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orange light. The stylings of her electronic image were perfect. He'd met her once before. He stood.
    "Lachesis."
    She bowed her head slightly. "You dispatched a message to the Nexus, for Lucifer."
    "I did."
    "He is dead."
    Chase started, and looked away for a second. Another of the old guard dead, another piece of the past slipped away. He felt old again.
    "How."
    The electronic quaver of her voice did not shift, but he felt a tinge of satisfaction. "It has been reconciled. The individuals responsible have been held accountable."
    "I'll want to know at some point."
    "Acknowledged. Your transmission indicated you had instructions for Lucifer. I am prepared to execute those instructions in his stead."
    He nodded and sat back down more slowly than he'd intended. "I need a full information search on a person, birth name Caroline Tara Villiers. Her father is Richard Villiers, one of the owners of Fuchi Industrial Electronics."
    Lachesis' head tilted slightly to one side. The Fuchi name was almost holy to deckers like her. The company built the cyberdeck computer hardware that was the primary tool of her work, and paradoxically, the security software the corporations used to protect themselves against deckers. Fuchi's own worldwide computer systems were considered to be nearly impregnable, a blatant challenge to any decker wanting to test, or hone, his or her skills in illicit data retrieval.
    "What are the search parameters?"
    "I need as much as you can find about her activities and whereabouts for the last twelve years. But you've also got to be as quiet as possible. Zero feedback."
    "Noise is not conducive to continued activity."
    "This one's got to be so quiet I can hear a fragging pin drop. I also have a time limit—eight hours for an initial report, with an estimate at that time for your production of a detailed one."
    "Acknowledged."
    "Also, keep any penetration of Fuchi systems to a minimum. If you've got to do it, do it as a blind behind some other run."
    "Acknowledged."
    He thought for a moment and then nodded slightly to himself. The information Lachesis turned up would give him more to go on. "That's it. What'll it cost me?"
    "There is no charge for this action. The potential challenge is sufficient."
    Chase laughed and shook his head. "Oh no, if you're in it just for the wiz, God knows what you'll do before you think you've been duly compensated. How much?"
    "Two thousand nuyen worth of random corporate bearer stock now, five thousand negotiable upon delivery."
    Chase smiled. "That's better."

4
    The next morning, with Lachesis' preliminary report fresh in his mind, Chase stood in a shadowed doorway across from the Caina Hotel, observing its occupants wander out into the morning gloom. The Caina was a flophouse catering to transients and low-income residents of the Lower Westside zone. Most looked like various kinds of wage slaves, but a few of the building's inhabitants seemed to be heading off for seamier occupations.
    According to Lachesis, a Cara Deaver was registered in room 407, and was two months in arrears for her daily rent. The hotel computer had her account flagged and noted for managerial attention. Lachesis could have easily changed the account status, but someone on the Caina's staff had already noted it. Cara Deaver was tagged for eviction.
    Chase hoped that all the girl wanted, or needed, was cash for rent and a push in the right direction, but he doubted it. Lachesis' overnight work had turned up a turbulent history for the little girl he remembered. The kind of history girls with her background weren't supposed to have.
    A matte-black '48 Ford Americar pulled up loudly in front of the Caina, and two oversized specimens of street muscle got out. Chase didn't know them personally, but he was more than familiar with their type. Slip them some cash and they were more than willing to act as insurance against, or for, a violent incident at whatever event you might have planned. The driver, wearing mock