Calm but alert, Akabo made no extraneous movement, but showed none of the tense vigilance of the samurai guards. His was the composure of a man confident he would be instantly aware of any threat. As perhaps he would. His eyes had certainly been enhanced technologically; his other senses may have been as well.

Sam searched surreptitiously for telltale signs of modification, but beyond the chrome lenses, he saw no obvious cybernetic additions. That did not shake his conviction that the man in the gray suit was more highly modified than a street samurai whose reputation depended as much on visible chrome as fighting prowess. Akabo was a warrior, protection for his master. Sam was sure of it.

The other had to be Harry Masamba, because only one black man had been on the list of those associated with Sato. The dossier named Masamba as a time-management specialist, but his profession was as obvious from his indecorous attitude as from the symboHaden slouch hat that covered the upper part of his face. No respectable salaryman would sleep in the office of his boss. Masamba was a mage. Perhaps it was because his talents were as rare as they were valuable that he could take liberties in his personal behavior.

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 Sam 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 coworkers. 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.