Sam considered the presence of the magician. He had been raised to believe most of their kind charlatans, trading on the beliefs of the credulous. Unlike his father, however, Sam had grown up in what people like Masamba called the Sixth World. There was too much evidence to deny that magic really existed. Still, he didn't trust its practitioners.

Not everyone felt that way. The corporate world had embraced magic and magicians, not so much for profit as for protection. Magicians were too rare and unreliable to work on assembly lines, but they offered unparalleled capabilities in industrial espionage. And where there was magic on the offense, magic was needed on the defense, making mages a common feature of corporate security. Almost all multinational corporate heads had wizards on their personal staffs for protection. Lesser officials had to make do with the company wage mages, for a person able to manipulate magical forces was too rare a resource to be squandered lightly. That Sato had a mage of his own was a sign of his power.

Power was something Sato had a lot of in Renraku Corporation. He held the title of Kansayaku, but was much more than a mere auditor of financial records. He audited people as well, pruning the dead wood and nonconformists from the Renraku tree. His reputation as a hatchetman was fearsome. Now he had come to Seattle, where the arcology project was chronically behind schedule.

Sato's appointment to the arcology didn't worry Sam personally. Sam had not been involved in any significant tasks that might link him to the delays, and having been banished from staff operations when banished from Japan, he had no contacts with the management who would have to take responsibility for those delays. Even if they and their staffs were removed, he was likely to remain, checking files and crossreferencing data.

But the response to his letter requesting permission to meet with his sister was worrying. He could not see any reason why Sato would want to talk to him personally. Hadn't the Kansayaku shown nothing but contempt for Sam when they had last met? A reversal of attitude seemed unwarranted, despite Hanae's belief that such a happy turnabout was just what Sam could expect from the meeting. Sam had been seeing too much behind the surface lately; he held little faith in her optimism.

The receptionist called his name, cutting off any further speculation. Whether Sato wanted to help or reprimand him, lack of promptness would not improve Sam's position. He stood and straightened his jacket, then marched forward under the cold chrome stare of Akabo. Behind him, his red shadow did not move.

The inner office made the outer seem furnished in castoffs. The entrance swept away from the door in vaulted magnificence. Beyond the masterpiece-bedecked walls of the entryway, the room opened out into a broad space many times the size of the office Sam shared with a dozen co-workers. Impressive as the furnishings were, the long outer wall diminished them. The direct view of the Seattle skyline offered by the floor-to-ceiling windows was vaguely disturbing after Sam's long isolation within the arcology.

Midway between the entry and the window, a desk stood isolated from the rest of the chamber, elevated on a dais of some dark, close-grained wood. A well-groomed and carefully attired man sat in a suede-covered chair behind the chrome-legged marble slab.

Sato.

He stood as Sam entered the main portion of the chamber and stepped off the platform and came around in front of the desk.

"Konichiwa, Verner-san."

"Ojama shimasu, Sato-sama," Sam returned with a formal bow. He thought it wise to be extremely polite.

"Please have a seat," Sato offered, extending a hand toward an alcove by the window.

Sam selected a chair that placed his back to the vista. It was a relief that etiquette required him to allow his host the scenic view. He did not want to be distracted.

Sato seated himself with a comment about the current league standings of the Sonics that made it painfully obvious that the Kansayaku knew nothing about basketball. Sam played along, knowing that the small talk was only a preliminary. It was merely polite noise to allow the participants in the conversation to gauge each other's mood.

A woman brought a tray with tea and sweet cakes. Only as she began pouring the tea did Sam realize that Alice Crenshaw was doing the serving. Crenshaw grinned at him, and Sam suddenly felt cold.

"Ms. Crenshaw has been filling me in on your activities since you arrived in Seattle," Sato confided, dropping the faltering pleasantries. "Most interesting."

Sam didn't know what to say. How could he? He had no idea what Crenshaw had told Sato. Anything he said could easily get him into trouble.

"Nothing to say?" Sato's smile reminded Sam of the sharks in the Level 2 public aquarium. "I should think that you would want to make some comment. A reason for what you have done, perhaps?"

Sam cleared his throat. Sato had still not given him a clue to the nature of this test. "I have always held Renraku first in my thoughts. I do not believe that I have ever performed a disloyal action."

