You are cordially invited

I slowly squeezed the trigger as I lined up the reticle on my target. In the distance, a man firing wildly from an assault rifle dropped, blood staining the sand. The report of my weapon was mostly silent, the most noise coming from the weapon cycling, kind of like a stapler being used vigorously. The sound of weapons fire everywhere else was dying down too, and I saw no more targets. So, I sat the suppressed Vintorez rifle I had been favouring since I left Los Angeles against the side of the truck.

The Vintorez was what I would call a specialist marksman carbine, as it used a number of specialised intermediate and large calibre cartridges and every version featured an integrated suppressor. Its range wasn't that great, but I wasn't a true long-distance shooter in the first place. I quite liked it, though, and it had been in continuous low-level production since the last century. The one I was carrying featured a heavy twelve-millimetre calibre, and as such, it was intrinsically subsonic just from the giant bullet it shot, just being slightly larger than the old .45 ACP cartridge. This helped it to be quite silent when fired, even if it wasn't so great for defeating armour. Glancing around once more, I hummed and dug around for my medical kit in the vehicle before jogging over to see if there were any casualties on our side.

President Kress' speech had been something of an ultimatum to the Free States to make some accommodation with the federal government or else. It was a little milder than I thought it was going to be, given what I expected, but it had still thrown everything into disarray with both sides mobilising military forces. That speech and the mobilisation of federal forces in Southern California had made the Bakkers family industry of smuggling much more dangerous, and as such, that had made my position riskier, too. We were currently at the border between Oregon and Northern California right now, heading south, but we had been encountering a lot more danger on the road than I recalled.

Not even Texas was being left out of the fun, with Federal forces massing in Oklahoma, as well. However, the President of the so-called Republic of Texas was a bit of a firebrand and had already begun a partial mobilisation, claiming that they would invade Louisanna if provoked and reminding President Kress that Texas was a nuclear power, too. That, I didn't know, but it made sense. There were probably nuclear explosives all around the continental United States.

As for our woes, everyone believed that the NUSA and Militech surging a Corps worth of mechanised infantry into Southern California had displaced a bunch of Raffen Shiv and other undesirable elements north, and we did seem to be encountering them on our leg back to Night City. The Free States hadn't been caught napping, though; they had appeared to know what was coming and had been undertaking a partial mobilisation of their own, with people whispering about military advisors in the area with thick Russian and Japanese accents.

This had been a small group of murderous psychopaths, and hopefully, there had been no fatalities on the Bakkers' side. I already saw that there were a few wounded, though.

---xxxxxx---

At exactly the same time, I glanced around the large conference room I was sitting in back in LA. I was a little perplexed at how I had received an invitation to this meeting. It was a meeting of the Corporate Chamber of Commerce of Los Angeles. It was a meeting to discuss any communal action that the business interest was going to take in response to the President placing the entire city under Martial Law.

The only two Corporations that hadn't been invited were Militech and Petrochem, who were both working very closely with the NUSA government now. I kind of felt bad about Petrochem, as they had lost more market capitalisation in the wake of the algae release than even Biotechnica. They not only owned many, many farms, but they also owned the refining and distillation facilities to convert wheat into biofuels as well as most of the filling stations in the country. Well, actually, I didn't feel bad for them at all. I just hadn't intended to harm them, but they were still a giant corporation, so I felt that they'd likely land on their feet.

It was the latter filling stations, though, that saved them from serious fallout, as the demand for CHOOH2 hadn't decreased at all and seemed to be increasing, with prices higher than ever. They were taking a short-term hit, and maybe even a medium-term one, as the large refining facilities might not be useful anymore, but they still controlled consumer access to most fuels, so I thought that they would be fine.

Although I was invited, it was clear that I wasn't valued very much as my assigned seat was way in the corner. That was fine with me. I was segregated with the foreign corporations, and even amongst them, I was seated next to Corporations that only had a token presence in the city or ones that were, like my company, very small.

The fact that I was invited at all fell to two factors. First, the law in the NUSA was peculiar. Namely, foreigners were not permitted to own domestic companies, with very few exceptions. I could, for example, own my private practice, but I could not own the company that produced my sleep inducers. However, foreign companies could own domestic companies, so the ownership structure of everything I had was rather Byzantine, and everything in the NUSA ended up being owned by a Japanese joint-stock company, or kabushiki-kaisha, of which I was not only the only shareholder but also the chairman of the board and chief executive, as well.

