“All right. All right. No need to disturb the vice president.” Wilson held up the I.D. tag and the introduction disk. “The station’s in the corner.”
“Very good, sir,” Sam said as he recovered his documents. He stepped over to the work station and placed his case on the floor. Straightening, he indicated the lock. “If you would be so kind?”
With bad grace, Wilson heaved himself up and joined Sam at the workstation. The research director thumbed the lock pad, and shielding it from Sam’s view, typed in an access code. As the computer beeped its readiness, Wilson stepped back to allow Sam to sit, then took up a position behind his left shoulder. Hands resting lightly on the keyboard, Sam looked up at Wilson.
“Sir, need I remind you that the International Corporate Employee Rights Act of 2035 specifically states that managers may only view an employees personal financial records after securing a form 3329-11 and furnishing proof of malfeasance, misfeasance, criminal association, or disloyalty on the part of the employee?”
“You are going to be looking at them.”
“Dr. Wilson, I am a certified accountant. Section 35.22 of the ICER Act specifically allows for periodic reviews of data up to the green security ratings as part of a just-compensation review. Such reviews may be instituted at any time by a call from the duly elected employee compensation spokesperson or no more than once a year by management. Additionally, in certain jurisdictions, agencies of the national government may request such reviews for purposes of ascertaining that proper tax, work permit, residency, and other requirements are being met. Furthermore-”
“Enough,” Wilson cut him off. “Will you be long?”
“It is a minimal check. No more than two or three hours.”
Wilson pursed his lips and exhaled through distended nostrils. “Have my secretary call me when you are finished. I’ll be in Lab Three.”
“Very good, sir. Have a nice day.”
Sam managed to hold in his laughter until the disgruntled Wilson was out of the room. He had no idea what section 35.22 of the act contained, but apparently neither did Wilson. From the way the doctor’s eyes had glazed over during Sam’s matter-of-fact recitation of chapter and verse, he doubted that the research director would check.
Sam didn’t waste any time getting down to business. As the workstation was slightly different from those he was used to, he took a few moments to check it out. Wilson’s cyberterminal had no datajack feeder cable, for which Sam was grateful. To jack in would have been risky, and now Sam didn’t have to worry about making that decision.
From his case, he retrieved the cartridge that had been Jacqueline’s other gift. Like the I.D. card, it had a built-in time limit. He suspected other built-in limitations as well. Slotting it, he clicked it on. It began immediately to open files for him as its unfolding programs did the work of a trained decker. As all of Wilson’s financial records scrolled onto the screen, Sam recognized several from the work he and Dodger had done in their squat in San Francisco. The doctor’s own records showed Drake’s money. Or so Lofwyr’s chip would have him believe. The Dragon could be setting him up, duplicating the information Sam had already obtained to make it look, like this raid on Wilson’s files confirmed the doctor’s connection to Drake.
With these thoughts Sam realized that maybe he was beginning to understand life in the shadows, but paranoia only took a person so far.
When Sam directed the chip at Wilson’s data files, the screen obligingly filled with lists of documents. None were secure research files, but that was no surprise. Lofwyr’s generosity did not extend to revelations about Wilson’s work.
Out of curiosity, Sam accessed the research director’s personnel file. Most of it was routine, showing the steady progress of Wilson’s career with only one or two reprimands for exceeding the budget on minor projects. Nothing indicated either the corp’s dissatisfaction with Wilson or his work. Indeed, Sam noted that Wilson had reported several attempts to bribe him and attempts by agents of United Oil to seduce him away from Genomics for his work with gene-tailored organisms. If Wilson was working outside the corporation, it was still a secret from his bosses.
More than ever, Sam wanted to know the nature of the doctor’s research. He tried again, specifing that the chip seek out research files, but all he got back were “unacceptable instructions” messages. Using some tricks that Dodger had taught him, he set up an override program on the cyberterminal and applied it to Lofwyr’s chip. The sideways approach slipped the chip’s overrides and placed its penetration programs at his disposal. Grinning with satisfaction he ordered the chip to duplicate its routines onto a blank cartridge. But when he slotted it into the console, he barely managed an abort when the chip flashed “copy attempts will erase all data.” He sighed; it had been worth a try. If he was to do anything with Lofwyr’s powerful can opener, it would have to be today.
He sent the chip after Wilson’s research files.
An hour of coaxing and prodding got him to a data cache labeled REPLICATION PATTERNING. It contained the only file of any size that read positive for the key word “albinism.” The cache was enormous and locked up tight. It took Sam another hour to open it, a feat only possible with the capabilities of Lofwyr’s chip.
Time was running out. He browsed through at a rapid scan, passing extensive sections of technical documentation and experimental data as well as abstruse calculations, many of which he realized were magical formulae. That was not surprising, for Wilson was a mage. But linking magic with controversial biotechnological techniques seemed innately wrong to Sam.
When he jumped ahead to FIELD TEST RESULTS, almost immediately he was appalled. Wilson’s experiments involved sentient beings, and despite the clinical euphemisms, it was apparent that all the experiments had ended in the subjects’ deaths. Filled with dread as much as the urgent need to know, he called up a visual record attached to ORGANISM 5: COMPLETE PATTERN REPLICATION. Five was the highest number in the series.
What he saw only deepened his fears. Wilson’s Organism 5 was vaguely humanoid and its featureless skin was starkly white. As white as that of the albino with Hart’s team the night of his escape from the Renraku arcology. Before his eyes, the thing approached and embraced a man strapped to a vertical surface. What he saw next filled him with horror. While he watched, the thing insinuated extrusions into the flesh of its victim, who reacted with excruciating pain. Sam was glad there was no sound on the record. Meanwhile, Organism 5’s flesh twisted and molded until it was an exact copy of the man who lay limp in the restraints. Sam retched onto Wilson’s floor.
Wilson, through arts arcane and scientific, had created something demonic, a changeling that could steal a person’s shape. That was why the albino hadn’t left with Hart. It bad taken the shape of someone inside the arcology. Renraku harbored a viper that it believed to be a loyal employee. Now he knew why he and Hanae and most of Hart’s team had been betrayed to the Tir Tairngire border guards. The mastermind of this plot wanted to be sure no one lived to tell any tales.