Not that the megacorporations had any problem with one of their number being successful and making money. The Court existed solely to assure that the various megacorporations might continue to do so. But the Corporate Court also existed to make sure its members followed certain rules in their game of global competition and profit-mongering. The megas had resources and influence that could savage the whole planet unless a delicate balance of power was maintained between them. The economic and military power to dictate terms to entire nations could be devastating if the megacorps turned it on each other in a global war that would benefit no one. That was why the Court had established the Concords, secret agreements between the great megacorporations to carefully maintain the balance of power. Better to be assured of slow and certain growth and control over the world's markets than to risk the devastation unfettered competition could create. The corps agreed to certain rules by which they would play the game, but now it was suspected that Renraku was breaking those rules. It was highly possible that their acquisition of Miles Lanier was letting them conduct industrial espionage on a massive scale, allowing them to push new product onto the market well in advance of the competition and to know their competitors' moves even before they made them. "So we're still accusing Renraku of violating the Concords?" Hague asked. It had happened before. Everyone knew it. Part of the point of having rules was so the megacorporations could find ways around them. Just as ordinary people broke the laws of their governments, so did the megacorporations occasionally break the laws of the Corporate Court. It could be a considerable advantage to claim resources not possessed by a rival. "Yes," Osborne said. "Renraku is trying to gain clear superiority in areas where Fuchi operates, and everyone knows Lanier has to be giving them something to help them do it. They've got to be stopped now, David, before this all gets out of control. I talked to Priault, and I can tell that even Saeder-Krupp is worried about this. Priault is a stone-face, but I could still read him."
"And if you're right about Renraku and they refuse to abide by any sanctions the Court makes, you know what it will mean," Hague said. He was quiet for several long seconds before completing the terrible thought. "Corporate war." "It won't come to that," Osborne replied tartly, obviously unwilling to even consider such a possibility. "Soon we'll have the information we need to bring Lanier and Renraku down." A smile crept back over her face as she tapped the data-pad she was holding. "And Fuchi can be right there to pick up the pieces."
4 In ancient times it was widely believed that knowing the name of something gave you control over that person or thing. People would have secret names known only to themselves and to their closest friends and family, and a "use name" they would tell to the world at large. In this way they protected themselves from enemies who might use magic against them. Now it is the twenty-first century. Magic has returned to the world and there is a new culture of people who guard their names. They hide behind so-called "street names" to conceal their true identities from the law and to keep their real names out of the massive computer systems keeping track of nearly everyone in the world. Even the pirate users of the computer Matrix, the deckers, make use of false names to cover their transactions. In the age of technology, true names have become more important than ever. -Mullins Chadwick, Monkeytribe: A Survival Manual for Erect Bipeds, Putnam-Izumo, New York, 2043 I don't know how long I keep driving, or where I drive to. I just need to get away from that place and the memories of the ghoul. My mind panics, but my body seems to know where it's going, so I let it drive for a while. I'm some distance away-at least I think so-before I return to anything resembling rational thought and check out my surroundings. I realize that driving around in an open van loaded with full body bags is probably a very bad idea, so I find an out-of-the-way alley where I park the van and leave it behind. I wonder if the body-snatchers or ghouls will find it again and try and make use of the bodies remaining inside. I'm tempted for a moment to find some way of blowing the whole van sky-high, creating a funeral pyre for those unknown people who fill the black vinyl bags. It's a useless idea because I don't have any means to do so and an explosion would be a sure way of attracting unwanted attention. In the end I just leave the van behind with a silent prayer that the spirits of its occupants are at rest. Jamming my hands into my pockets, I walk carefully out of the alley, looking all around me for any signs of trouble. It's still night and the city is alive all around me. I can see more lights and activity a few blocks ahead, along what looks like the main drag, the streets lit by the glow of neon signs, street lamps, and holograms flickering from badly tuned projectors in store fronts. The night air is cool, and the light on the street is inviting enough for me to head toward it. I pass through the shadows and cut through an alleyway to reach the strip. The alley is filled with the heavy smell of food cooking. My stomach rumbles loud enough to be heard in the narrow alley, and I realize I have no idea how long since I last ate, but it seems like it must have been a long time. Thoughts of noodles and rice and vegetables fill my thoughts and make my mouth water. I turn out of the alley and look into the scratched armor-plas window of a shop displaying some cheap trideo sets among all the other electronic junk for sale. One set is showing a piece of softcore pornography, the naked holographic figures writhing in slow motion through the static while the other set is tuned to a news channel where a plastic talking-head speaks in an evenly pitched, cheerful voice that sounds happy to tell you about the worst atrocities. I stop for a moment to watch. "Locally, the stock market reports another active day of trading in which the Dow is up some seven points. Renraku Computer Systems stock continues to maintain the strongest increase following the company's release of their latest algorithms for the development of sophisticated Matrix interface experiences. These algorithms form the basis for simsense and the virtual reality of the Matrix. A local Renraku spokesperson is quoted as saying 'Renraku is redefining the state of the art.' Other stock-market watchers in the Boston metroplex…" Boston. I'm in Boston. That should mean something to me, but for some reason, it doesn't. The voice on the trideo drones on about the opinions of men in suits regarding the mystic movements of the stock market and the advancements of Renraku and what the other megacorporations are going to do about it. An exterior shot shows the looming stock exchange building in the financial district of the crowded metroplex at night. That's when I notice the reflection looking back at me from the darkened window. A young man with shaggy, dark hair. He is thin and pale, and his eyes match the color of the purple bruises on his face and arms, a strange violet color that almost seems to glow from the dark glass. He's wearing a black T-shirt with a scrawl of silver Japanese characters under a loose denim jacket with the sleeves torn off, a pair of much battered and patched jeans, and black, laced-up combat boots. The clothes are spotted with dark spatters of blood. Silver gleams from behind one ear, and I brush my fingers against the cold metal ring of the dataport implanted there, watching the reflection's arm move as well. He's me, and I'm not entirely sure I recognize him. It's more like looking at a stranger, a phantom on the other side of the glass gazing out at me. That's when I start to realize I don't really know who I am, and the realization hits me like an electric shock. How did I end up where the body-snatchers found me? Where am I going to go? Where do I live? What's my name? I don't know any of those things, but I know I should know them. There are breaks in my memory, like someone punched holes in my mind, leaving black gaps where remembrances used to be. I reach out to touch the glass with a trembling hand, and the stranger on the other side reaches out to me, his eyes wide and frightened.