Hoi Yin could give an ice maiden a bad case of frostbite.
‘Really? That’s auspicious. I would like to study under him as well. I wondered if you could ask him for me.’
‘You wish to change your profession?’
‘No. My neuron symbionts should be working by tomorrow. Dr Arburry said I’d need tutoring on their use. I would like Wing-Tsit Chong to be my tutor.’
She blinked, which for her seemed to be the equivalent of open-mouthed astonishment. ‘Wing-Tsit Chong has many very important tasks. These are difficult times, both for him and Eden. Forgive me, but I do not believe he should spend his time on something quite so trivial.’
‘None the less, I’d like you to ask him. At most it will take a second of his valuable time to say no. You might tell him that I wish to perform my job to the best of my ability; and to do that I must have the most complete understanding of affinity it is possible for a novice to have. For that, I would prefer to be instructed by its inventor.’ I smiled at her. ‘And if he says no, I won’t take offence. Perhaps then you’d consider the job? You certainly seem to have a firm grasp of the principles.’
Her cheeks coloured slightly. ‘I will convey your request.’
*
Shannon called me just after Hoi Yin walked out.
‘I think you’re psychic, boss,’ she said. The image on the desktop terminal screen showed me her usual grin was even broader than normal.
‘Tell me.’
‘I’ve just finished running down the wills of all those Boston members you gave me. And, surprise surprise, they all follow exactly the same format as Maowkavitz’s: a trust fund to be administered in whatever way the trustees see fit. And they all nominate each other as trustees. It reads like financial incest.’
‘If they were all to die, what would the total sum come to?’
‘Christ, boss; half of them are just ordinary folks, worth a few grand; but there’s a lot of them like Penny: multimillionaires. It’s hard to say. You know the way rich people tangle up their money in bonds and property deals.’
‘Try,’ I urged drily. ‘I expect you already have.’
‘OK, well you got me there, boss; I did some informal checking with Forbes Media Corp for the biggies. I’d guess around five billion wattdollars. Purely unofficial.’
‘Interesting. So if their wills aren’t changed, the last one left alive will inherit the lot.’
‘Holy shit, you think someone’s going to work down the list?’
‘No, I doubt it. Too obvious. But I still want to know what Boston intends to do with all that money.’
*
It was Nyberg who drove me to my interview with Antony Harwood. From the way she acted I thought she might be angling for some kind of executive-assistant role. She told me how she’d sorted out my interviews with the three trustees nominated in Maowkavitz’s will. I also got a résumé on her career to date, and how she was studying for her detective exams. But she was a conscientious officer, if a little too regimented, and obviously trying to advance herself. No crime.
I did wonder idly if she was a covert agent for JSKP security, assigned to keep tabs on me. It seemed as though she was always there when I turned round. Paranoid. But then it was a growing feeling, this awareness of constant observation. The more I had Eden explained to me, the more conscious I was of how little privacy I had from it. Did it watch me sleeping? On the toilet? Eating? Did it laugh at my spreading gut when I took my uniform off at night? Did it have a sense of humour, even? Or did it, with its cubic-kilometre brain, regard us all as little more than insignificant gnats flittering round? Were our petty intrigues of the slightest interest? Or were we merely tiresome?
I think I had the right to be paranoid.
Antony Harwood’s company, Quantumsoft, had a modest office building in what aspired to be the administration and business section of town. A white and bronze H-shaped structure surrounded by
‘Really? That’s auspicious. I would like to study under him as well. I wondered if you could ask him for me.’
‘You wish to change your profession?’
‘No. My neuron symbionts should be working by tomorrow. Dr Arburry said I’d need tutoring on their use. I would like Wing-Tsit Chong to be my tutor.’
She blinked, which for her seemed to be the equivalent of open-mouthed astonishment. ‘Wing-Tsit Chong has many very important tasks. These are difficult times, both for him and Eden. Forgive me, but I do not believe he should spend his time on something quite so trivial.’
‘None the less, I’d like you to ask him. At most it will take a second of his valuable time to say no. You might tell him that I wish to perform my job to the best of my ability; and to do that I must have the most complete understanding of affinity it is possible for a novice to have. For that, I would prefer to be instructed by its inventor.’ I smiled at her. ‘And if he says no, I won’t take offence. Perhaps then you’d consider the job? You certainly seem to have a firm grasp of the principles.’
Her cheeks coloured slightly. ‘I will convey your request.’
*
Shannon called me just after Hoi Yin walked out.
‘I think you’re psychic, boss,’ she said. The image on the desktop terminal screen showed me her usual grin was even broader than normal.
‘Tell me.’
‘I’ve just finished running down the wills of all those Boston members you gave me. And, surprise surprise, they all follow exactly the same format as Maowkavitz’s: a trust fund to be administered in whatever way the trustees see fit. And they all nominate each other as trustees. It reads like financial incest.’
‘If they were all to die, what would the total sum come to?’
‘Christ, boss; half of them are just ordinary folks, worth a few grand; but there’s a lot of them like Penny: multimillionaires. It’s hard to say. You know the way rich people tangle up their money in bonds and property deals.’
‘Try,’ I urged drily. ‘I expect you already have.’
‘OK, well you got me there, boss; I did some informal checking with Forbes Media Corp for the biggies. I’d guess around five billion wattdollars. Purely unofficial.’
‘Interesting. So if their wills aren’t changed, the last one left alive will inherit the lot.’
‘Holy shit, you think someone’s going to work down the list?’
‘No, I doubt it. Too obvious. But I still want to know what Boston intends to do with all that money.’
*
It was Nyberg who drove me to my interview with Antony Harwood. From the way she acted I thought she might be angling for some kind of executive-assistant role. She told me how she’d sorted out my interviews with the three trustees nominated in Maowkavitz’s will. I also got a résumé on her career to date, and how she was studying for her detective exams. But she was a conscientious officer, if a little too regimented, and obviously trying to advance herself. No crime.
I did wonder idly if she was a covert agent for JSKP security, assigned to keep tabs on me. It seemed as though she was always there when I turned round. Paranoid. But then it was a growing feeling, this awareness of constant observation. The more I had Eden explained to me, the more conscious I was of how little privacy I had from it. Did it watch me sleeping? On the toilet? Eating? Did it laugh at my spreading gut when I took my uniform off at night? Did it have a sense of humour, even? Or did it, with its cubic-kilometre brain, regard us all as little more than insignificant gnats flittering round? Were our petty intrigues of the slightest interest? Or were we merely tiresome?
I think I had the right to be paranoid.
Antony Harwood’s company, Quantumsoft, had a modest office building in what aspired to be the administration and business section of town. A white and bronze H-shaped structure surrounded by
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