[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]office. The two rooms faced directly east, over the ocean, and the windows were
darkened against the morning light. Coigne seated himself behind his massive desk,
ran his hand across an edge-mounted control bar to light the displays beneath the
polished surface. Cerise settled into the chair opposite him, crossing her legs to
display stockings and the bright-heeled shoes to their best advantage.
What do you mean, this doesn t match Trouble s pattern? Coigne asked.
Cerise blinked. This person even if it s calling itself Trouble, it s not behaving
the way Trouble used to. Boasting, for one thing: that s something Trouble never
did. The memory caught her unaware: Trouble pacing the length of their two-room
apartment, swearing in rhythm with her drumbeat walk, all because a friend had
boasted once too often, and now he was dead, another body rotted in the harbor
water. She said it was stupid, it used to infuriate her when other people did it.
Especially friends.
Maybe, Coigne said. Or maybe, since she s been off the nets so long, she
feels she needs the advertising.
That was plausible if you didn t know Trouble. Cerise said, All right, but even
granting that, the program autopsy isn t conclusive, either. It s like Trouble s hand,
but there are some tricks she never used.
Again, she s been off the nets a while, Coigrte said. Why shouldn t she have
learned some new tricks?
Where? Cerise asked. And besides, these aren t new tricks. It s old stuff,
stuff she did differently routines she always sneered at. And it feels different, she
wanted to say, it doesn t taste or smell or feel like Trouble s work. But that was
arguing from the brainworm s evidence, and she still didn t know for sure that
Coigne knew she had one installed. She was almost certain that he did he would
almost have to know but until she was sure, she didn t want to betray herself
unnecessarily.
Could she be covering her trail? Coigne asked.
Possible, but unlikely, Cerise retorted. Why is it so important for it to be
Trouble?
There was a little silence, and then Coigne looked away, conceding. It s not so
much that I want it to be Trouble, he said, as I want to be sure you d tell me if it
was Trouble.
I do my job.
If it is Trouble, Coigne began, and let the words hang. Cerise watched him,
unblinking. She had never wasted time justifying herself to him, refused to begin
now.
At any rate, Coigne went on, I expect you to deal with the intruder. Which
brings me to my next point. He smiled, not pleasantly. I want this person stepped
on, and stepped on hard. In other words, Cerise, this isn t something that I want to
take to court. Find me the intruder, and give me the location. I ll take care of the
rest.
Cerise sat very still, not daring to move for fear of betraying her anger or the
sudden fear. It had been years since the corporations had felt safe acting as their
own law, since well before Evans-Tindale since the Amsterdam Conventions, in
fact years since it had been necessary. For Coigne to be trying those tactics
now it could only mean that there was something not quite right about Corvo s
project, something that wouldn t stand the scrutiny of a proper trial. And if she was
wrong, if Trouble was involved& If any shadow folk were involved, they still had
more claim on her loyalty than Coigne did. And at the very least, they deserved a
trial, not Coigne s goons jumping them from some back alley. She said, her voice
carefully expressionless, You re taking a lot on yourself, Coigne.
Coigne looked back at her, pale eyes, grey as ice with a darker ring at the edge of
the iris, utterly unreadable. I have my priorities.
Or your instructions, Cerise thought. All right, she said, I ll keep you
informed. She rose to leave, and Coigne s voice stopped her in her tracks.
I want more than that. I want this intruder, Cerise. I ve never been more
serious.
Cerise looked back over her shoulder, wondering just what Coigne had been up
to to produce what was, for him, a kind of panic. I won t forget, she said, and
slipped through the door before Coigne could call her back. It had been a petty
effort and useless, too; if Coigne wanted to continue the conversation, all he would
have to do was ask for her but it helped to take away the fear.
She made her way back down through the familiar tangle of corridors and
elevators to Network Security, waited again while the guards processed her ID and
waved her through into the inner rooms. A trio of operators was off-line, clustered
around a bluebox junction that looked homemade, and Cerise suppressed the
temptation to stop and join the analysis. Instead, she went on into her own office,
where Baeyen was still working at the lesser terminal.
Sirico s got his report, Baeyen said, without looking up from her screen, and
Cerise nodded, glancing quickly over the other woman s shoulder. Nothing new
there, just the usual security schema, and she pushed open the door to her private
office.
The mail light was flashing, but she ignored it, touched buttons instead to signal
the best of the three secretaries attached to the department. An instant later, her
screen windows, and Landy Massek s sharp face looked out at her.
Yes, Ms. Cerise?
I need you to set up a meeting for me with Brendan Rabin at Corvo, sometime
this afternoon for preference. Will you do that, and get back to me as soon as
possible?
No problem, Massek said cheerfully, and his window vanished.
Cerise sighed, and turned her attention to her mail. As she d expected, the largest
file was Sirico s report, and she flipped through it quickly. He had been as thorough
as ever, and had come up with nothing which means, she thought, whoever it is,
this new Trouble s had trouble selling whatever s/he got. And since that s not likely,
unless Rabin has something really unexpected to tell me, like they re not working on
anything at the moment, it should mean that s/he didn t get anything at all. She
touched keys, flipping quickly through the remaining files, then switched to a
different program and tied herself into Sirico s last reported position. There was a
brief hesitation, and then another window opened on her screen, displaying Sirico s
icon, a samurai-armored head and shoulders that looked vaguely robotic.
Cerise?
Who were you expecting? Cerise began, and cut herself off. You did a nice
job on the report, Pol.
Thanks. The icon s expression could not change Sirico didn t have a
brainworm, was too obedient a networker for that but the voice sounded faintly
smug. I don t think they got anything, boss. Somebody d be buying, if they had.
I think you re right, Cerise said. Tell me, what else have you heard about this
Trouble?
There was the faintest of hesitations before he answered, just enough to convince
her that there was something more. Just talk. Nothing real.
Such as?
There was a longer silence, and then Sirico blurted, Word is, you used to work
with somebody called Trouble.
That s right. Cerise had been expecting the question for almost twenty hours
now; she found herself remotely surprised that none of the others had brought it up
before. Except, of course, Coigne. We were partners. You knew I came out of the
shadows, Pol. Everyone does.
So, what do you want us to do about this one? Go slow?
Cerise blinked at the screen, startled and a little touched by the offer. No. I want
to stop any more problems before they get started and besides, I don t think it s
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