Cray was forced to sit down, his mind trying to reconcile what he just heard with what he saw back in Singapore.

“She was on a mission for her guru,” Yin continued. “The information Zoe carried was intended to further their goals.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Yin was casual. “Not everything is about economics, my friend.”

A stale hint of fear settled on Cray’s tongue. “Those people are crazy,” he whispered. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I know precisely what I’ve done. I’ve given them a martyr—or, more precisely,
you
have.” Yin swiveled around in his chair, facing the parade of pulser traffic that passed outside his window. “By now, the
Inru
’s hammerjacks have ascertained that you were the one who tracked Zoe down. Ultimately, any blame for her death will rest with you.”

“No way. I won’t let you hang that on me.”

“What are you going to do?
Explain
how you tried to save her?” Yin laughed. “You underestimate your reputation, Cray. How many runners have you brought back to me? Ten?
Twenty?
Your exploits on behalf of the Collective are well known in the subculture.”

Yin knew what he was talking about. He had made a career out of being invisible, but Cray was the one always out in front. Any decent hammerjack knew Cray’s name as well as his methods, the same way a hustler knew all the cops on his turf. Obviously, Yin had put a lot of thought into this—and Cray had stepped right into his trap.

“Son of a bitch,” Cray muttered. “You just put my head in a noose.”

“Now you’re getting the idea,” Yin said offhandedly.

Cray wished he had the emitter back, if only to use it on himself. He had spent enough time in the Axis to know that most of the stories about the
Inru
were real. If what Zoe had done was any example of their determination, it wouldn’t be long before they came for a piece of him.

Unless Yin is just trying to scare me off.

Cray thought he detected a slight tension in the man’s voice—not much, but enough to make him suspicious. “You’re offering me protection,” he said, following that track. “In exchange for what?”

Yin turned back around. “Nothing more than you’ve given me the last ten years,” he answered. “As well as your discretion. It would be unfortunate if our competitors gained any more knowledge of these events. Of course, the choice is yours.”

Cray’s lips pursed into a tight smile. “No, Yin—
you’re
the one with a choice to make, and you better make the right one. Because if you don’t tell me what’s
really
going on, I will walk out of here and dig it out for myself. I will sink into every goddamned corner of the Axis until I find out what you’re hiding.”

There was silence as Yin thought it over, his black eyes evaluating Cray as a potential enemy. That Yin could have him killed was a realistic danger, one Cray had considered before making his demands. But Yin was also practical. As long as he needed Cray, he would not exercise that option.

Yin conceded, spreading his hands in an open gesture. “What do you want to know?”

So I get to live,
Cray thought.
For now.

“Before I came up here,” he said, “I checked GenTec’s domain for signs of a proprietary trace. Imagine my surprise when I saw you had been compromised. That stuff Zoe was carrying originated here, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell is it? My GME told me he’s never seen anything like it.”