"That is a rote response, Verner-san," Sato observed. "This is not morning assembly, so I do not need to hear you repeat the shakun. I assure you that I know the corporate articles by heart."

"I meant no disrespect, Kansayaku."

"Then I shall take no offense." Sato placed his tea cup on the tray. "Yet."

Sam returned his cup as well. The procelain clattered slightly as it met the lacquered surface. Sato's next words were so soft that Sam almost didn't hear them.

"You are dissatisfied with your job?"

"I serve the corporation, Kansayaku," Sam stated strongly. "I do my best at whatever task is set before me."

"Yes. So it seems. There have been no complaints about your performance." Sato tapped the arm of his chair. Sam thought that he detected a slight hint of disappointment. "But you are dissatisfied."

"I am distressed at being kept in the dark about the fate of my sister."

"I am informed that she has been relocated safely. Renraku always fulfills its obligations in that regard. You were advised of this through official channels."

Sam recalled the two-line entry in his electronic mail. "I believe that the corporation has done what it considers its duty. But I don't understand. Why can't I contact her?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I have repeatedly requested communications links with my sister. They have been denied. I have not even been given the postal code of the relocation center."

"That seems unusual."

"I thought so too, but I have been reluctant to bring my concerns to the Contract Court arbitration board."

"My comp," Sato ordered peremptorily.

Crenshaw brought it, setting it on the table and unrolling the screen before turning it on and sliding it before Sato. He spent a minute tapping on the keyboard.

"There is no record of these requests in the files."

"How can that be possible?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Indeed," Sato agreed smoothly. "How?"

Sam scented danger. Sato had just told him that there was no official record of Sam's attempts to contact Janice. Any complaint about the corporation's inhumane response would not be supported by the Renraku Corporation's correspondence database. He was being coerced into letting the whole issue drop. Never. He would never give up his sister. She was all the family he had left.

Sato confirmed Sam's suspicions by saying, "Now you have come to me and, in a private conference, asked after your sister. I have told you that she was well cared for by the Renraku staff during her traumatic experience. She received all the consideration to which she was entitled under the law. You will receive regular reports and may undertake to send correspondence through the personnel office. There is no further need to trouble your superiors over this issue."

"I understand," Sam lied.

He really didn't understand at all, but one thing was becoming clear. For whatever reason, he was deliberately being cut off from his sister, and somehow Sato was involved.

"I am glad that we understand each other, Verner-san." Sato stood, his sudden motion leaving Sam to scramble upright. "You may return to your duties."

Sam bowed to Sato's back. "I apologize for having taken so much of your valuable time, Kansayaku."

Having been dismissed, Sam had no choice but to leave. As he walked past the last painting in the entry way, he risked an impolite look over his shoulder. Sato had returned to his desk, absorbed already in something on the console screen. Crenshaw was standing by the edge of the dais, watching Sam with a grin of satisfaction plastered to her face. She seemed pleased. What had he done to earn her enmity?

His guard was waiting to escort him to the elevators. During the ride down to the lower levels, Sam reviewed the meeting. He felt sure there were levels of meaning that he had missed. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out the whys of the situation.

Hanae was waiting for him in the Level 200 lobby. She stood quietly beyond the barrier while a samurai from the guard station adjusted the screamer attached to Sam's wrist. It would alert security if he strayed from those portions of the arcology that had been deemed suitable for one of his position and security rating. He was forbidden from entering the upper reaches until summoned again. As soon as he passed through the detector arch, Hanae, her face full of expectation, rushed up to him.

"How did it go?"

He did not want to disappoint her, but he had nothing to fulfill her hopes. "I am told that there will be periodic reports on Janice's welfare. I may write letters to her as well, but I am not to complain any further. At least, I wasn't forbidden to pray for her."

She searched his face. "You don't really believe that the company will follow through, do you?"

Sam said nothing. If Hanae had read enough in his face and stance to ask the question, she already knew the answer. She reached out to touch his cheek, then she threw her arms around him in a fierce hug. Her warmth felt good.

"I think you should talk to someone," she suggested tentatively.

"I don't need a shrink."

She laughed nervously. "No, that's not what I meant. I think you should talk to someone I met down in the public mall."

