Idoru

She looked up at his face. He looked like someone who was about to do something that he might not want to do, but that he knew he had to.

But then she saw his eyes slide past her, narrowing, and she turned in time to see the door to the corridor swing inward. A man wider than the doorway seemed to flow into the room. There was a big X of flesh-colored tape across one side of his face, and he was wearing a coat the color of dull metal. Chia saw one huge, scarred hand slip into his coat; the other held something black that ended in a mag-strip tab.

“Yob tvoyu mat,” said the Russian, soft syllables of surprise.

The stranger’s hand emerged, holding something that looked to Chia like a very large pair of chrome-plated scissors, but then unfolded, with a series of small sharp clicks, and apparently of its own accord, into a kind of glittering, skeletal axe, its leading edge hawk-like and lethal, the head behind it tapering like an icepick.

“My mother?” said the stranger, who sounded somehow delighted. “Did you say my mother?” His face was shiny with scar tissue. More scars crisscrossed his shaven, stubbled skull.

“Ah, no,” the Russian said, lifting his hands so that the palms showed. “Figuring of speech, only.”

Another man stepped in, around the man with the axe, and this one had dark hair and wore a loose black suit. The headband of a monocle-rig crossed his forehead, the unit covering his right eye. The eye she could see was wide and bright and green, but still it took a second before she recognized him.

Then she had to sit down on the pink bed.

“Where is it?” this man who looked like Rez asked. (Except he looked thicker, somehow, his cheeks unhollowed.)

Neither the Russian nor the man with the axe answered. The man with the axe closed the door behind him with his heel.

The green eye and the video-monocle looked at Chia. “Do you know where it is?”

“What?”

“The biomech primer module, or whatever it is you call it…” He paused, touching the phone in his right ear, listening. “Excuse me: ‘Rodel-van Erp primary biomolecular programming module C=slash-7A.’ I love you.”

Chia stared.

“Rei Toei,” he explained, touching the headband, and she knew that it had to be him.

“It’s here. In this bag.”

He reached into the blue and yellow plastic and drew the thing out, turning it over in his hands. “This? This is our future, the medium of our marriage?”

“Excuse, please,” the Russian said, “but you must know this is belonging to me.” He sounded genuinely sorry.

Rez looked up, the nanotech unit held casually in his hands. “It’s yours?” Rez tilted his head, like a bird, curious. “Where did you get it?”

The Russian coughed. “An exchange. This gentleman on floor.”

Rez saw Eddie and Maryalice. “Are they dead?”

“Volted, yes? Being most-time nonlethal. Your girl on bed.”

Rez looked at Chia. “Who are you?”

“Chia Pet McKenzie,” she said automatically. “I’m from Seattle. I’m… I’m in your fan club.” She felt her face burning.

The brow above the green eye went up. He seemed to be listening to something. “Oh,” he said, and paused. “She did? Really? That’s wonderful.” He smiled at Chia. “Rei says you’ve been totally central to everything, and that we have a great deal to thank you for.”

Chia swallowed. “She does?”

But Rez had turned to the Russian. “We have to have this.” He raised the nanotech unit. “We’ll negotiate now. Name your price.”

“Rozzer,” the man at the door said, “you can’t dothat. This bastard’s Kombinat.”

Chia saw the green eye close, as if Rez were making a conscious effort to calm himself. When it opened, he said: “But they’re the government, aren’t they, Blackwell? We’ve negotiatedwith governments before.”

“It’s for the legals,” the scarred man said, but now there was an edge of worry in his voice.

The Russian seemed to hear it too. He slowly lowered his hands. “What were you pla

“Oh Jesus,” Maryalice said from the carpet, so hoarsely that at first Chia couldn’t identify the source. “They must’ve putsomething in that. They did. I swear to Godthey did.” And then she threw up.

39. Trans

Yamazaki lost his balance as the van shot up the narrow ramp, out of the hotel. Laney, holding Arleigh’s phone to the dashboard map, toning the number of the Hotel Di, heard him crash down on the shredded bubble-pack. The display bleeped as Laney completed the number; grid-segments clicked across the screen. “You okay, Yamazaki?”

“Thank you,” Yamazaki said. “Yes.” Getting to his knees again, he craned around the headrest of Laney’s seat. “You have located the hotel?”

“Expressway,” Arleigh said, glancing at the display, as they swung right, up an entrance ramp. “Hit speed-dial three. Thanks. Gimme.” She took the phone. “McCrae. Yeah. Priority? Fuckyou, Alex. Ring me through to him.” She listened. “Di? Like D, I? Shit. Thanks.” She clicked off.

“What is it?” Laney asked, as they swung onto the expressway, the giant bland brow of an enormous articulated freight-hauler pulling up behind and then past them, quilted stainless steel flashing in Laney’s peripheral vision. The van rocked with the big truck’s passage.

“I tried to get Rez. Alex says he left the hotel, with Blackwell. Headed the same place we are.”

“When?”

“Just about the time you were having your screaming fit, when you had the ’phones on,’ ” Arleigh said. She looked grim. “Sorry,” she said.

Laney had had to argue with her for fifteen minutes, back there, before she’d agreed to this. She’d kept saying she wanted him to see a doctor. She’d said that she was a technician, not a researcher, not security, and that her first responsibility was to stay with the data, the modules, because anyone who got those got almost the entire Lo/Rez Partnership business plan, plus the books, plus whatever Kuwayama had entrusted them with in the gray module. She’d only given in after Yamazaki had sworn to take full responsibility for everything, and after Sha

“He knows,” Laney said. “She told him it’s there.”

“What is there, Laney-san?” asked Yamazaki, around the headrest.

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, they think it’ll facilitate their marriage.”

“Do youthink so?” Arleigh asked, passing a string of bright little cars.

“I guess it must be capable of it,” Laney said, as something under her seat began to clang, loudly and insistently. “But I don’t think that means it’ll necessarily happen. What the hell is that?”

“I’m exceeding the speed limit,” she said. “Every vehicle in Japan is legally required to be equipped with one of these devices. You speed, it dings.”

Laney turned to Yamazaki. “Is that true?”

“Of course,” Yamazaki said, over the steady clanging.

“And people don’t just disco

“No,” Yamazaki said, looking puzzled. “Why would they?”

Arleigh’s phone rang. “McCrae. Willy?” Silence as she listened.

Then Laney felt the van sway slightly. It slowed until the clanging suddenly stopped. She lowered the phone.

“What is it?” Laney asked.

“Willy Jude,” she said. “He… He was just watching one of the clubbing cha