Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [8]
A much larger sliding door, in the interior wall, guarded the airlock. A thick layer of undisturbed grit filled the airlock's groove. The Nephrine Black Medicals were not partial to visitors.
Lindsay waited patiently, rehearsing lies.
Ten minutes passed. Lindsay tried to keep his nose from running. Suddenly the videoscreen flashed into life. A woman's face appeared.
"Put your credit card in the slot," she said in Japanese. Lindsay watched her, weighing her kinesics. She was a lean, dark-eyed woman of indeterminate age, with close-cropped brown hair. Her eyes looked dilated. She wore a white medical tunic with a metal insignia in its collar: a golden staff with two entwined snakes. The snakes were black enamel with jeweled red eyes. Their open jaws showed hypodermic fangs. Lindsay smiled. "I haven't come to buy anything," he said.
"You're buying my attention, aren't you? Put in the card."
"I didn't ask you to appear on this screen," Lindsay said in English.
"You're free to sign off at any time."
The woman stared at him in annoyance. "Of course I'm free," she said in English. "I'm free to have you hauled in here and chopped to pieces. Do you know where you are? This isn't some cheap sundog operation. We're the Nephrine Black Medicals."
In the Republic, they were unknown. But Lindsay knew of them from his days in the Ring Council: criminal biochemists on the fringes of the Shaper underworld. Reclusive, tough, and vicious. He'd known that they had strongholds: black laboratories scattered through the System. And this was one of them.
He smiled coaxingly. "I would like to come in, you know. Only not in pieces."
"You must be joking," the woman said. "You're not worth the credit it would cost us to disinfect you."
Lindsay raised his brows. "I have the standard microbes."
"This is a sterile environment. The Nephrines live clean."
"So you can't come in and out freely?" said Lindsay, pretending surprise at the news. "You're trapped in there?"
"This is where we live," the woman said. "You're trapped outside."
"That's a shame," Lindsay said. "I wanted to do some recruiting here. I was trying to be fair." He shrugged. "I've enjoyed our talk, but time presses. I'll be on my way."
"Stop," the woman said. "You don't go until I say you can go." Lindsay feigned alarm. "Listen," he said. "No one doubts your reputation. But you're trapped in there. You're of no use to me." He ran his long fingers through his hair. "There's no point in this."
"What are you implying? Who are you, anyway?"
"Lindsay."
"Lin Dze? You're not of oriental stock."
Lindsay looked into the lens of the camera and locked eyes with her. The impression was hard to simulate through video, but its unexpectedness made it very effective on a subconscious level. "And what's your name?"
"Cory Prager," she blurted. "Doctor Prager."
"Cory, I represent Kabuki Intrasolar. We're a commercial theatrical venture." Lindsay lied enthusiastically. "I'm arranging a production and I'm recruiting a cast. We pay generously. But, as you say, since you can't come out, frankly, you're wasting my time. You can't even attend the performance." He sighed. "Obviously this isn't my fault. I'm not responsible." The woman laughed unpleasantly. Lindsay had grasped her kinesics, though, and her uneasiness was obvious to him. "You think we care what they do on the outside? We have a seller's market cornered here. All we care about is their credit. The rest is of no consequence."
"I'm glad to hear you say that. I wish other groups shared your attitude. I'm an artist, not a politician. I wish I could avoid the complications as easily as you do." He spread his hands. "Since we understand each other now, I'll be on my way."
"Wait. What complications?"
"It's not my doing," Lindsay hedged. "It's the other factions. I haven't even finished assembling the cast, and already they're plotting together. The play gives them a chance to negotiate."
"We can send out our monitors. We