"Hanae, I'm really not in the mood for small talk with a stranger." He had never found her friends of more than passing interest, and he just wanted to be alone.

"You don't have to do it now. Besides, I'd have to arrange a time, anyway."

While the knowledge that an immediate meeting wasn't in the offing was a relief, her comment raised his suspicions. "Who is this person?"

Hanae nervously glanced around. "I'd rather not say her name here. She's a . . . talent scout."

"I'm not going on trid."

"No. Not that kind. She's corporate."

This was an interesting development. Talent scouts looked for dissatisfied employees who might be willing to switch corporations. Hanae was concerned enough to talk to a headhunter. Such an involvement was totally out of character for her; she was a loyal company person. He realized that he, too, was acting out of character. Here he was actually considering the possibility.

8.

The mall was vibrant, full of sound, light, and life. After the ordered corridors of the private sectors of the arcology, Sam found that the sights, sounds, and smells of the public sections took some getting used to. The blare of the public trid screens was the worst of all, touting the latest products between reports of the latest corporate war or Urban Brawl game. He usually avoided coming to the extravaganza that rambled over the first five levels of the arcology, preferring the company malls and shops scattered throughout the living levels. There he was less reminded that he was denied travel outside the Renraku corporate world without a Renraku corporate escort.

It wasn't the crowds that bothered him. He found the people of Seattle intriguing and the mix of types exhilarating. Tourists included Asians, tribals from the surrounding Salish-Shidhe Council, corporates from all the local multinationals, UCAS citizens ranging from rich to street people, and even the occasional Elf, Dwarf, or group of Orks moved elbow to elbow with one another in the thoroughfares. Before long, Sam's discomfort faded as he relaxed and let himself become part of the crowd. Being in a group always seemed to comfort Sam, but of late that feeling had been rare.

Upon first arriving at the arcology, he had made some forays into the metroplex of the outside world, but those trips soon became an exercise in isolation and frustration. Sam's chaperones had made enjoyment impossible. People on the street were leery of approaching anyone with a Renraku guard escort, and the guards themselves were rarely good for conversation. After the first few weeks, he had given up on his outings, content to learn more about Seattle and its people from the Matrix, the trid, and travelogues.

Hanae was walking by his side wearing wraparound chrome sunglasses, an affectation in the filtered sunlight of the mall. Her hair was arranged differently, her blouse was new, and though he recognized her jeans, he knew that she rarely wore them. She was really getting into her role as an intriguer. He hoped her obvious ill-ease would not attract the attention of any of the strolling Raku guards.

He had done nothing to disguise his identity. What would be the point as long as he wore the screamer on his right wrist? Any guard who cared to check in with the central security databanks would have his identity in a second. All they really had to rely on for privacy was the guards' indifference to their "shopping trip."

Hanae had lobbied for a week to get him to accept a meeting with her mysterious new friend. Believing that any contact, however tentative, with an outside recruiter would be an irrevocable step, Sam had stalled. She had broken down his arguments one by one, and he had finally given, in. Now, two days later, she had dragged him to the mall to meet the recruiter.

Spray washed over them as the ventilation system sent a stray breeze in their direction. The dampness was a reminder that the waterfall was real and not just a dazzling example of special effects holography. The water cascaded from an opening concealed on the third level. The rushing torrent tumbled along huge quartz boulders from Madagascar, the rocks framed in lush tropical greenery that enhanced their translucent shine. The slope of the waterfall lessened near the first level, gentling the flow before it reached the lagoon park where Sam and Hanae walked. Tropical birds and insects flitted past, restrained from leaving the park area by their own inclinations as well as a subtle ultrasonic barrier at the park's edge.

Sam caught a glimpse of what he thought was a large-eyed monkey in one tree. The creature's swaying movements soon convinced him otherwise. It stopped on one limb and turned its gaze in his direction. Its eyes were huge, dark, and liquid. The eyes caught and held his attention with their compelling stare. After a moment, Sam realized he was no longer looking into those eyes. The animal was gone. He searched the trees but could find no sign of it. When he told Hanae about it, she laughed. "A ghost lemur. They say there are several of them in the park, but I've never seen one. They're magical, you know."

