Overthrowing Heaven-ARC Read online

  "She's a courtesan," I said, "so I should be able to buy her time."

  "Only if she accepts you as a client," Pri said. "One of our people knew how to reach her avatar and told me."

  "I recorded that information, of course," Lobo said.

  "But she rarely takes on clients," Pri said. "Several of our wealthier members have tried, but they've all failed; she wouldn't see most of them, and the few she did meet failed her interview. That's why we still don't know her location."

  "I don't know anything about her selection process," I said, "but taking care in choosing clients certainly makes sense for anyone in her profession. As for your people, well, turning them down simply demonstrates good judgment."

  "Why?" she said.

  "Because it's safer to stay aligned with those in power. Why should she risk getting involved with a vocal and potentially dangerous opposition party?"

  Pri nodded. "Okay, so what's your plan for seeing her?"

  I stood. "I'll apply." I pointed toward the door. "I'm not from here, I have money, and so I should represent at least an intriguing prospect. You and Lobo will scout the routes your people mentioned so Lobo can build models we can use should we be able to catch Wei in transit. You'll also keep an eye out for responses from the Wonder Island job application, on the off chance I get an opportunity to show up there in person. And, you'll pick up some clothes and enough other possessions to make the apartment we're renting look like I at least sleep there, just in case they check it out before letting me interview."

  "And while I'm doing all this work, what will you be doing?"

  "Cleaning up and waiting for my chance to try to pass muster with the legendary Ms. Matahi."

  Chapter 15

  I was clean and dressed when Lobo gave me the good news that Matahi would meet me and the bad news that I had just spent a lot of money.

  "I had to pay that much just to meet her?"

  "Yes," Lobo said, using a tone that added "you idiot" to the end of the word. "You told me to set you up locally to look poor, so I had to create a secret account with enough funds to convince her you could afford her. I even had to send her a photo of you. She sells her services, she has a few existing significant clients, and she charges enough that she doesn't have to work with more than them. So, unless someone interests her, she doesn't meet with them without some form of inducement. You obviously weren't appealing enough on your own." After a short pause, he added, "To be fair, I don't recall you taking a lot of meetings unless they had something in it for you."

  I had to grant him that. The fee, though, seemed excessive, and by reflex I hated that she already knew what I looked like. Still, Lobo wouldn't have done any of this if he could have avoided doing it, so there was no point in harassing him about it. "Won't others find the account?" I said.

  "Must you ask such questions?" he said, the "you idiot" tone back in his voice. "It is, of course, already gone, as I warned her it would be."

  "Sorry," I said. "Still, she sure does charge a lot of money for an hour. "I'm amazed at what people will pay for sex."

  "Oh, you don't get a full hour," Lobo said, "and you certainly don't get sex. In fact, she never guarantees sex. She's a courtesan; should I perhaps enlighten you as to the meaning of the term?"

  He was enjoying my discomfort entirely too much.

  "No, thank you," I said. "It's just that I thought sex was the ultimate goal for her clients."

  "Maybe it is," Lobo said, "and maybe they get it, but that's not the main reason her clients go to her. You can buy sex on Entreat, as you can in any city of any size, and you can spend a great deal less than Matahi's fee. The data I've found, however, suggests that she truly sells her time more than anything else."

  "No discounts for just wanting to talk?"

  "Are my speakers dirty?" Lobo said. "First Pri and now you seem to have trouble grasping what I'm saying. Talking is a huge part of what she sells. What you're buying is simply enough time for her to decide whether she's willing to consider you as a client."

  I started to complain further, but it was a waste of time. Pri had warned me that I'd have to audition for Matahi, so I would. "How long do I have until the meeting?"

  "A little over an hour."

  "Why did I get an appointment so quickly?" Maybe there was more hope for me than I thought.

  "According to her assistant interface," Lobo said, "most potential clients try to woo her directly, and they do so with much more skill and flair. The utter lack of comprehension you demonstrated by leaving the entire arrangement to me and not approaching her yourself apparently intrigued her, though I can't imagine why. In any case, she's allowing you to meet her where she was already planning to take tea."