This, combined with the fact that I had an end-user license for military hardware and owned a fair bit, led my enterprise to be designated by the Chamber of Commerce as a Corporation. I supposed it fit, but only in the same way that a fat, lazy tabby and a lion were both cats.

All of my American companies were named after Dr Hasumi's first name, Sakura, but that would have been a bit egotistical in Japan, so I decided to name the enterprise Baika Holdings. Baika was the Japanese word for plum blossoms, which very easily could be easily mistaken for cherry blossoms, so I thought it was clever and subdued.

It was flattering that Baika Holdings was considered a Corporation, although I would have personally preferred being overlooked here. It wasn't like anything I would say would be listened to. I wouldn't even be allowed to say anything, not with multinational giants in the room, so it was better to be completely forgotten, I thought. Still, I thought I had to give the Chamber of Commerce face by showing up. Otherwise, they might be offended.

I carefully took my seat in the corner, a small paper tent marking my place as "Dr S. Hasumi, PhD, MD, CEO Baika Holdings." I glanced at the seat next to me. I was seated next to the General Manager of the Jinguji Los Angeles branch store. That was about right. My "Corporation" was on about the same level as a local branch of a designer clothing store.

There was a quiet hum of conversations going on, as the presentation hadn't started yet, and the Jinguji manager raised an eyebrow at me and said politely, "Hello, Hasumi-sensei, was it? I can't say that I've heard of Baika Holdings at all. Don't see many CEOs at this meeting. It's all usually Regional Directors or lower like myself."

The manager was an American, but he was speaking Japanese to me, so I decided to reciprocate. I grinned at him and didn't prevaricate, "It's basically my personal company. In addition to owning my private cybersurgical practice, we also manufacture boutique amounts of consumer electronics." I frowned for a moment and then decided to be honest, but at the same time, I downplayed the products I was selling, "This year is on track to break our record... we may see fifty million in revenues, total." Whatever we sold this year would break the record since this was the first year in operation.

That was both a lot and, at the same time, absolutely nothing. The total was correct, too, although my EBITDA would only be around thirty-five million if that were the case, and I'd still have to pay taxes on that. I just mentioned total revenues because normally an EBITDA of thirty-five million would imply revenues three times what I claimed, as my product had an excellent margin.

Corporate taxes in the NUSA were not that large, but they would still take a large chunk out of the profit, even if I minimised them by reinvesting most of the profits back into the enterprise. I still had two more quarters in this fiscal year, too, so it was a bit early to be counting my eggs in any event.

The Jinguji manager nodded politely at me, and at once, both pigeonholing me as a non-entity while at the same time seeming very impressed and a little nervous. A small company with fifty million Eurodollars in revenue was nothing, but someone owning that company was someone on a higher caste than mere Corporate managers like himself. I'm sure he was trying to determine by the side eye he was giving me if I was someone important's daughter, given a personal play company to manage while I had fun in North America.

Then he blinked, "Oh... do you own that clinic in Chinatown? I had heard a few nice things about it, which would make it the only reputable place in that part of town."

I grinned and nodded, "Yes, that's me. Mostly it's my own practice there, but I do hire part-time surgeons as well when I am busy." One was working there right now. I had too much of a steady business to only open the shop when I wanted to work. It had to be open, for the most part, every day now!

The surgeons I hired were really only contractors, using my operating theatre, stock of cybernetics and existing customer base, which was very similar to most surgeons' relationships with hospitals. They got paid per surgery performed.

We all quieted once the meeting came to order. It was conducted using some bizarre version of Robert's Rules that I frankly did not know nor particularly wanted to research. I wasn't going to participate in any event, so I just sat there politely. For the most part, the big names were cautiously optimistic about the way things were happening, although the rules of Martial Law were a bit constricting. For example, I could not have my armed forces patrol the streets around my property like I usually did, only to defend against active assaults on my buildings.

I didn't particularly like that, as waiting until the enemy attacked first and being forced to soak the first hit wasn't a winning tactic, but it was what it was. If I had known about this restriction, I would have bought another thirty robots from Arasaka even if it had cost me another one point two million eddies.

