He halted before her. “My name is Carl Lopé. There’s a good chance you just saved my life. Why?” She didn’t appear to be injured, he noted gratefully.
She shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me,” he replied briskly. “Call it professional interest.”
She looked up at him. “Okay. I don’t like people getting killed in front of me. It offends my sense of common decency. So I saw the guy with the weapon, and did what I believe to be my civic duty. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Lowering her gaze, she peered past him. “Why’d he want to kill you, anyway?”
He considered. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Which is why I hope he lives.” He looked past her. Moving fast, a medical team emerged from a distant service lift, guiding a powered gurney between them. “It’s damn frustrating, too.” He returned his attention to his unexpected savior. “There’s no reward for saving my life, but it’s near midday. If you’ll allow me, I’d be happy to treat you to a very expensive lunch.”
She shook her head no.
“Much as I could do with a nice meal, I’ve got to decline.” Looking to her right, she indicated the bank of lifts. “I’ve got a job interview in half an hour—one that I don’t want to miss.”
He studied her reply for a moment, reflecting on what he had just seen her do. “That wouldn’t by any chance be for a position on the Weyland-Yutani Covenant, would it?”
Suddenly wary, she searched his face. “Why? What’s it to you?”
“I’m Sergeant Carl Lopé. I’m chief of Security on the Covenant.”
She considered him. “So you’re the one who’s supposed to interview me?”
He sighed heavily. “No more interviews, thank goodness. The position’s already been filled.”
She looked downcast. “Damn. I guess I showed up too late.”
“No.” His expression didn’t change. “You showed up just in time. What’s your name—Private?”
It took her a moment to catch on. Then she nodded slowly, suppressing a grin.
“Rosenthal. Sarah Rosenthal.”
“Welcome to the Covenant security team, Sara Rosenthal.” He extended a hand. Her grip was as firm as he expected. “I’ll transfer the necessary documentation and boarding authorization to your comm unit while we’re having lunch. If you’re still up for that, of course.”
“It’s strange, but I’ve suddenly developed a real appetite—Sergeant.” She looked down at herself. “I needed a shower before the fight. Now I really need one. I’m kind of a stickler for showering.”
“Your personal hygiene doesn’t bother me,” he replied wryly. “You can take your time dealing with it, but later. First we need to have a chat. Get to know each other.” His own smile widened considerably. “After all, we’re going to be sleeping together for years.”
“I never sleep with a man until after lunch.” She no longer tried to hide her gratitude and delight. “You’re paying, of course.”
“Weyland-Yutani is paying. Although somehow I feel I should. Where would you like to eat?”
Displaying surprising taste, she named a restaurant nearby. It was moderately famous and notoriously expensive.
“Is that okay? We can go somewhere cheaper if you like.”
“It’s fine.” His expression was pure what-the-hell. “Might as well spend some of it here. I don’t think I’ll be able to access my account from Origae-6.”
VII
If someone set out to build an utterly innocuous-looking human, they couldn’t do better than the man driving the repair van. Just under medium height and slightly overweight, he was dressed in company worker overalls, boots, and cap with appropriate identifying insignia, all of which were sorely in need of cleaning.
Having recently gobbled down a quick meal, he smelled distinctively of synthetic tuna bento. The dark stain on the right side of his shirt pocket was a mixture of overcola and green tea. He was chewing something indistinguishable that could have been anything from bubblegum to khat.
Taller but equally filled-out, his partner rode silently in the van’s passenger seat, oblivious to everything except the typically salacious manga being projected half a meter in front of his eyes. A single blink was sufficient to turn the page, while a blink of the left eye gave the signal to animate.
Around the van, the towers of Tokyo blazed in the darkness of early evening. They defied the night, any glimpse of the moon, potential earthquakes, and a population that—save for the rich—could no longer afford to live there. Special dispensation allowed critical personnel to sleep and all but live in their offices. At the base of each tower flared a visual cacophony of shops, restaurants, full-immersion pachinko parlors, tattoo studios, coffee houses, shoot-up stalls, and atmos lounges where one could pay to inhale everything from flavored air to straight oxygen.
The driver and his passenger stoutly ignored all such temptations as their automated vehicle made a left turn, entered a private service alley, and slowed to a stop. As security scanners mounted on opposite walls played over the van, an armed human emerged from a guardhouse and approached the driver’s side of the vehicle. Polite formalities were exchanged as he gave the interior of the van a cursory visual inspection that lasted only a couple of minutes.
Had the van contained anything suspicious, it never would have been allowed entrance into the alley in the first place. The human inspection was just a follow-up.
The driver complained, mildly, at both the delay and having to work at night. His companion never looked away from his manga projection. After a final exchange with the driver, the guard tapped the van’s open windowsill and stepped back. In front of the vehicle, a barrier not unlike a modern portcullis rose to allow admittance.
Upon entering the covered multi-level garage, the driver assumed manual control, taking it from his vehicle’s AI. He brought the van to a halt in an empty parking spot beside one of the gigantic columns that supported the hundred-and-one-story building.
Like many of the structure’s supporting columns, the one beside which he had halted was hollow. Some columns carried utilities up or down. A few, like the one beside the van, housed service lifts. The main access was through the heavily monitored building. Secondary access was via a locked external service door. Like every other entrance to the building, the metal portal was monitored around the clock.
Exiting on opposite sides of the van, the driver and his no longer laconic partner quickly went to work. The first thing they did was erect and activate a high-tech mirrormask in front of each of the two security pickups mounted above the column’s service door. While these would display the normal view of the garage, including any passing traffic, they would not show the parked van.
Having installed and checked the two screens, driver and companion set to work on the access door. They didn’t try to override the entry code. Any effort to do so would set off alarms at the building’s security station. Instead, they deftly removed the hinges from one side and swung both doors—still locked together—away from the wall, just far enough to admit one person at a time.
Still hidden from detection by the pair of mirrormasks, a trio of figures crawled out from beneath the van via a screened and camouflaged false floor. Unlike the driver and his associate, the newcomers didn’t wear worker’s overalls. Clad from head to foot in light-absorbing black, they carried an assortment of devices that had nothing to do with electrical repair.
Once they had slipped through the gap, the driver and his helper shoved the heavy unhinged barrier back in place, took down the mirrormask screens, and set to work replacing several perfectly functional electrical outlets that lined a nearby wall.