  So much for that idea. Still, I had a meeting, and that was what I'd wanted.

  "Where should I go?"

  Lobo fed the location, an approach route, and three exit paths to the contact I'd put in my left eye. On a display he opened on the wall in front of me, he gave me an aerial view and some labels.

  "We're meeting in front of the police station in the old city?"

  "Yes," Lobo said. "I assume the combination of the location and her connections within the government make it a place she can go without having to bother with too many bodyguards. Do you want me as backup?"

  "No," I said. "Let's move to a comm unit, because I need to leave so I can arrive early." I was starting later than I'd normally arrive at a meeting, and I hated being at that disadvantage.

  I exited my room and stopped as Pri approached me.

  "Good luck," she said.

  I nodded, Lobo opened the side hatch, and I stepped outside.

  Lobo took off as soon as I was twenty meters away.

  "If you stick to the task of surveying the routes Wei might use," I said to him, "how long would it take you to reach me?"

  "No more than three minutes," Lobo said, "though moving at that speed would definitely attract attention."

  "Then stay with scanning Wei's approach routes," I said. The day was beautiful, and I was heading into a public place for what Matahi would assume was a normal client meeting. "I doubt anything will go wrong, but if it does, I should be able to last three minutes—and if we reach that point, drawing notice to ourselves will be the least of our problems."

  The route Lobo had mapped was too straightforward for my taste, so I added several countersurveillance moves, but if anyone was following me on foot, I missed them. As I emerged into the square fifteen minutes early, I relaxed a bit: I had no reason to believe anyone was after me, and I had arrived without incident. I'd almost certainly wasted time getting here, but I didn't care. Some old habits are worth reinforcing, even when they're inefficient. I slid into the shadow of a large, white, stone statue of a woman in flowing robes and started a slow, clockwise scan of the area.

  Six entrances fed pedestrians into the square: Four at the corners, the opening through which I'd entered, which was on the middle of the eastern side, and a matching archway in the center of the buildings opposite me. A row of yellow stone three-story buildings standing side-by-side formed my edge of the square and the one opposite me. A white and gray brick building filled the entire north side. Only a small bronze plaque to the right of the main arched entranceway marked that structure as the police station. No one entered or left it; the cops here probably routed any unsavory traffic through the rear so as not to break the ancient-world spell the old part of Entreat cast on visitors.

  Along the entire south edge of the square stood two-story yellow and red stone buildings with no spaces between them. Two souvenir shops, three separate restaurants, and a baked-goods store filled their first floors. A row of five small gray metal tables, each with a wide umbrella over it, sat in front of Poohgi, the bakery. Permacrete flowerbeds bursting with brilliant crimson blossoms separated the tables from the walkway in front of Poohgi. Sitting alone at the center table, sipping from a small white cup, was a woman as brightly colored as the flowers. I zoomed my
contacts to study her more closely. Very little of her was visible. A large, sky-blue hat sat on her head. Huge sunglasses covered her eyes and much of her face. Her body shape was indistinguishable beneath a loose, metallic blue wrap that shimmered like an ocean in mid-day light. Cobalt gloves covered her hands. I couldn't be sure she was Matahi, but she was the only woman sitting alone, so that was the most likely guess.

  "I believe this is her," I subvocalized, knowing Lobo was monitoring and recording all the data my contact and clothing sensors were capturing. "Your opinion?"

  "As I told you before," he said, "we don't have a picture of her, but the location seems right, and her appearance is certainly striking, so it's a reasonable supposition."

  Assuming this was indeed my target, I admired her caution: She'd been in position when I arrived, and the clear line of sight from the police station to her table suggested she had friends there covering her. I hated risking official attention for any reason, but I had to take that chance if I was going to meet her.