Security was, in some ways, a sunk cost, unrecoverable, but that wasn't really the case when most of your security force was robotic. Theoretically, there was capital depreciation on security robots over the years as they wore out, but I had known properly-maintained security bots that were still in service forty years after they were manufactured. Planned obsolescence was a somewhat standard practice in consumer electronics, but not so much for military gear. Everyone still produced that stuff to last, at least for the most part.

If I ever needed to sell them for a quick eddie, while I couldn't get their full cost, I could still get the majority of it back. At the same time, each robot was expensive. Gram for gram, they cost four times as much as the Militech drones, but they were a lot more flexible in how they could be used.

That said, I still needed to pay the salaries of a few human security specialists, though. But these people acted in more of a loss prevention role, preventing my own employees from stealing from me rather than defending the workplace from external threats.

Most of what the people were saying at this meeting was boring, but some of it pertained to me. Due to the city being under Martial Law, shipments into the city would be curtailed. They would be reduced not so much in scope but in frequency, which meant that larger convoy shipments would be the norm. This meant that storage was going to be a problem, and it was requested any members that had unused warehouse space contribute, for appropriate remuneration, of course.

I mentally signalled my ability to contribute. I was actually using my own warehouse now with both the large shipment of components and finished product awaiting fulfilment, but barely a tenth of it. My place would be considered "medium security" now, so right what was needed the most.

A private message came to me, requesting to sublet half of the building. And I smiled until I saw who it was from. One of the Biotechnica representatives. Ugh.

I didn't have any reason to decline, though. It wasn't as though I could tell them my real opinion of their enterprise. And honestly, it wasn't as though I even had that great a grudge against them. That said, I was still working slowly to determine which pharmaceuticals made the most profit. I could still study them and then anonymously disclose the production method of any secret but lucrative drugs. I could do that at least once more, maybe even twice, before it got suspicious.

I didn't like thinking of it as revenge but as corrective action. Even a stupid dog would stop shoving his snoot into a fire if it got burned a few times. So really, I was helping them, even if they didn't exactly know why their snoot was on fire!

Oh, who was I kidding? It was revenge.

Still, I replied with a tentative approval, subject to review by counsel and included my attorney's contact information. I also sent him a quick text telling him to review the agreement for anything particularly odious. I didn't really have a business manager to negotiate a price, and it wasn't exactly my forté either, so I was just going to use the standard rate for square footage multiplied by the security factor I was providing and then multiply that by two for the 'stick it to them' factor. If I didn't do the latter, then I wouldn't be taken seriously.

For the rest of the meeting, I just sat there, still and quiet. I was simultaneously performing open-heart surgery in the middle of the desert with what amounted to a first-aid kit, with a donor heart that wasn't anywhere near an appropriate genetic match. Not impossible, but it did take most of my attention. When I was done, the Bakkers would have forty-eight hours at the most to rush someone to the nearest city and acquire a cybernetic heart before the one I implanted was wholly rejected by the patient's immune system, even after suppressing it. I hadn't brought any cybernetic hearts with me, and I wasn't going to offer to individualise it for my patient, even if they died as a result. I hadn't sworn some arcane binding [Oath] to heal all who came before me, after all. I was just being polite.

Besides, it would be a fun adventure for some of the family, anyway. Something they could tell their friends and family when they were done, as they would legitimately be saving a life. Sacramento was only about six hours hard driving away, and two of the younger members of the clan were already strapping in and ripping down the desert ahead of us, headed to the I-5 South to get there.

Getting out of the meeting, I quickly got into my Mizutani Shion and drove away, trying successfully to get away from the many armoured SUVs that most corporate entourages had before they caused huge traffic issues leaving the hotel venue we were at. I just drove randomly, taking some time to think. I meandered over to Long Beach in my musings and pulled off to the side of the road, looking across the river to the port, just in time for a rocket to smash into a small building, reducing it to rubble.

Militech and Petrochem forces were, even now, staging in the port of Los Angeles in brigade strength. A mixed force of infantry, mercenaries and engineers. They issued demands for any and all illegal occupants of the ports to leave. A lot of regular squatters did, and they let them leave, but after forty-eight hours, they had begun a systemic genocide of anyone remaining, supported by both divisional artillery and combat-aviation brigade from the NUSA's 40th Infantry Division. It was clear that whatever their plans were, they didn't really care about the existing buildings.

