Something is wrong, Laney thinks; something is wrong with his eyes, because now the Suit’s luminous shirt glows with the light of a thousand suns, and all the rest is black, the black of old negatives. And still somehow he manages to give the Suit two more of the untraceable debit chips, and even to nod at the Suit’s tense little salaryman bow, executed kneeling, amid sleeping bags and candy wrappers, and then the Suit is gone, and the glare of his shirt, surely that was just some artifact of whatever process this is that Laney is here to pursue.
LANEY drinks half of one of the bottles of cough syrup, chews and swallows a third of one of the candy bars, and washes this down with a swallow of the lukewarm cola.
When he closes his eyes, even before he puts the eyephones on, he seems to plunge into the flow of data.
Immediately he is aware of Libia and Paco, directing him. They do not bother to speak or to present, but he knows them now by a certain signature, a style of navigation. He lets them take him where they will, and of course he is not disappointed.
A lozenge opens before him.
He is looking down into what he takes to be Harwood’s office, in San Francisco, at Harwood seated behind a vast dark desk littered with
223 architectural models and stacks of printout. Harwood holding a telephone handset.
“It’s an absurd launch,” Hardwood says, “but then it’s an insane service. It works because it’s redundant, understand? It’s too dumb not to work.”
Laney does not hear the reply, and takes this to mean that Libia and Paco have hacked a security camera in the ceiling of Harwood’s office. The audio is ambient sound, not a phone tap.
Now Harwood rolls his eyes.
“People are fascinated by the pointlessness of it. That’s what they like about it. Yes, it’s crazy, but it’s fun. You want to send your nephew in Houston a toy, and you’re in Paris, you buy it, take it to a Lucky Dragon, and have it re-created, from the molecules up, in a Lucky Dragon in Houston. . . What? What happens to the toy you bought in Paris? You keep it. Give it away. Eviscerate it with your teeth, you tedious, literal-minded bitch. What? No, I didn’t. No, I’m sorry Noriko, that must be an artifact of your translation program. How could you imagine I’d say that?” Harwood stares straight ahead, stunned with boredom. “Of course I want to give the interview. This is an exclusive, after all. And you were my first choice.” Harwood smiles as he calms the journalist, but the smile vanishes the instant she begins to ask her next question.
“People are frightened of nanotechnology, Noriko. We know that. Even in Tokyo, seventeen-point-eight of your markedly technofetishistic populace refuses to this day to set foot in a nanotech structure. Here on the coast, I’d point to the example of Malibu, where there’s been a very serious biotech accident, but one which is entirely unrelated to nanotech. It’s actually being cleaned up with a combination of three smart algae, but everyone’s convinced that the beaches are alive with invisible nanobots waiting to crawl up your disagreeable pussy. What? ‘Unfriendly cat’? No. There’s something wrong with your software, Noriko. And I do hope you’re only writing this down, because we negotiated the interview on a nonrecorded basis. If any of this ever turns up in any recorded form at all, you’ll not be getting another. What? 224 Good. I’m glad you do.” Harwood yawned, silently. “One last question, then.”
Harwood listens, pursing his lips.
“Because Lucky Dragon is about convenience. Lucky Dragon is about being able to purchase those things you need, really need, when you need them, twenty-four seven. But Lucky Dragon is also about fun. And people are going to have fun with these units. We’ve done enough research that we know that we don’t really know what, exactly, Lucky Dragon customers will find to do with this technology, but that’s all part of the fun.” Harwood explored the recesses of his left nostril with the nail of his little finger but seemed to find nothing of interest. “Blow me,” he said. “‘Inflate’? I don’t think so, Noriko, but I’d have that software checked, if I were you. ‘Bye.” Harwood puts the phone down, stares straight ahead. It rings. He picks it up, listens. Frowns.