"It's time to talk turkey." Silverfish sat forward, hands on his knees. His eyebrows were nearly hidden by the straight black hair falling across his forehead, but the gaze was intent, inescapable, from his deep-set eyes. "What's your connection with the system? And I want to know—why are you on the lam from the Company?"
Sage had been studying the backs of his hands with great interest. He looked up. "I thought you knew all that."
"We only know what we have to know. We were asked to take care of you—and that's what we've been doing. We weren't told why you needed protection. Now I think we'd better have it."
Sage nodded. He felt totally out of his league here; he hadn't felt in control since he'd last been in rap—how long ago? "Who hired you, anyway?" he asked absently. "Kyd?"
Silver tugged at an earlobe. "Our arrangements are not up for discussion. Your relationship with the Company is."
Sage shrugged. He supposed he ought to be offended, but he felt too detached to care. He might not completely trust Silver, but he had no reason not to answer the question, either. "I'm a designer for the Company. I've never done anything high-level, until recently. And that was kind of"—he hesitated—"unofficial, you could say. I guess that's why we're in trouble." He sighed, gazing up at the ceiling. The music from upstairs was thudding through the floor. He wondered if Elina had given up on him yet. His mind was beginning to wheel, he couldn't focus on Silver's question. "Why did the core call you competitors?"
"Never mind that—and quit changing the subject," Odesta snapped. "Don't forget whose house you're a guest in."
Sage blinked. "Actually," he said, somewhat defensively, "I'm not sure how much longer I'll be staying. You heard what the core said. I'd better get out of here before the ComPol finds me.
Odesta and Silverfish exchanged amused glances. "And where would you go?" Odesta asked.
"Well . . ."
"If you have an ounce of sense, you'll stay right here."
"What about the ComPol? If they're closing in, I'm a sitting duck here."
"Let us worry about the ComPol," Silverfish said. "I think we know just a little more about dealing with them than you do."
Sage looked down at his hands. "Maybe. But why are you so anxious to have us here, anyway?" He lifted his gaze. "Why do you care? Do you think we're going to spill some kind of inside information?"
Silver's heavy eyebrows went up. He sat back, scratching his head, and glanced at Odesta. "That's a fair question, I guess. Conceivably we could help each other. But that's not why we want you to stay."
"Why, then?"
Silver sighed deeply, and for perhaps the first time, Sage recognized real weariness in those eyes. "Because," Silver said, "we took on the obligation for your safety. And whether we like it or not"—he paused, scowling—"we keep our obligations." He shrugged. "We wouldn't have much credibility if we didn't."
Sage pressed his lips together. "Well—if you expect me to trust you, you ought to be willing to tell me what you do here."
Odesta chuckled. "We don't insist that you trust us, honey."
"No," Silver agreed. "But I'm sure you've already guessed this much—that we're involved in some gnostic work of our own—outside the Company's monopoly."
Sage nodded, remembering their dismay at the AI-core's ability to access their console. For a few moments no one spoke. The music overhead swelled with a strong bass rhythm, oom-da-da oom-da-da oom-da-da, and the ceiling creaked under the weight of the dancers. "How do you do it?" he asked when the volume subsided.
"Do what?"
Sage looked up at the ceiling—and then the answer hit him. "Get outside access. You do it through the vispy channels, don't you? All that upstairs is just a cover. Right? You embed a carrier signal in the commercial channels. There's a whole network of you, I'll bet."
Silver's face clouded, and he knew he'd hit close to the mark. The feeling of satisfaction vanished instantly. Had the core's tracking him here cost them their cover? He involuntarily glanced toward the exit, and was aware of Silver's eyes following his glance. He swallowed, thinking, Silver's bigger but I'm quicker. But that was absurd. If they wanted him to be a captive here, he was a captive.
"There's one thing I want to know from you," Silver said quietly. "And that's exactly what your loyalties are to the Company." He seemed not quite to spit the word Company. "If you've cut yourself free of the Company, then we might have something to talk about. Otherwise . . ." He frowned and seemed to run out of words.
