“Yeah, it’s fine,” Enda waved away Crystal’s concern. “Hardly knew the man outside these transactions, but—” Enda reached for the words, heard them spoken in Marc’s laconic accent: “He was good value.”
Crystal bent down behind the desk and emerged holding a bottle of thirty-year-old Nikka whiskey, and two short tumblers. “This was Marc’s. Been waiting for an excuse to open it.” She poured a finger of amber liquid into each glass, passed one to Enda, and held hers aloft. “To departed friends.” After a moment she smiled. “And new ones.”
“To Marc,” Enda replied.
They clinked glasses and drank. Enda waited for the burn, but the drink rolled smoothly down her throat.
The office was neater than it had ever been under Marc’s watch, but still cramped, with the same scratched and scuffed desk dominating the room. The screen that made up the right-hand wall displayed staff rosters now instead of a constant stream of reality television, the letters and digits blurry, blown out too large. The air over the desk was clear, free of the constant drift of Marc’s favorite caramel-and-coffee vape. The smell of it still lingered, though, joined by the gently spiced fragrance of Crystal’s perfume.
Photo printouts were stuck to the wall on the left—artificially white sand beaches, blue water stretching to the horizon, and Crystal smiling, her hand and phone visible in the reflection of her sunglasses. No partner to share her holidays.
“Kids out there still farming VOIDWAR resources?” Enda asked.
Crystal nodded. “It’s steady income. At the moment, though, most of the money coming in is from Human Puppets, but that’ll drop right off after the NAS vote is over.”
“Human Puppets?”
Crystal pursed her lips and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Baiting people on social media into political discussions so we can get a handle on what side of an issue they’re on. Once we know which way they might vote, we link their social media account to their identity based on advertising shadow profiles, and sell their contact information to the relevant political party.”
Enda scoffed, impressed. “Pick fights online all day and get paid for it.”
“Dirty work,” Crystal said, “but somebody’s got to do it. I’m guessing you didn’t come here to talk shop, though.”
“You guessed right. I’m looking for a DIE. I think he’s young, and I think he’s a he.”
“I assume this isn’t a simple sexist presumption?”
Enda nodded. “They left a lot of porn on the infiltrated system—heteronormative and interracial.”
“A classic mix,” Crystal said with a smile. She pushed her glass away from her keyboard and opened up the same database search software Enda had seen Marc use in the past. “You’re not headhunting, then?”
“Yes, but not in the way you mean. Looking for some thieves, mean to retrieve the property they stole.” Enda paused for a moment, then added: “It was Zero they burned, so could be someone reckless, desperate, or just dense.”
Crystal leaned back in her chair and touched her lips with her hand. “That’s a tough one. Any other corporation and you’d have a list a mile long, but burning Zero? That’s shitting in your own cereal.”
“Could be a teenager,” Enda said, picturing the youths tossing Molotov cocktails.
Crystal frowned and nodded. “Wired for reckless behavior, and probably not thinking too hard about future career prospects.” Crystal talked to herself as she entered data with rapid strikes across the keyboard: “Young, male, not currently incarcerated. Local?”
“Yes, living in Songdo, maybe Incheon.”
Crystal hummed, tiny white rectangle of the screen reflected in her eyes. More fast clacks of fingers on the keyboard.
“Anyone on your payroll a likely suspect?” Enda asked.
Crystal stopped typing. “This hacker any good?”
“Not subtle, but I’d say they’re skilled.”
“Probably not, then. We don’t pay well enough to keep anyone with actual talent. Sooner or later, most of them end up at Zero.”
Crystal rolled her wrist with a flourish, and hit the Enter key.
“I’ve got four names—handles, obviously—that could match. Two thousand euro.”
Enda retrieved her phone and passed it to Crystal. “Zero expense account. Just charge it.”
“How do you like working for Zero?”
“I don’t,” Enda said.
Crystal placed the phone against a pay scanner beside her keyboard, processed the payment, and handed it back to Enda. “Do you want to give me your number?” Crystal asked.
Enda smiled. “That’s a little forward.”
Crystal blushed. “For the data.”
“Of course,” Enda said, and she recited her digits.
Crystal tapped them into the computer. “The DIE that work freelance for the corporations usually wind up on contract or mysteriously disappeared, but these four are proper