How could he not know? The creature had vanished before his eyes. He shuddered with distaste. Every time magic had touched his life, it had been something awful.

Hanae led him away from the place he had seen the mysterious animal. They strolled over the bridge that spanned the lagoon tank and onto the walkway along the surface of the coral reef environment. The peace of the park was reasserting itself when Hanae abruptly grabbed his arm and started dragging him along the path. Ahead of them was the entrance to the Coral Cafe, a popular restaurant whose sub-level seating offered a window onto the submerged coral reef.

"Over here," Hanae insisted. "That's her."

The woman Hanae pointed out was stunning. From her platinum hair to her gold-studded black leather boots, she was a vision from the next issue of Mode Moderne. Her clothes were cutting-edge, but they were only a setting for the jewel of the woman herself. She was tall and slim and moved with sensual grace.

A gold Renraku ID flashed on the flaring collar of her long, flowing vest, but Sam didn't believe for a moment that it was legitimate. As they approached, she brushed back the long fall of hair that hung over her right shoulder. For a fleeting instant, the motion revealed a delicately pointed ear.

Sam had not expected an Elf. Elves were the Metahumans most common in the corporations, but that still made them rare and few were in positions of responsibility.

It all made sense now. Her slimness and height, the delicacy of her features-all characteristic of that branch of metahumanity known as Elves. He wondered how old she was. Once an Elf reached early maturity, he or she showed few visible signs of aging, so she might actually be only about twenty, as she appeared. On the other hand, she might have been one of the first babies from the Year of Chaos, which would make her about forty years old.

Doctors around the world had invoked Unexplained Genetic Expression Syndrome to account for the births of strange children to ordinary parents. But UGE was just a name for something that they didn't understand. When it became clear that the children were growing up to look so much like the Elves of fairy tales, the scientists clung to their ugly name for the beautiful children. The new generation weren't fairies, of course, but that didn't stop the popular press from applying mythical names to them. Those names stuck, but the children dubbed Elves and Dwarfs were still people, new and sudden subspecies of homo sapiens to be sure, but Humans still. Some people didn't believe that, denying that Metahumans of any kind were people. It was an attitude Sam never understood. Even with all his father's railing against the "claptrap of this Sixth World magic nonsense," the elder Verner had acknowledged Metahumans as "biologically sound expressions of genes." Sam had never found pointed ears and white hair to be any more non-Human than black or red skin.

All such thoughts fled as the woman turned to face them and Hanae performed the introductions.

"Sam, this is Katherine Roe. She's the one I wanted you to meet."

"Telegit thelemsa," he greeted her.

"Siselle. Thelemsa-ha." She laughed lightly. "Your pronunciation is excellent, Sam, but, please, let's speak English. You wouldn't want to embarrass me in public, would you?"

"How so?"

"Other than those who grew up in an enclave, very few Elves actually speak the language. We are all children of our culture, after all."

"I only meant to be friendly," Sam muttered apologetically. "It's about all the Sperethiel I know."

"And I chided you for it. Now see, you have embarrassed me." Roe's face flashed her chagrin momentarily. Then the smile returned. "How do you come to know any Sperethiel?"

"Oh, Sam knows lots of things, Katherine. He's one of the corporation's best researchers."

Sam felt his face flush at Hanae's enthusiasm. To Roe's raised eyebrow, he said, "I'm told that I have a rather good memory."

"Certainly an asset for a researcher," Roe agreed.

"An asset for anyone," Hanae asserted. "I'm sure you two will have a lot to talk about, so I'm going to get some shopping done. Two o'clock in front of Lordstrung's?" she asked.

He nodded and she kissed him on the cheek and left. Roe conducted him inside the Coral Cafe, where she had a table waiting. She did not take long getting to the point.

"I may be able to help you out."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"Caution is certainly advisable, Sam. You don't know me, but I know quite a bit about you." Her face was earnest as she reached out to lay a hand on his arm. "I'm going to have to tell you things in trust, but you seem to be the kind of man who knows how to keep a secret."

She waited for his response. Sam hesitated. Her concern and sincerity seemed to be more than mere show. Still, he felt the need for wariness. "I can't promise discretion without knowing what you're talking about."

Sam read relief and satisfaction in her smile.