There was a trick to it - the combination of the correct intonation, vocabulary, and the information presented in a logical manner.
Renata's eyes widened. "Speak of the devil."
Venturo had turned the corner. Claire braced herself and turned to look, slowly.
The amicable man she saw yesterday was gone. He wore a black shirt that clung to him like paint, focusing attention on every contoured muscle. A fine mesh of hair-thin fibers snaked its way through the fabric, widening into oblong scales on his chest and the larger muscles of his shoulders. He looked as if he wore armor, if armor could be flexible and form-fitting. His eyes were dark, and his mind churned - something occupied his attention. He moved with purpose, striding straight down the hallway with a kind of fierce masculine determination. People moved out of his way.
"What is he wearing?" Claire murmured.
"A bionet suit. When psychers log into the net, their bodies don't move at all. A human body isn't designed to be completely immobile unless it floats," Renata said. "The suits start pulsing after a while, exercising the muscles and making sure lymph keeps moving."
A bionet suit. Claire recalled waking up cramped up after hours in the bionet and wincing as the medic massaged her limbs back into life.
"Someone's smitten," Renata said.
Claire glanced at her. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes. Very." Renata paused. "Claire, you do know what psychers do, don't you?"
She needed to give a general answer. "Provide security?"
"If they catch hackers on the bionet, they kill them." Renata leaned closer. "Venturo's death count is in the dozens. You can't keep doing that sort of work and not be affected."
You don't say.
"He looks delicious and golden, but his head is a dark place. He was attacked in front of our building once - four people - and he drove each of them to impale themselves on an iron fence, one by one. You don't need to tangle with that kind of mind. Trust me on this."
"I understand," Claire said.
"There is a reason why psychers in Guardian, Inc. aren't permitted to read our minds. Sometimes a two-way connection happens and you see things in their heads. Dark things. He's a kinsman - all they care about is power and influence. Not to mention that nothing serious could ever come from it. Psychers love other psychers. Something about joining of the minds, and all that."
Venturo saw them. His steps sped up a fraction.
Renata fell silent.
Claire looked down at her tablet.
Venturo stopped by them. "Renata, where is the new hire? The refugee?"
Claire glanced up. Renata cleared her throat and pointed at Claire with her stylus. Venturo turned. His eyes narrowed.
For a brief, tiny second the two of them were alone in the universe, and then he nodded. "Love the hair. I need the summary of the Sangori file."
He turned and stalked into his office.
Renata jerked her head in the direction of his retreating back and mouthed, "Go."
Claire smiled inwardly and followed.
Venturo landed in his chair, his face dark, and leaned back, hands on the arm rest. The door slid shut, sealing them off from the rest of the offices. Claire sat.
"Sangori File," Claire began, enunciating clearly to let him tag it in his head. "Principals: Savien Sangori, head of the family, sixty-two years old, grey hair, stocky build, tendency to lick his lips when he is nervous."
"Was this in the file?" he asked.
"This was in the news footage which I watched this morning. It was recorded when he was interviewed last year in connection with insider trading."
He nodded. "Continue."
"Maureen Sangori, wife of Savien, fifty-seven years old, dark hair, lean, combat implant of at least B level. Prefers knives. Quick to anger. Likes the color white: white dress, white flowers, white aerial..."
It took her about an hour to recite the Sangori file. Sangori Finances, the investment concern with a net worth of one point two billion credits, had grown too large for the common computing solutions. The firm was preparing to switch to the bionet by launching a new incarnation of the management system that allowed their clients instant access to their portfolio. They were in desperate need of a bionet safety solution and Guardian, Inc. was happy to provide them with one.
Venturo listened with his eyes closed without interruptions. There was always a chance that she had miscalculated, but most psychers perceived and processed the information similarly. She had presented it the way her own mind analyzed it, except she preferred her cues to be visual.
"End file," she said.
Venturo opened