  A dozen men and women in matching shirts passed along the street in front of me. I fell in beside them. When we passed the edge of the square, I left the pack, doubled back a few meters, and walked along the southern row of buildings. Matahi now sat to my right, her back to me. I moved slowly, listening to the pitches from the menu avatars and checking all around me for backup for her. If anyone else was paying her special attention, I didn't spot them. Either she was relying on the police for protection, or her team was top-drawer.

  Poohgi surprised me by not having a menu. It was also the only shop not standing open to the outside air. A small plaque above the handle on its glass door read:

  Enter.

  Smell.

  Enjoy.

  Even outside the aromas were lovely, so I opened the door and stepped inside.

  The smell of freshly baked goods enveloped me. A glass cabinet full of three shelves of delicious looking and even better smelling treats ran on my left from the front wall to where it turned in the rear and stretched along the shop's back all the way to the right wall. The only breaks in cabinet were two small flip-up counters through which the four clerks could enter and exit. Five other customers filled the narrow area in which I was standing. Three of the clerks glanced at me as I entered, smiled, and then returned to their current transactions. One tended to two of the five ovens behind them. For reasons I couldn't explain, the smells made me happy, and I smiled at the way the feelings they evoked. A memory of my mother baking bread from flour, a necessity on our small and rather poor island, wafted through my brain, and I recalled how much I'd loved the heavy scent of the finished product and the taste of fresh, hot bread. Did everyone have this sort of memory? Judging from their expressions, at least the other people in the shop with me did, or maybe they'd come to adore the smell later in life, maybe even just now. Whatever the cause, all of us were hungrily scanning the cabinets, and no one was leaving empty-handed.

  I studied the loaves of bread, rolls of many shapes and sizes, biscuits, cookies, small cakes, large cakes, and what looked like coils of ropy bread. Every single item made my mouth water. I finally settled on a dark roll the color of rich soil ready for planting, purchased it, and, at the clerk's suggestion, also bought a glass of an almost clear fruit juice that managed to produce both sweet and tangy tastes in each sip.

  I stepped back outside, took a bite of my roll, and found it dense and even richer than I'd assumed.

  Without turning, the woman I assumed was Matahi spoke, and though she sat four meters in front of me, her light voice was completely clear. "You'll have to stop transmitting, Mr. Moore, or there will be no meeting, and I will simply leave."

  So either something she was wearing—it could be anything—or a friend in the police station was feeding her images and sensor data.

  "We could move to burst transmissions," Lobo said, "but if she continues to monitor you, as from her statement we must assume she will, then she'll catch us soon enough. We should have sent you with local recording ability."

  "Now we know why you gave me so little notice," I said aloud. "I reacted like an idiot. I apologize." I shook my head slightly at my own stupidity; you had to admire the woman's protocols.

  She took a sip of her drink and again spoke without turning to face me.

  "You now know the rules, Mr. Moore, and you clearly understand the protective value to me of this location. You've discussed the situation with whomever you have protecting you. You have all the data you're going to get before you must choose your next step." She swallowed some more of her beverage and laughed lightly. "You even have a delicious snack. So, will you finally come sit with me?" She paused and dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Or is our interview at its conclusion?"

  Chapter 16

  Disable all transmissions," I subvocalized to Lobo via my main comm. "And don't trigger any bursts. I'll call you when the meeting is over, or earlier if I need help."

  "Done," Lobo said.

  I headed toward Matahi, walked around the table without touching her, and stood behind the chair across from her. Her posture was perfect. She took a bite of the muffin she was eating, each of her movements leisurely but precise.

  When she didn't speak or acknowledge me for almost a minute, I finally said, "I'm no longer transmitting." I grabbed the back of the chair and added, "I really don't understand the need for these games."

  She tilted her head slightly and smiled. Her lips were full, her mouth wide, and her smile as perfect as one would expect. Her chin was narrow, and even with the sunglasses hiding most of her face her wide and pronounced cheekbones were evident. "Of course you do," she said, her tone as light and pleasant as before, "and now you've lied once. Three is your limit. Refusal to answer may be acceptable; that depends on the question."