If there was the slightest resistance at all, they would call artillery and MLRS rocket strikes, demolishing the entire building. It had become a thing for crowds gathering right next to where I was to watch the "show" from the Long Beach side of the river, oohing and aahing every time a salvo of missiles or guided Howitzer shells from kilometres away flattened a building.

For me, it was kind of imposing to think about. This was real military power, not my several dozen dinky robots. Just one barrage of a couple of those big guns could completely destroy my building and everything I had built, and I had absolutely no defence against it.

I got the impression that they intended to demolish most of the buildings in the abandoned area of the port anyway, as their engineering units would quickly roll in behind the mercenaries and Corporate SecTeams, using mostly robotic front-end loaders and other heavy equipment to quickly clear the ground, with large trucks carting off rubble and debris twenty-four seven.

What were they planning on rebuilding after destroying all of these buildings? Some sort of central harvesting hub for my algae was the only thing I could think of. I had been, curiously, looking at what was published about designs for this new and innovative sector, and they mostly appeared to be falling back on things that I would have recognised as oil rigs which housed many dozens of drone harvesters, which skimmed algae off the surface. I recognised them even if there weren't very many of those left due to Leviathan.

But I supposed there had to be a central place on the mainland to ship all of the fuel. I didn't know enough about the logistics of moving a lot of liquid around to say whether this was a good idea or not, but cursory net searches told me that there were a lot of currently dormant pipelines that terminated in the LA area.

I put my car back into gear, driving manually at high speed, using my reflexes to keep myself safe. No cop would pull me over, after all.

---xxxxxx---

A week and a half later, I had finally made it back to Night City, being smuggled into the city rather than going through the customs entry, which seemed more militarised than before.

My old apartment was, unfortunately, already rented out. At first, I had considered moving out of Japantown, perhaps to Kabuki or Watson itself, which were still rapidly expanding. But, in the end, I arranged with Wakako to rent one of the other storefronts on the same floor Clouds was on. Not only was it nostalgic for me, but the security provided by a properly running Megabuilding was pretty high.

The NCART transit system ran through most of the Megabuildings, it was one of the defining features of the large hive-like building systems and with that came the "commerce levels" of each building. Even the buildings that were more anarchic, like Gloria's old building, still had well-running, highly secure levels on the tenth through twelfth floors, as well as the highest penthouse luxury levels.

On the highest levels, there were even aerodyne landing pads so that people who lived up there didn't even have to go down the elevators and mix with the proletariat to enter or leave the building.

Despite the fact that I could afford it now, I still wasn't renting in any of those levels. The storefront I was leasing was about three times as large as my old place, and I was paying more this time but still a bit under what I suspected the market rate was. Instead of two doors down from Clouds, this was almost directly across the corridor. It was a clothing store when I lived there last, but I had to admit that I never bought anything from it. The prices were high, but the quality of the clothes didn't meet that expectation, so I wasn't surprised to find it out of business finally.

I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to be doing, as I had at least eighteen to twenty-four months before I could acquire a degree in medicine, just from the timeline alone. Then after that, I would be right back where I started when I got to Los Angeles, having to work as a resident surgeon. It was kind of hilarious that I would likely spend four years as a resident, after all, just separated into two segments under two different identities.

I didn't mind working as an illicit "Ripperdoc" for the moment. So long as I didn't advertise who ran the clinic and used an assumed name, it shouldn't affect me at all. I had been a lot more wary about that in the past, but I was wiser about how the world worked now. I had brought two vats suitable for biosculpting that I had built from scratch, but I had purchased brand-new cybersurgery equipment.

I didn't even have most of the old equipment that I brought with me to Los Angeles, aside from Kumo-kun, as while it was serviceable, it wasn't that great, and I had long ago sold it off. I had gotten most of it from a crazy perverted ex-doctor, after all. I had brand new equipment for my operating theatre here and a small amount of commonly sold cybernetics that I could sell.

Most of my things were still in boxes, but I did unpack and assemble one of the biosculpt vats so I could give myself my own face back last night. I wanted to go see how Evelyn and Himeko were doing, so I walked out of my front door, glancing at the relatively busy building, even in the morning.

