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holiday, mixed with a few of the richer locals, and she was glad when she reached
the entrance to Eastman House. Cerise had left word at the desk; the attendant,
another young woman, sallow and thin, not flattered by the deep red uniform jacket,
motioned for Trouble to take the elevator. Trouble nodded her thanks, and went
through into the lobby. The elevator came quickly enough Eastman House didn t
seem to be particularly busy at the moment and she found herself hurrying down
the hallway toward Cerise s room. She made a face, but did not slow her step until
she was right outside the door. She knocked, and was obscurely pleased when
Cerise answered instantly.
So what s up? she asked, and stepped back out of the doorway.
Trouble followed her in, impressed again by the expensive furniture and the view
of the slough and the trees through the enormous window. The sunlight spilled
across the carpet, and the tide waters gleamed like steel in the channels of the marsh;
the trees were red and gold and green against the sky. Cerise closed the door, and
Trouble turned again to look at her, as slim and expensive as the furniture and the
view, vivid against the decorous cream walls. She bit down the sudden flood of
desire, said, I ve got a line on newTrouble.
Have you now? Cerise said, soft-voiced, and grinned suddenly. I didn t find
Silk. I left a watchdog, though, that may help.
Mine s in the real world, Trouble said. Mollie says he lives in one of the
Headlands apartments.
The fancy towers? Cerise asked. How the hell does he afford that?
That s what I ve been wondering, and so have Mollie and Nova, Trouble
answered. Mollie says she doesn t think he s hustling.
And he s not selling what he takes off the nets, Cerise said, her eyebrows
drawing down into a faint, unconscious frown. I d trust Blake to know a hustler
when she sees one.
Exactly.
Cerise nodded, looked back at Trouble. So what did you want, sweetheart?
Trouble grinned. I already tried The Willows IC(E) they own the Headlands,
did you know that? I didn t.
I might ve guessed, Cerise muttered. How s your head?
It s not my head that hurts, it s my elbow, Trouble said, with perfect truth. I
didn t get very far I didn t think it would be smart to push it.
Cerise nodded again. So how do you want to play it?
Trouble felt a brief thrill of pleasure. It was flattering for Cerise to assume that if
Trouble couldn t break that IC(E), neither could she; more than that, it was like the
old days, the casual trust, making it easier to ask. I think we re going to have to go
through the city database, and that was always your specialty. You want to help me
program the sieve?
God, Cerise said, that takes me back. I don t think I own one anymore,
certainly not in this memory. She gestured vaguely toward her system, snugged up
against the main media console.
Working in the light s got you spoiled, Trouble said. As it happens& She let
her voice trail off, and slipped the heavy bag from her shoulder.
Help yourself, Cerise said, and went to the console, typed in codes to open the
system. After a moment s search, Trouble found the disk she wanted, and fed it into
the drive Cerise indicated. A light flickered on, and Cerise typed the run codes
before Trouble could recite them.
Your memory s good, she said, startled, and Cerise looked up at her, eyes
hooded.
You better believe it, darling.
That sounded promising, looked promising. Trouble shivered in spite of herself,
said quickly, The code s already in there, I downloaded it an hour or so ago. It was
eighteen hours old then, so it should still be all right.
Cerise nodded. They usually change every twenty-four hours up here, she said
absently, her fingers already busy on the keys, calling up the main program and the
search routine. So. What do we know about this newTrouble?
He s young, Trouble answered promptly.
How young?
Trouble shrugged one shoulder, thinking. Under twenty-five, would be my
guess, probably younger. Mollie said he looked sixteen, seventeen.
Can I bring it down to twenty, do you think? Cerise asked, her hands poised
over the keyboard. Trouble came to stand behind her, staring at the search screen.
Make it twenty-one, she said, after a moment. I ve just got a feeling he isn t
legal yet.
Cerise nodded, entered the number in the correct box. I wonder if he lives
alone?
Alone or with one other person, Trouble said.
Yeah, that would be my thought, too, Cerise said. Should I be looking for a
keeper, maybe put an age restriction on the household?
Trouble hesitated, tempted despite what Blake had said, she had to think that
someone was paying newTrouble s bills but shook her head. I have to trust
Mollie, she said. And she says he s not a hustler.
That doesn t mean he s not being kept, Cerise argued, but moved on to the
next field. Profession or professions?
God, I don t know.
Well, what would you tell the IRS?
As little as possible, Trouble said. I don t know, consultant, maybe?
Technical trades/miscellaneous?
You know, I m inclined to leave it blank for now, Cerise said. I ll use that to
sort the results later.
You re the wizard at this, Trouble said, with perfect truth, and Cerise smiled up
at her.
I know.
And modest, too, Trouble said, not quite under her breath. Cerise laughed, and
turned her attention back to the screen. She worked quickly now, pausing only to
ask a quick question now and then. Trouble did her best to answer, but knew that
her responses were less than adequate. When at last Cerise was finished, she leaned
back in her chair, shaking her head.
I m going to get at least thirty names out of this, even restricting it by location,
maybe as many as fifty. How re we going to sort it out?
I don t know, Trouble admitted. I liked your idea of sorting by profession
Assuming that newTrouble lists himself as something technie, Cerise said.
What do you call yourself, sweetie?
A syscop, Trouble answered.
Before, I meant.
I know. Trouble looked away from the screen. In the old days, she had
described herself on the government forms as a clerk-typist, freelance; Cerise had
called herself a grade-three secretary, Trouble remembered, and not for the first time
wondered if the other woman had actually trained as office staff. She said, There
must be a way we could check it out or we could just hand it over to Mabry as is,
I suppose.
You don t sound any more eager than I am, Cerise said.
Well, I wouldn t feel like I was living up to my part of the bargain, Trouble
said. And I really don t want him to think that way.
Yes, Cerise said. She frowned at the screen, touched more keys to dump her
responses into the main search matrix. Let me start this running, then we can talk.
Trouble nodded, stayed leaning over the other woman s shoulder to watch as
Cerise keyed in the first series of access codes. The regional database prompts
appeared after a moment, and she keyed in the next codes. Even working off the
wire, completely outside the nets virtual space, her work was precise and efficient,
and Trouble caught herself watching again in fascination. Cerise found the main
search program almost at once, and touched more keys to insinuate her own
program, replacing the preset parameters with her own datasieve. There was a
momentary hesitation, and then the system accepted her override. The screen went
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