  "Acceptable to whom?"

  "To me, of course," she said, still sounding nicer than her words, "and now you've been intentionally stupid once. You get only two of those."

  I clenched the chair tighter. I didn't like playing by her rules. She was maddening. I wanted to push back, knock over the table, and make her tell me how to get Wei. Doing so would accomplish nothing, though, other than to land me in trouble with Entreat's police.

  "Finally," she said, leaning back slightly and smiling again, "some genuine emotions: Frustration and anger. You'd prefer to do this your way, but that's not an option." She waved her gloved hand toward me. The wrap rippled as she moved, but like a burqa minus the head covering it gave no clue about her shape beneath it. "So, why don't you stop throttling that innocent piece of furniture and instead relax—or leave; that's always an option for either of us."

  I inhaled slowly and deeply, exhaled even more slowly through my nose, and sat. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not used to anything like this."

  "And a bit of truth," she said. "Excellent." She took another nibble of her muffin.

  I ate a bit more of my roll and chased it with a swallow of the juice.

  We continued that way, neither of us speaking. Commerce proceeded on its relentless course all around us. Tourists pointed this way and that. Mothers and fathers stood watchful guard over cookie-fueled children dashing about the square. Noise was everywhere except at our table. Matahi finished before me, but I was only a couple of bites behind her.

  She remained quiet.

  "I thought this was my application to see you," I said. She opened her mouth to speak, I realized what I had said, and I held up my hand to stop her. She closed her mouth. "Sorry about that. I don't want to use up my second stupid credit quite yet. What I meant to say was that if this is my application to see you, don't you want to ask me questions so you can evaluate my suitability as a client?"

  "I have been evaluating you," she said, "as you have been considering me, and, yes, I will have a few questions. You're supplying so much information already, though, that I won't need to ask you much."

  I hadn't expected her to be so observant or so interested in mind games. Though she clearly
enjoyed them or found them useful, I saw no benefit to me in continuing to play them, so I followed an old but often useful rule: When no other path is clear, charge straight ahead. "Do you mind, then, if I ask you a few questions?"

  "Of course not," she said. "They'll be a rich source of information about you."

  She was right, of course, so I paused to consider my goals and my approach. To learn where she and Wei spent time and to get as much information as possible about him from her, I first had to win the chance to become her client. To do that, I had to ask questions that would appear reasonable for the person I was supposed to be.

  I needed to approach this as if I really wanted to be with her.

  Finding that desire in myself was easy enough. I've never sustained a close, personal, non-work relationship with a woman. Because I can't afford to let anyone know about my past, and because I don't age, I can't stay in one place for too many years. If I got involved with a woman, I'd have to live a lie with her, and I'd rather not do that. Being alone is so much easier and less complicated, but it doesn't mean that a big part of me wouldn't rather things be different. They simply can't be. I've also never paid for sex, though I have considered doing so and have nothing against the concept. I just don't think it would address any of my non-physical needs, and the risks of being alone with a stranger are great, so I'd have to research the woman first—and then I'd be back in the land of complexity. But I've been tempted, so I searched inside myself for those feelings before I spoke.

  "I honestly don't know how this works," I said, "so I'm confused. Other than checking for possible risk, why is this interview useful for you?"

  "What you want from me is irreplaceable," she said, "and intensely valuable to me. Why wouldn't I consider carefully whether to give it to you?"

  "Sex is irreplaceable?"

  She laughed, the sound richer and deeper than her voice. "From most people, I'd consider that the second and last of the allowable stupid questions. Judging from your tone and expression, however, I believe you're honestly confused. No, of course I'm not saying sex is irreplaceable; sex is one of the most joyfully renewable of resources. No one, though, pays my price for sex alone. In fact, no one ever really pays for only sex, but that's another conversation. What you want is my time and attention, and nothing is more precious than those two. I understand that if I agree to sell you the first, I will be committing myself to give you the second, so I must consider the issue carefully."