Sage stared at the floor, thinking. What was his status with the Company? He had no idea anymore. But he knew this: He had not reckoned on being involved in a battle for turf in gnostic design. If he had landed in the middle of one, he could guess which side was likely to win.
* * *
Kyd was pacing in front of the screen, speaking rapidly. Every muscle in her body was tensed. She was frightened, angry; she wanted answers. Was this what her whole two-faced career was coming to? "George, it's time. If you wait, it'll be too late. Just because I put those cops off once doesn't mean I can do it again. In fact, I'm sure I can't." She stopped and peered into the phone. "Don't you believe me?"
"Of course," George said calmly. He seemed to be doing something off to one side as he spoke. "We'll handle it."
She was fighting panic. "You'll handle it. How?"
"We'll get you out. Can you stay by your phone?"
She took a breath and calmed a little. "I suppose. Are you sure this line is still secure?"
"As sure as we can be. Now, I've cleared the way to have Romano and DeWeiler brought in to the appropriate agency—"
"Great. What took so long?" She instantly regretted her tone.
"Don't question channels."
"Right. Sorry. What about Pali?"
George looked blank. "What about her?"
"She's in as tough a spot as I am. Probably tougher, because she was in charge."
"What do you want me to do about it?"
Anger rose in her voice. "I want you to take care of her, dammit."
"She's not one of our people."
So just throw her to the wolves, eh? "She knows about the war, George! And she knows about the change to the gnostic system!"
George gazed at her silently out of the screen. She didn't know if he was scowling at her insubordination or thinking the matter through. His eyebrows slowly came together. Finally he said, "We'll look into it."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means we'll look into it. Now stay by your phone and wait for instructions. I'll get back to you soon."
"George—" she protested. But he was gone.
* * *
Ramo scratched his jaw and looked up from the mattress. "Don't you think, if the AI was able to find us here, it'll be able to watch out for us, too?"
Sage was pacing, shaking his head groggily. He'd spent half the night awake, with the core's and Silver's words arguing in his thoughts. He'd finally fallen into a stuporous half-sleep just before dawn. It must be noon now, and this was the first chance he'd had to talk privately to Ramo, in the absence of music and people. Ramo had been told last night about the core's warning, but he seemed unworried. Little had been said about Sage's ensuing conversation with Silver, which anyway had gone nowhere. Sage wished he could be articulate; he had a gnawing fear that if the core was worried enough to contact him here . . .
"What? Talk to me," Ramo said.
He tried. "It's just . . . if it could, why would it have bothered calling to warn us?"
Ramo rubbed his chin. "Got me. But you can't believe we'd be safer leaving the house."
"I don't know what I believe," Sage muttered. He peered out the window. He could see just a glimpse of the street over the garage roof. It looked cold and forbidding out there; but perhaps it wasn't as bad as it looked.
"Why don't you relax and let Silver handle it? He knows what's safe and what isn't."
Sage nodded, thinking, Undoubtedly he does. Undoubtedly he does.
Ramo seemed to be reading his thoughts. "What's the matter? You look like you think he's the ComPol."
Sage turned, squinted at Ramo. "Why do you trust him so much?"
Ramo ran a hand through his mop of dark hair. "I don't know. Intuition, I guess." He got to his feet and put a silencing finger to his lips. There were footsteps in the hallway. Someone was going down the stairs. He shrugged. "You've got to go by your feelings—and I've got a good feeling about Silver and Desty. I can't explain it any more than that." He sighed. "So will you be sensible and just sit tight?"
Sage glanced out the window, glanced back at Ramo. "Okay," he murmured. Ramo gazed at him with slitted eyes. "Really."
"Okay. You coming down?" Ramo opened the door.
Sage took a breath and nodded. "Good," Ramo said and disappeared down the hall. Sage, instead of following, stood at the window, fingers pressed to the gritty glass, staring unblinking into the grey glare of the cloudy sky until sparks of fatigue flashed through his eyes.
