"Frag that!" Serrin said with feeling. "I'm not worrying about the social graces. She didn't."
"She may be out."
"Then we'll break in," the elf said simply.
That, however, was not necessary. The door opened almost immediately after they arrived at Julia's apartment and knocked loudly on her door.
"Julia, you owe me one," Serrin said to her through the narrow gap in the door allowed by the heavy steel chain. "Something tells me you just might have a friend who knows a friend who could help me out with some info I couldn't find in any library but don't even think about getting another story out of this one."
Michael jacked out of the Zulu Nation system damned fast when the black 1C threatened. He could get the rest, he was sure, from international registries. What he had now was enough for a very good start.
Giving himself a few minutes' rest while gulping down some coffee, he was acutely aware of the girl sitting cross-legged on his sofa. The cold realization had already hit him that with that card, officially authenticated by UCAS immigration, in her bag, she was probably legally entitled to a straight fifty per cent of everything he had. At the time, it had seemed logical, the only thing to do. Damn it, it had been logical. It had also been the stupidest act he'd ever committed in his life. Michael didn't like the idea of logic and stupidity going together. Now he really couldn't think what to say to her. Burying himself in work had seemed the only thing to do.
And he'd found exactly what he'd expected in his little matrix run. The owners of the Babanango plant were a tiny firm called Amalgamated Photosynthetics, registered as a subsidiary with HKB, Britain's financial conglomerate. That meant HKB acted as a forwarding address for the real owners. For this service, the megacorp took either a fixed fee, or a percentage, depending on what their shark-skinned accountants decided was the best deal. HKB had a special division devoted purely to such leasing deals, but it was not part of the British-based corporation not so far as international law was concerned. It existed somewhere among thirty underdeveloped countries which took the crumbs HKB threw out to them and didn't ask questions. Trying to get into the divisional system to find out who had a piece of British Industrial and at least most of Amalgamated Photosynthetics would be plumb crazy. HKB had more 1C than nature had needed to sink the Titanic. Michael knew he couldn't do it. He also knew that if he didn't, they were never going to find their quarry. Unless of course Serrin's reporter friend had a precise fix, but that would be too much like counting on sheer good luck.
"Why did you do it?"
He swiveled around in his chair. "What else could we do? We had to get back here. There were at least two groups trying to take Serrin out back in Azania, maybe more. He wouldn't go without you. If we'd tried to use your fake IDs to get you into New York, they'd have had you on a rustbucket straight back to Azania the instant we arrived in Manhattan. And we didn't have time to get a passport officially."
"But you don't even know me."
"Well, not much. Maybe it had something to do with you rounding up all those Indian samurai. Without them, Serrin would be dead now. Maybe I was just a little over-grateful. I wasn't really thinking straight. I'd lost a fair bit of blood, apparently."
Kristen lit one of Serrin's cigarettes, not that she liked them much. She missed the potency of what she was used to. She decided not to ask him, again, why he hadn't let Serrin be the one. All he would say was the same thing about not wanting to ruin things for them. He'd also told her about divorce, how easy it would be after the statutory year together.
"I won't take anything," she said quietly. She curled herself up into an almost fetal position, looking for all the world as if she was about to cry. He got up and went to sit down beside her, slipping an arm around her narrow shoulders.
"What am I doing here?" she said, choking back hot tears. "I don't know anything about this city. I can't live
here. And now I got a fraggin' husband? Me got a husband I met four days ago. Is it four?"
"Slot me if I can remember," Michael said, giving her a somewhat dazed smile. She dropped her hands from her face, looking halfway between bursting into tears and helpless laughter. His smile tipped the scales in favor of the latter.
By the time her hilarity had calmed down, he'd poured himself a gin. Then he saw from her expression that she'd like one too. He dumped in ice from the bucket and topped it with limed tonic.
"What about me? How am I going to explain it to my family? Of course, by now they've decided that I probably like boys, getting to my age and still unmarried."
"Do you?" she asked him.
"Hell, no. I love computers."
She poked him in the ribs, surprisingly hard. He fought hard to keep the mouthful of drink down.
"I do love him," she said suddenly and emphatically. Michael felt uncomfortable again, didn't know what she was going to say next.
"I know," he said almost sadly. "He loves you too." He couldn't think of anything more helpful.
"Then why doesn't he want me?"
Michael thought for a moment. "Urn, well, I guess if I'd had to run from tabloid snoops, been shot at with trank cartridges, traveled to a half-dozen countries in a week, been kidnapped, nearly blown away with a machine gun, had to rely on a bunch of people I hardly knew, and then ended up learning that some crazy vampire elf mage was about to bring Armageddon down whichever way that's going to be and we haven't figured it out yet I probably wouldn't be thinking much about romance, either. I mean, that's a drekload to worry about." He was silently praying for Serrin and Tom to knock at the door right now.
"But how can I know what he really feels? Is he going to change?"
Michael got to his feet. This was really too much for him. "Kristen, remember those sacred vows. That half-defrocked Boer gave us a pretty traditional variety. You
promised to obey your husband, I'm afraid. Terribly incorrect politically. But that's what you said. So, you ask Serrin when he gets back; I know him even less well than you do. For now, girl, keep quiet and let me get back to work." He wagged an admonishing finger at her in fun; she just smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
Michael prepared to jack back in. He wasn't going to wait for Serrin and Tom to return. Confronting HKB's defenses would at least let him do what he was good at. Then, cursing himself for his stupidity, he retired to his bedroom and made the call to London.
"Geraint, old boy, can we get an encrypted line?"
"Sure." The Welshman's rich voice greeted him with the old familiarity. "How's it going?"
"You owe me a fortune, term. Wait until you see my bill."
Geraint sighed, running the fingers of one hand through his dark hair. "Is it finished, then? You're through?"
"Not quite. Listen, old friend, I need some help."
"Fire away."
"You're not going to like this," Michael warned him.
"So?"
"I mean, you're really not going to like this," Michael stressed. Geraint waited, his face on the screen expressionless. "I've got to find out something about corporate ownership of a certain subsidiary. HKB is handling it through the corporate licensing division."
"I can't do that," Geraint said. "Everything's traced. Not a chance."
"You don't have to deck into their system to do it. There are records, hard copy. You're a director, after all. This little corp is obscure and poses absolutely no threat to HKB's interests. The information wouldn't be sensitive in any way."
"I'm afraid, old boy, that everything in those files is sensitive information. If it wasn't, people wouldn't pay us to handle anonymous ownerships," Geraint said drily. "They pay us precisely to make sure that no one finds out."
"Geraint, we're on to something big. To borrow an old line of the Dame's, this ain't rock and roll, this is genocide." Michael then gave his friend a rundown of what they'd learned and seen.