There were too many factors operating in this case, too many possible avenues for exploration, and not enough money left to keep sending a decker out again and again, following up each hint of something interesting. If he were a decker himself, he could track down those leads, cutting the time involved and saving money. But then, if he were a decker himself, he would be running the Matrix right now, not walking along this street. Unable to do the work himself and unable to afford the back-and-forth play usually involved in hiring out the work, he had arranged a compromise: today he would work directly with the decker Chromium. Being present while the decker worked would let him direct the decker's skills in the appropriate direction much more quickly.
Halfway down the block he found the sign that an-
nounced the Wayward Home Residential Apartments. He turned onto the walk and moved noiselessly up it and across the porch. The screen door was closed, but the inner door was open. He glanced through, satisfying himself that the hall was empty before entering. Upstairs, he found the door marked Number Seven and knocked twice, then three times, as arranged. He tried the knob and found the door unlocked, also as arranged. He entered and secured it behind him.
Number Seven was a suite comprising a main room, a kitchenette, and at least one more room beyond a closed door. The main room was sparsely furnished, holding only a couch, a rickety dining set of table and three chairs, a freestanding bookshelf, and a single upholstered lounge chair. On the floor by the lounge chair sat a personal computer, its monitor crowned with a cybernetic helmet sitting upon a coiled datacord. The cord connected the helmet to a box jury-rigged to the back of the computer, from which another cord ran to the back wall and through a tiny hole to some unknown connection. The cord went through the wall, of course, because it would have been easier to drill than the painted metal sheathing of the inner door. No hinges snowed on that door, but a triple set of locks did. The arrangement was secure enough to let the decker escape should anyone try to force his way through.
"Good afternoon, Neko," a pleasant but androgynous voice said from the monitor. "Your sidecar's ready.''
Neko turned and found the screen still dark, but he spoke to the device anyway. "Good afternoon, Chromium."
"Hey, if we're riding together, you may as well call me Jenny. That Chromium stuff is just for the shifty suits." "Very well then, Jenny." Chromium might be a name she used with the suits, but she still didn't trust him enough to meet him face to face. She was just being prudent. He didn't mind: most deckers weren't much to look at anyway. "Is everything ready?"
"Hot-wired and revved. Lay your bottom on the seat, pop on the top, and we'll fly." "A moment, please."
He prowled around the room, placing sensors in advantageous positions. The helmet would blind him to the room, and the sounds transmitted through it might overwhelm his natural hearing. Since he did not wish to be surprised, the sensors were necessary to warn him of any intrusion. Jenny would be watching his precautions through a concealed video pickup, but that didn't matter. She would have to understand that he also had to exercise prudence. Satisfied that he would have notice of anyone entering the room, he settled into the chair and lifted the helmet.
It was light for its size, all plastic and composite material. The smooth outer shell covered a tangle of tiny wires and circuitry chips. Before trying it on Neko adjusted the inner headband, but then he had to take it off again and adjust it once more before it sat properly on his head. He felt the pinpricks of the neuro-sensor rods and saw the green LED register proper contact. Light leaked up from beneath the eyeshield, causing the innards of the helmet to glimmer.
"Ready," he announced, then was swirled away into blackness, to be blown at hurricane speed through a ring of lights and blasted into a galaxy of stars. Below him, the Matrix unfolded in all its neon glory. His viewpoint hung suspended over a nighttime city, the like of which had never been seen on the earth. Giant icons in a bewildering variety of shapes and colors marked the cyberspace locations of the megacorps, and towered over the lesser images representing the computer systems of smaller companies. Flitting pulses of
light whipped across the dark space, cars of data on benighted datapath roads. His ears roared with the rushing wind of the silence.
"Want to see what you look like?" Curious as always, Neko replied, "Can you do that?"
"Sure. I'll switch the feed to your screen over to the image monitor."
The sparkling glory of the Matrix winked out, replaced by a plain gray field. In the middle of the endless gray stood a curvaceous chrome biker girl in shiny black leathers. A chrome cat sat on her right shoulder like a modern-age familiar. "You like?"