Deciding that he wanted to talk to Crenshaw, San, nudged Hanae in the direction of the security officer. Before they had taken two steps, however, a small, weedy man with a porcelain datajack in his right temple blocked their path. The jack and his lapel pin identified him as a Renraku decker.
“Geez, ain’t it weird,” the man began without preamble. “You keep finding out stuff about people even after they’re dead. I didn’t know Jiro was a Conservationist. Did you?”
“No,” Sam replied, annoyed at the man’s boldness.
“Hey man, you must of,” he insisted. “You were his best buddy. Warner, ain’t it?”
“Verner. I couldn’t say I was his best buddy. We were friendly. Jiro didn’t let anyone too close after his wife’s death.”
“Yeah. Thought you might have known him better than us guys down in Data.” The man’s eyes darted around the chamber. “You’re right about him not having many friends. I would have expected more guys from the office to come, even though he was a loner. Zaibatsu spirit and all that. But I guess if you want to get that spirit up, it takes more than a salary, man. You know?”
“The company makes no demands with regard to religions observances here in America,” Sam observed, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He thought that was the best way to make the man cease his inquisitiveness and let Sam get on with his business.
“Here in… oh man, that’s right, you came in from Japan about the same time, didn’t you?” The man didn’t wait for an answer. “Guess it’s real different over there. No Injuns lording it over proper educated folks. I bear they don’t even take guff from the Metas. Keep them on reserves or something.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Sam said through his teeth. His detachment had fled. “I didn’t get out much.”
“You ever hear about that island, Yomi, I think it is, where they ship all the Orks and Trolls?”
Sam controlled his anger. This man was obviously insensitive. Arguing with him would be worthless, and besides, Sam didn’t want to make a scene in the chapel. “I was a shaikujin. Like a good salaryman, I never went far from Renraku property except on corporate business. The company has little to do with the so-called Awakened, so I didn’t see much of them.”
“Don’t I know what you mean! Had a buddy who was a real good mechanic. Casey, real nice gal, even if she was a Dwarf. Got a job with Raku through EEO. Wasn’t six months before her boss had her up on negligence charges. Couldn’t have been true, or course. I knew Casey. Man, she took care of machines like they were her babies, but she packed it in rather than face the charges. Heard she was over at Mitsuhama. They’re Japs, too, but they go a lot lighter on the Asian superiority thing, you know.”
Sam could see Crenshaw stepping outside. “Look… ah…”
“Addison,” the man supplied helpfully. “Billy Addison.”
“Addison-san, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, but I really do have to get along.”
Sam took Hanae’s arm and tried to walk around Addison. The decker held his hand up in front of Sam’s chest.
“Wait a minute, man. Look, I really wanted to ask you something. I… well… us guys down in Data were kind of wondering about something. You see, we knew you were friends with Jiro and… well…”
“Well, what?”
Addison shifted nervously. He craned his head around, looking to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. When he saw that the chapel had emptied, his face relaxed slightly. “There’s… there’s a rumor going around that Jiro was chipping when he fell.”
“Chipping?” Hanae asked.
“Yeah, you know, using BTL.”
Hanae put a hand to her mouth in shock. BTL stood for Better Than Life. BTL chips were supposed to be entertainment simulations that someone plugged into his head through a datajack or a special chip receptacle. They allowed one to “relive” an experience as though actually doing it himself. But the experiences were more than realistic. Unlike ordinary simsense entertainments, all BTL sensory impressions were heightened electronically, pushed into realms beyond any normal person’s experience. The enhanced impressions were supposed to be unbelievably thrilling, more sensual than anything that real life had to offer. Sam didn’t know if that were true, but he did know BTL was highly addictive. Users often lost themselves in the chip’s world, abandoning the real world until they died of neglect or the real world intruded fatally on what they perceived.
Sam suddenly realized that a user might, lost in his false reality, stumble over a railing and fall to his death. Had Jiro? With the anniversary of Betty’s death coming up, Jiro had been increasingly depressed. It was true he had done some chipping shortly after his return to Renraku, but he had stayed away from the heavy stuff. His doctor had even approved, prescribing certain chips and calling it re-entry therapy.
This put a new light on matters. Sam certainly didn’t want to discuss it with Addison, nor did he want to go into the subject with Hanae around. “That’s really none of our business. Besides, what difference does it make now?”
“Well, not a whole lot to Jiro. But we been thinking about the rep of the department, you know, if word got around that he was chipping, and certain parties started an investigation. You do know that Kansayaku Sato is coming? You know, the axman? He might…” As his words trailed off, the man arched his brows in a conspiratorial expression. “Well, you know. We were worried.”
Worry Sam could understand, especially if someone in Addison’s group needed to keep something hidden. Whatever the problem to which Addison alluded it could not possibly be a material danger to Renraku. If it were, Addison or whoever was involved would already be running.
The mention of BTL might mean that somebody in the department had a chip habit. Lots of deckers used chips for recreation, but most knew enough to stay away from BTL. The implication that a decker was involved in the dangerous pastime could get him a black mark in his record that would affect the promotion schedule. Justifiably. No legitimate corporation wanted to trust its Matrix secrets to someone who was an addict. There were too many cases of black-mailed deckers stealing files, or crazed Matrix runners crashing systems when their delusions crossed over into the already hallucinatory reality of the Matrix. A decker who chipped would likely be canned and blackballed.
Then again, maybe the chipper had already paid the price. If Addison or one of his buddies had supplied Jiro with a chip, and if Jiro had taken his fall while under the influence, the charge would be manslaughter at the least. Sam couldn’t recall any mention of BTL chips in Jiro’s hospital file, but that didn’t mean much. If someone had arranged for Jiro to get such a chip, that same someone might easily have been there when Jiro fell and then removed the chip before the medics arrived. Such a person would dread an investigation that might uncover his or her complicity.
Had someone in the department been running Jiro’s icon when Sam encountered it in the Matrix last week? The data department would have known about Jiros injuries, and they would have had physical access to Jiro’s cyberdeck. A brain-fried decker would be impossible to hide, but a good back-up team might have been able to jack out the icon’s controller before the black ice got him. Using someone else’s deck was punishable by expulsion from the corporation as well as hefty fines, but that wasn’t always enough to deter a dedicated hacker. But whoever had been running Jiro’s icon had tampered with the Wall, which meant even harsher sanctions. If it were one of Addison’s group behind Jiro’s icon, they would all be subject to dismissal if their actions were discovered. They had more than enough reasons for a coverup.