Cyberpunk

rippled momentarily, a few heads turned, and then the party flowed on. Shikibu rushed to the edge of the upper balcony and caught me with a long shot.
    I set the box on the Steinway. “Stennie brought this.”
    She opened it eagerly. “Look, everyone!” She held up a stack of square cardboard albums, about thirty centimeters on a side. There were pictures of musicians on the front, words on the back. “What are they?” she asked me.
    “Phonograph records,” said the kid next to Happy. “It’s how they used to play music before digital.”
    “Erroll Garner, Soliloquy ,” she read aloud. “What’s this? D-j-a-n-g-o Reinhardt and the American Jazz Giants. Sounds scary.” She giggled as she pawed quickly through the other albums. Handy, Ellington, Hawkins, Parker, three Armstrongs. One was Piano Rags by Scott Joplin. Stennie’s bent idea of a joke? Maybe the lizard was smarter than he looked. Happy pulled a black plastic record out of one sleeve and scratched a fingernail across little ridges. “Oh, a nonslip surface.”
    The party had a limited attention span. When she realized she had lost her audience, she shut off the mike and put the box with the rest of the swag. “We have to start at four, no matter what. There’s so much stuff.” The kid who knew about records wormed into our conversation; Happy put her hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Boy, do you know my friend Weldon?” she said. “He’s new.”
    Montross grinned. “We met on Playroom.”
    “Where is Stennie, anyway?” said Happy.
    “Swimming,” I said. Montross appeared to be in his late teens. Bigger than me—everyone was bigger than me. He wore green shorts and a window shirt of surfers at Waimea. He looked like everybody; there was nothing about him to remember. I considered bashing the smirk off his face, but it was a bad idea. If he was software, he could not feel anything and I would probably break my hand on his temporary chassis. “Got to go. I promised Stennie I’d meet him back at the pool. Hey, Weldon, want to tag along?”
    “You come right back,” said Happy. “We’re starting at four. Tell everyone.”
    We avoided the tube and cut across the lawn for privacy. Comrade handed Montross the envelope. He slid the photograph out, and I had one last glimpse. This time the dead man left me cold. In fact, I was embarrassed. Although he kept a straight face, I knew what Montross was thinking about me. Maybe he was right. I wished he would put the picture away. He was not one of us; he could not understand. I wondered if Tree had come far enough yet to appreciate corpse porn.
    “It’s the only copy,” Comrade said.
    “All right.” Finally Montross crammed it into the pocket of his shorts.
    “You tapped our files; you know it’s true.”
    “So?”
    “So enough!” I said. “You have what you wanted.”
    “I’ve already explained.” Montross was being patient. “Getting this back doesn’t close the case. I have to take preventive measures.”
    “Meaning you turn Comrade into a carrot.”
    “Meaning I repair him. You’re the one who took him to the chop shop. Deregulated wiseguys are dangerous. Maybe not to you, but certainly to property and probably to other people. It’s a straightforward procedure. He’ll be fully functional afterward.”
    “Plug your procedure, jack. We’re leaving.”
    Both wiseguys stopped. “I thought you agreed,” said Montross.
    “Let’s go, Comrade.” I grabbed his arm, but he shook me off.
    “Where?” he said.
    “Anywhere! Just so I never have to listen to this again.” I pulled again, angry at Comrade for stalling. Your wiseguy is supposed to anticipate your needs, do whatever you want.
    “But we haven’t even tried to—”
    “Forget it then. I give up.” I pushed him toward Montross. “You want to chat, fine, go right ahead. Let him rip the top of your head off while you’re at it, but I’m not sticking around to watch.”
    I checked the pool, but Tree, Stennie, and Janet had already gone. I went through the Glass House and caught up with them in the tube to the sculpture gallery.
    “Can I talk to you?” I put my arm around Tree’s waist, just like I had seen grown-ups do. “In private.” I could tell she was annoyed to be separated from Janet. “We’ll catch up.” I waved Stennie on. “See you over there.”
    She waited until they were gone. “What?” Her hair, slick from swimming, left dark spots where it brushed her silver jaunts.
    “I want to