* * *
When the music began pounding up through the floor, Sage bowed to the inevitable and headed downstairs. He had been warned that there was going to be an early jamdam today—a vispy hookup of musicians from a couple of different locations. There would be a lot of people. No privacy today.
He met Elina on the stairs. "Hi," she said, smiling tentatively. "I was coming up to see . . . I mean, Desty thought you might be feeling a little lonely. So I thought . . ."
Sage tried to think of something to say. He attempted a smile. It came out crooked.
Elina didn't seem to notice. She sat down on the stairs and patted the step beside her. Sage hesitated, then took the hint. They were just above the midpoint landing, facing a window that looked out toward the street—though from where he was sitting, he could see only sky. He suppressed an urge to stand up to look out. "What have you been doing?" Elina said—shyly, it seemed.
How could he possibly answer that? "Not much," he murmured. He turned his head to peer over the railing—partly to avoid having to talk, and partly to see what was going on below. He could just glimpse people moving between the living and dining rooms. The flickering of lights in the darkened dining room suggested that the vispy was running full tilt, surrounding the dancers with a maelstrom of interactive emoting. He could feel the tingle of the field even up here. He wondered if Silver and Odesta were in the basement, linking with distant conspirators through the chaotic signal of the vispy. Conspirators, he thought. They are. But I don't even know what it is that they do.
"Do you want to go down?" Elina said.
Sage sat back, resting his weight on his elbows. He shook his head, looking at Elina. She was actually rather pretty, he realized. Her attractiveness wasn't like Kyd's, who could make your pulse go crazy just by being in the same room; it was more subtle than that. He didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before; but there it was. Maybe it was her eyes, golden brown, framed by that straight dark hair. "I missed you last night," she said, shifting position to face him directly, her knees primly together. She was wearing green corduroy pants. "Were you with Silver and Odesta for a long time?"
He cleared his throat and made a noncommittal gesture. Far too long, actually. And none of them had come away feeling reassured. He'd told Silver, truthfully, that he felt a sense of loyalty to the AI-system, if not to the Company and its profits.
"I don't mean to pry."
"No—it's just . . ." He struggled. "Well, I don't really know how much I should say. I've been thinking a lot." His gaze drifted up to the ceiling and moved among the cracks there.
He felt Elina's hand on his knee. His gaze dropped back to meet hers and he blushed. "You shouldn't think too much, you know, Sage."
He nodded, swallowing. "No," he said, his voice fluttering just like his stomach. "I guess not." Her hand was definitely on his knee, and it didn't look as though she intended to remove it. He laughed again, a short, idiotic bark.
Elina was smiling serenely, her eyes seeing heaven-knew-what in his embarrassed face. The music from downstairs shifted beat, and for a second, he could hear voices directly below them; and he was thinking, she's interested in me, definitely interested. The fringes of the vispy-field tickled his brain, arousing him. Can you handle this, Sage? The music swallowed the voices, and was it his imagination, or had her hand moved to the lower part of his thigh? He met her smile and lowered his gaze casually, and yes, her hand had moved. He shifted his weight so as to be leaning ever so slightly in her direction. "I," he said, "sometimes . . . think too much."
"Me too," Elina murmured.
He raised his hand just enough to touch her shirt-sleeve, swallowing hard as he did so. Elina leaned forward to meet his touch, and he felt her breath stirring the air; and then her eyes were closed and her lips were seeking his and he was kissing her, and he hadn't moved to do it, and her hand was tightening on his leg. He was having trouble getting his breath, but it was a pleasant tightness. (Why was he doing this?) Her lips were warm and moist and sweet. After a moment, they parted slightly and her tongue brushed his lips, and waves of heat shivered down his spine, making it harder than ever to breathe. (When had he last kissed anyone like this?) He was in an awkward position, and he strained to hold himself up while he responded to the hunger of her lips. (Why now?) He clutched her shoulder, then sagged under her and collapsed on the step.
Elina's eyes were open, laughing, a few inches over his face. He gasped in pain. The stairs were digging into his back.
She sat back, her eyebrows doing a quivering dance. "Somebody will see us," she said mischievously.
