Cyberpunk

doors was an enormous presence. EnforD. I knew him, in fact. Simon Yullg. A knuckle-dragger with a long reach.
    “I’ve asked Chief Yullg to take some notes,” Prescott said, sensing my unasked question.
    “Of course,” I said, though we both knew Yullg wasn’t much for documentation. There’s a story that someone in FinD submitted a form to EnforD that didn’t have autofill, and Yullg tracked the poor bastard down and broke a digit for every field that didn’t validate. When Yullg ran out of fingers and toes, he went to the next three square and continued to mete out EnforD’s displeasure. It was, unfortunately, a rather long form.
    Doing my best to ignore the hulk of muscle in the corner, I walked over and put the ICEpak on Prescott’s desk. He slid out the single floppy inside and fanned it. To his credit, not a single muscle on his perfectly smooth face twitched while he scanned it.
    When he replaced the report in the envelope and held it out, Grimester, who had been hovering behind me, shot past my elbow and snatched the envelope. I didn’t have a chance to do anything but clench my sphincter a little tighter. Grimester pranced to the sidebar along the southern wall and put the ICEpak into the iToaster. The executive models had a setting for incinerate, which made the envelope flare for a fraction as it vaporized.
    “That’s probably not the only copy,” I pointed out.
    “True,” Prescott agreed. “But it is one less.”
    I tried to follow the reasoning there, but couldn’t. “That’s also not the first package I’ve received,” I added.
    “Through our own network, no less.”
    “Yes, sir. I figure that’s just to make us angry.”
    “Did it work?”
    “How so?”
    “Are you angry?”
    I looked at Yullg, who popped a joint in his jaw.
    “A little,” I admitted. “But it’s the sort of outrage that increases productivity.”
    “That’s good, Max.” He watched the iToaster as it auto-cleaned its bay of the gritty remnants. “What was in the first package?”
    “A term paper, from LVSIB.”
    His mouth tightened. “The actual paper, or just the citation?”
    “The actual paper.”
    “That is interesting.” he said.
    “How so?”
    “I never wrote it.”
    I was confused, and said as much.
    “I intended to. Or rather, I intended to put my name on it. But I never had the opportunity.”
    “This one certainly had your name on it.”
    “Hence why I thought it was interesting.”
    “Ah,” I said. Theory-brain told me to keep it simple. Let him talk.
    “Do you know who is doing this to me, Max?”
    “I’m working on it, sir. I have a—” Theory-brain made me bite my tongue. “I have some data that might be useful.”
    “Might?”
    “It’s still very theoretical.”
    He shrugged as if that detail wasn’t important. “Yullg doesn’t believe in theory. Perhaps you should give him this data.”
    I swallowed, and took a moment to gather my courage. This was, of course, the response theory-brain had tagged as highly probable, and in order to not get trapped with that suggestion, I had to proceed carefully. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sir.” When he didn’t say anything, I plunged on. “The packages are coming to me. Not you. At this point, this person believes I am integral to his design. If you re-chain this to EnforD, it’ll raise the profile of the issue. It’ll be harder to control.”
    He considered that for a fraction, his fingers idly drumming on his desk, and then he nodded. “Control is the issue, isn’t it, Max? If we do nothing, then the blackmailer doesn’t know if his messages are being received. He’ll wonder if he has control, and so he’ll keep sending packages.”
    “Allowing me time to identify and locate him.”
    “That is a dangerous proposition, Max. It offers . . . many variables.”
    I glanced back at Yullg. “He offers one. You sure you want to be that inflexible ?”
    Prescott Four let his eyes flick toward his chief knuckle-dragger. “That is an interesting point, Max.” His fingers drummed once more on the desk and then stopped. “You have until the end of the rotation,” he said. “At which time, I will COCT your ICID to Yullg.” He flashed me a smile that was all teeth and no humor. “I’ll indulge your Theoretics for a cycle or two.”
    “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I will do my utmost to have this resolved ASAP.”
    “I hope so, Max,” Prescott said.
    Yullg popped his jaw again.
    Trip BinBin was