Robert N Charette
Never deal with a Dragon
PROLOGUE
Into The Shadows
2050
The soft roar of the surf slowly dissolved into the murmur of voices and the breathy huff of the air-conditioning system. The sharp salt smell mutated to the harsh tang of disinfectant. The return to the waking world brought awareness of the ache in Sam’s skull. His brain felt too full, pressing against its boundaries like a helium-filled balloon under a fathom of water.
The voices stopped as he let out a groan. Whoever was out there in the world beyond his closed eyelids seemed to await another sign, some indication that he really was awake. But Sam was not yet ready to accommodate them. The light was painful enough through the thin flesh that shielded his pupils. He had not the least desire to open his eyes.
“Verner-san,” a disembodied voice said. The tone was questioning, but held a hint of command.
He forced his eyes open, only to snap them shut again as the fluorescent stabbed for his brain. His involuntary wince and moan brought an immediate response from one of his visitors. The lights dimmed, encouraging Sam to venture a second attempt. Squinting, he surveyed his four guests.
Standing by the door, her hand still on the dimmer switch, was a woman in a white lab coat. His doctor. Her benign smile left no doubt that she was pleased with her handiwork. The other three people in the room were males. Two of the men Sam recognized at once. The third was apparently a bodyguard.
Seated at his bedside was the impressive figure of Inazo Aneki, master of the sprawling Renraku corporate empire. The old man’s presence was as surprising to Sam as the obvious concern on his lined face. Sam was no more than a minor employee of Renraku, and he had yet to make any significant contribution to the corporation. Nor had his implant operation been anything out of the ordinary, by twenty-first-century standards. It was true that the director had sponsored Sam into the company, and some said he looked on Sam with special favor. However, the old man and his supposed protégé had not been in personal contact since that brief introductory interview. All the more surprising to find Aneki-sama here in the recovery room.
Standing behind Aneki was Hohiro Sato, Vice President of Operations and the director’s current executive assistant. In some ways, the dapper Sato’s presence was even more astonishing. The pinch-faced official had a reputation of indifference to any subordinate’s problems unless it affected the company’s profits. In his infrequent encounters with Sato, Sam always came away chilled by the man’s distant manner and perfunctory politeness.
Why were they here?
“We are pleased to see you awake, Vemer-san,” Sato said briskly. Belying the words, his gold-irised Zeiss eyes speared Sam with the contempt for non-Japanese that Sato rarely displayed before his superiors. If his voice held any emotion, it was certainly not pleasure. Sato was obviously not at Sam’s bedside of his own volition. He was here, as formal protocol compelled, in the role of Aneki’s intermediary to one of a lower social position. “We have anxiously awaited your return to the waking world.”
“Domo arigato.” Sam’s dry voice rasped out the formal thanks. His attempt to rise and bow was stifled by a head shake from the doctor and a raised hand from Aneki. “I am unworthy of your attention.”
“Aneki-sama is the best judge of that, Verner-san. The doctor assures him that your datajack implant operation was routine and totally successful, but he wished to see for himself.”
At the mention of his new addition, Sam reached up to touch the bandages. His head did not register the touch, but his fingers could feel the hard lump on his right temple. He knew from the pre-operation interview what it was: a chromium steel jack designed to accept a standard computer-interface plug. The addition of the datajack was intended to increase his efficiency in handling computer files and accessing data. Sam would have preferred to continue operating through a terminal keyboard, but the corporation had mandated a datajack for someone of his position and rank. Sam had, of course, agreed.
“I guess I’ll be ready to get back to work soon,” he mused aloud.
“A week or so of rest would be advisable, Verner-san.” the doctor said softly. “Limited-access familiarization at first.”
“Sound advice,” Sato cut in. “Renraku has too much invested to permit an ill-timed return to a normal schedule. But all will work out for the best. You would have little time to resume your researches, with all the details of your move.”
Move? Sam didn’t understand. He wasn’t planning a move.
Ignoring Sam’s questioning look, Sato barely missed a beat. “It is perhaps regrettable that you cannot return immediately to work, but the timing is fortunate. Your transfer to the arcology project in Seattle-”
“Transfer?”
Sato’s face soured briefly at Sam’s interruption.
“Indeed, this is so. I hasten to assure you that Aneki-sama does not intend it as a demotion. He continues to hold you in the highest esteem. Nevertheless, he believes that your particular talents will best serve the corporation in Seattle.
“The company has taken the liberty of transferring your apartment lease. All your goods, save those you will need for the rest of your hospital stay and for the trip, have been packed for shipment.” Sato nodded as though being reminded by a secretary. “And your dog has already begun the journey. She seemed in excellent health and should pass easily through the local quarantine kennels.
“As an expression of Aneki-sama’s regret at the suddenness of the transfer, Renraku Corporation will absorb all travel and relocation expenses. Your tickets for the JSA sub-orbital flight to North America are waiting with your personal effects. You will leave as soon as the doctor certifies you sufficiently recovered.”
Sam was dazed. How could this be? When he had entered the hospital two days ago, he had been a rising star in the staff operations office of Renraku Central. What of all those rumors that Aneki was a patron of Sam’s career? He had seemed assured of great things with the company. Now they were exiling him to the corporation’s North American operation. Even though the transfer was to the relatively prestigious arcology project, it would take him away from the main office, the heart of the corporation, away from Tokyo, his chosen home. It was clear that he had fallen… no, been kicked… off the fast track. What had he done?
Had he offended Aneki-sama? A covert look at the director’s face showed only sympathy and concern.
Had he crossed a rival or insulted a superior? In a rapid mental review of his recent activities and projects, he dismissed that as well. He had been courteous to all, often beyond what was expected. That was his way of trying to make up for the fact that he was not a native Japanese. In all his time in Japan, Sam had never encountered more than the ordinary distrust and dislike the natives accorded any non-Japanese. Surely, his behavior was not at fault.