Sage struggled to sit up. "Yeah," he murmured, trying to interpret the signals that his brain and body were sending each other. His brain was a shambles; he didn't know what he was feeling.
Elina tugged at his arm. "Shall we dance?"
He nodded dumbly. Elina was already pulling him down the stairs, and he stumbled along behind her as though floating in a dream. Music thundering in his ears, he followed her into the dining room, which was dark except for the vispy, and elbow-to-elbow with people dancing. More people couldn't possibly fit in the room, but somehow he found himself inside the crowd, swaying with the music, encouraged by Elina's twinkling gaze. "Dance," she mouthed, taking his hand. She exaggerated her movements, trying to draw him into the spirit.
She was not at all a bad dancer, lithe and understated; but he felt like a duck, flapping his arms self-consciously, trying to move his feet in patterns that made sense, lurching into other dancers. The vispy holos burst over his head in spiraling patterns, abstract psychedelia with looming faces and landscapes; and the buzzing in his head blossomed as the senso gained entry into his libido. A giddiness came over him; it was an emotional soup, the dancers pouring their hearts into the vispy and changing their movements with changes in the field. He felt as though he had drunk a home-brewed liquor, and the spirits were both invigorating and confusing.
Egret drifted by, goose-stepping, followed by a willowy woman a foot taller than he. Sage blinked, trying to follow Egret and keep track of Elina at the same time. (What am I doing?) Elina winked at him as the tall woman passed between them. (What does she really want?) The answers were probably here in the vispy, but it was too bewildering, too much at once.
An elbow nudged him, and he turned his head. "Finally into it, eh?" Ramo hooted, dancing in a tight circle. He looked away in annoyance, but he felt the elbow again, and this time Ramo made a hooking gesture with his thumb, and he turned and saw Odesta standing near the kitchen door, watching him. He continued dancing as though he hadn't seen her, but the next time he looked, Odesta was talking to Silver. He tried to lose himself among the other dancers as he watched them, and he glimpsed Silver disappearing into the kitchen.
He took a breath, smiling at Elina as she bobbed toward him; and there was a pressure in his chest that he couldn't let out; and he thought, She's pretty and she likes you, but don't let her cloud your judgment . . . not that he could think straight anyway with the senso wrapping itself around his brain. He spun dizzily, and as his gaze swept past the kitchen, he saw the sliding door closing, and Odesta was gone. The pressure in his chest doubled.
Elina danced close and took his hands, swinging side to side, and puzzlement flickered across her eyes. She hissed, "Are you okay?"
He bobbed his head up and down and detached from her hands. "Going to the bathroom. Be right back." Elina nodded and winked, and he struggled through the crowd to the back hallway. The door to the first-floor bathroom was locked, and while he waited, leaning against the wall, he tried to free his thoughts from the din of the senso, like voices in his head. Moving to the far end of the hallway, he found the vispy's effects diminished. He peered out the back door at the garden, and that got him thinking again.
By the time his turn came, he was halfway to making a decision. He slid the bolt closed on the bathroom door and stared into the mirror, thinking about Silver and Odesta and their mysterious activities, and Elina waiting for him out in the dining room; and he wondered if just perhaps Elina had been sent to keep him occupied. He squinted at himself and thought, Does she really find you attractive? Or is she trying to distract you, taking you for a fool? If there was one thing he hated, it was the thought of being taken for a fool. Perhaps it was time to start running his life his way. And he could begin by not remaining a passive prisoner here.
Returning to the noisy hallway, he glanced casually around and edged toward the back door. There was a rear stairway leading to the second floor, and he took the steps quickly, returning to his room for his windbreaker. Stealing back down the stairs, he quietly unbolted the rear door and slipped out into the breezy air and the glare of the afternoon sun. A narrow, muddy path led around to the front.
Sorry, Elina, he thought. I'm just going for a little walk, just to scout around, to get a feel. I'll be back. But I have to know the terrain, just in case. I have to know.
Praying that he had not been seen, he trotted past the front of the house, paused at the curb, then hurried down the windy, desolate street.