Idoru

“You really mustn’t piss off like that,” the bodyguard said. “Those Russians are a serious crew. Massive triers, those boys. Wouldn’t do if they got hold of you, Rozzer. Not at an. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Kuwayama and the platform?”

“Have to tell you, Rez.” Blackwell stood at the foot of the bed. “I’ve seen you go with women I wouldn’t take to a shit-fight on a dark night, but at least they were human. Hear what I’m saying?”

“I do, Keithy,” the singer said. “I know how you feel about her. But you’ll come around. It’s the way of things, Keithy. The new way. New world.”

“I don’t know anything about that. My old dad was a Painter and Docker; had a docky’s brief. Broke his heart I turned out the sort of crim I did. Died before you’d got me out of B Division. Would’ve liked him to see me assume responsibility, Rez. For you. For your safety. But now I don’t know. Might not impress him so. Might tell me I’m just minding a fool with a bloated sense of himself.”

Rez came up off the bed, surprising Laney with his speed, a performer’s grace, and then he was in front of Blackwell, his hands on the huge shoulders. “But you don’t think that, do you, Keithy? You didn’t in Pentridge. Not when you came for me. And not when I came back for you.”

Blackwell’s eyes glistened. He was about to say something, but Yamazaki suddenly stood up, blinking, and put his green plaid sportscoat on. He craned his neck, peering nearsightedly at the pins he’d used to mend it, then seemed to realize that everyone in the suite was looking at him. He coughed nervously and sat back down.

A silence followed. “Out of line, I was, Rozzer,” Blackwell said, breaking it.

Rez clapped the bodyguard’s shoulder, releasing him. “Stressed. I know.” Rez smiled. “Kuwayama? The platform?”

“Had his own team there,”

“And our crashers?”

“That’s a bit odd,” Blackwell said, “Kombinat, Rez. Say we’ve stolen something of theirs. Or at least that’s all the one I questioned knew.”

Rez looked puzzled, but seemed to put whatever it was out of his mind. “Take me back to the hotel,” he said.

Blackwell checked his huge steel watch. “We’re still sweeping, there. Another twenty minutes and I’ll check with them.”

Laney took this as his opportunity, standing up and stepping past Blackwell to the door. “I’m going to take a hot shower,” he said. “Cracked my ribs up there.” No one said anything. “Call if you need me.” Then he opened the door, stepped out, closed it behind him, and limped in what he hoped was the direction of the elevator.

It was. In it, he leaned against the mirrored wall and touched the button for his floor.

It said something in a soothing tone, Japanese.

The door closed. He shut his eyes.

He opened his eyes as the door opened. Stepped out, turned the wrong way, then the right way. Fishing for his wallet, where he’d put his key. Still there. Bath, hot shower, these concepts more theoretical as he approached his room. Sleep. That was it. Undress and lie down and not be conscious.

He swiped the key down the slot. Nothing. Again. Click.

Kathy Torrance, sitting on the edge of his bed. She smiled at him. Pointed at the moving figures on the screen. One of whom was Laney, naked, with a larger erection than he recalled ever having had.

The girl vaguely familiar, but whoever she was, he didn’t remember doing that with her.

“Don’t just stand there,” Kathy said. “You have to see this.”

“That’s not me,” Laney said.

“I know,” she said, delighted. “He’s waytoo big. And I’d loveto see you try to prove it.”

30. The Etruscan

Chia worked the tips back on, regoggled, let Masahiko take her to his room. That same instant transition, the virtual Venice icon strobing… Gomi Boy was there, and someone else, though at first she couldn’t see him. Just this glass tumbler on the work-surface that hadn’t been there before, mapped to a higher resolution than the rest of the room: filthy, chipped at the rim, something crusted at the bottom.

“That woman,” Gomi Boy began, but someone coughed. A strange dry rattle.

“You arean interesting young woman,” said a voice unlike any Chia had heard, a weird, attenuated rasp that might have been compiled from a library of faint, dry, random sounds. So that a word’s long vowel might be wires in the wind, or the click of a consonant the rattle of a dead leaf against a window. “Youngwoman,” it said again, and then there was something indescribable, which she guessed was meant as laughter.

“This is the Etruscan,” Masahiko said. “The Etruscan accessed your father’s expense account for us. He is most skilled.”

Something there for a second. Skull-like. Above the dirty glass. The mouth drawn and petulant. “It was nothing, really…”

She told herself it was all presentation. Like when Zona presented, you could never quite focus on her. This was like that, but more extreme. And a lot of work put into the audio. But she didn’t like it.

“You brought me here to meet him?” she asked Masahiko.

“Oh, no,” said the Etruscan, the Oha polyphonic chorale, “I just wanted a look, dear.” The thing like laughter.

“The woman,” Gomi Boy said. “Did you arrange for her to meet you, at Hotel Di?”

“No,” Chia said. “She checked the taxi cabs, so you aren’t as smart as you think.”

“Well put.” The putthe sound of a single pebble falling into a dry marble fountain. Chia focused on the glass. A huge centipede lay curled at its bottom, a thing the color of dead cuticle. She saw that it had tiny, pink hands—

The glass was gone.

“Sorry,” Masahiko said. “He wished only to meet you.”

“Who is the woman in Hotel Di?” Gomi Boy’s anime eyes were bright and eager, but his tone was hard.

“Maryalice,” Chia said. “Her boyfriend’s with those Russians. The thing they’re after’s in my bag there.”

“What thing?”

“Maryalice says it’s a nano-assembler.”

“Unlikely,” Gomi Boy said,

“Tell it to the Russians.”

“But you have contraband? In the room?”

“I’ve got something they want.”

Gomi Boy grimaced, vanished.

“Where’d he go?”

“This changes the situation,” Masahiko said. “You did not tell us you have contraband.”

“You didn’t ask! You didn’t ask why they were looking for me…”

Masahiko shrugged, calm as ever. “We were not certain that it was you they were interested in. The Kombinat would be very eager for the skills of someone like the Etruscan, for instance. Many people know of Hak Nam, but few know how to enter. We reacted to protect the integrity of the city.”

“But your computer’s in the hotel room. They can just come there and get it.”

“It no longer matters,” he said. “I am no longer engaged in processing. My duties are assumed by others. Gomi Boy is concerned now for his safety outside, you understand? Penalties for possession of contraband are harsh. He is particularly vulnerable, because he deals in second-hand equipment.”

“I don’t think it’s the police you want to worry about, right now. I think we want to callthe police. Maryalice says those Russians’ll kill us, if they find us.”

“The police would not be a good idea. The Etruscan has accessed your father’s account in Singapore. That is a crime.”

“I think I’d rather get arrested than killed.”

Masahiko considered that. “Come with me,” he said. “Your visitor is waiting.”

“Not the centipede,” Chia said. “Forget it.”

“No,” he said, “not the Etruscan. Come.”

And they were out of his room, fast-forward through the maze of Hak Nam, up twisted stairwells and through corridors, the strange, compacted world flickering past… “What isthis place? A communal site, right? But what are you so worried about? Why’s it all a secret?”