I was surprised to see the Samurai Gunman himself moseying around the corridor, as usually, they had him guard the back entrance due to how much... uhh... character he had. He saw me, recognised me and grinned, walking over. He was still favouring the white Stetson, leather gun belt and short swords n the opposite hip. He was grinning at me, "Hey! Doc Taylor! They said you would be back. How have you been?"

I smiled slightly at him and simultaneously used all of my senses to examine him as he came near. He didn't have any positive physical signs of mental instability that I could see. "Oh, pretty good, I suppose. How about things here?"

We walked over to a less populated corner next to Clouds, and he shrugged, "Things have gotten a lot better, ma'am. Except... all of those crazy girls and boys of industry have started their own gang. They mainly stick around a bar in Kabuki. They're too busy beating up violent Johns to do anything to any of the established players anyway, so everyone, even us, has just left them alone." He gave a practised Galic shrug, which amused me.

I nodded, "How about you personally? Hows the Sandy? Any issues?"

"Not at all! I still use it a few times a day when I practice my iaido..." he said, and I hummed and casually moved his head with my hands, examining him, peering into his eyes, feeling the lymphatic nodes in his neck before finally shrugging.

I sighed and nodded, "It looks like you are well suited to it. Still, set some time aside, and we'll run a full diagnostic to make everything is working out. I don't often sell boostware as high-end as I put in you."

He grinned and nodded, "I'm as fast as Demon Wind Kato, but the asshole has started calling me Ass Wind Johnny. The low-down dirty..."

I interrupted him with a chuckle, and I couldn't keep it in. In fact, both my bodies chuckled, which I had to quickly hide with a hand as I was talking to a few employees. Low-brow humour was always good for a chuckle.

Johnny up and pouted at me, giving his shoulder a gentle pat before saying, "I'm going to go see how Evelyn and Himeko are. They both still work here, right?"

"Oh, yeah... they do," he said, nodding quickly, "Mr Jin is still in charge, too, although he has someone to run the everyday business now. Got one about a year ago."

I raised an eyebrow, "I hope the new guy is better than the old guy." That got Johnny to grin, and I asked him, "Can you walk me in? I don't want to bother Jin-sama..." I said that in an affected, soto voice, then continued in my normal tone, "... and the new guy might not know me."

He nodded and walked me over. I didn't recognise the hostesses at the front desk, but they all were highly sculpted for beauty and looked more or less the same as the last ones that I remembered. Apparently, being a hostess at Clouds was a desirable position, especially for the upper to middle class. I didn't really know why that was, but they only usually lasted about two to three years at the most before moving on. One nice surprise was I was still on the list of people allowed to carry weapons inside, which was nice.

I left the Samurai Gunman there at the front desk and hurried over to Evelyn's room. It wasn't as obvious as a green or red light, as that would be garish, but there was a subdued and subtle icon next to the room number if one of the dolls was with a client. In this case, it wasn't present, so I pressed the doorbell and waited.

The door unlocked and opened right away, and I suddenly had my arms full of a scantily-clad doll who had leapt through the door into my arms. She was wearing a nightgown and nothing else. Well, it wasn't sudden. I saw her sailing towards me with enough time to move out of the way if I wanted to, but I just caught her and froze. This was like how a lot of those scenes that I mostly fast-forwarded through on my BDs started. "Taaaaylor! I thought you were dead or something! Nobody would tell us anything!"

I coughed and sat her down. She wasn't heavy at all, maybe fifty kilos. I could pick her up one-handed, easily. "I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye to everyone. But I had to leave right away, just in case. Gloria and David are both okay, but I can't discuss where they are right now or what they're doing... but they're both doing well!" I couldn't, right now, anyway. Gloria had plans to return to Night City, as despite how she denigrated her mother and parts of her family, she still missed them.

She was almost done with her degree, but she only planned to return after she had worked at least a year in a trauma centre there in LA, as she could start off at a higher quality position with one of the local UCLA-backed trauma centres and then transition laterally after she had some experience.

"Wow! From what little David said and what I heard from Johnny, that is surprising! You're a miracle worker, Tay!" she grinned at me, and that flew me for a loop for a second. I wasn't really used to any diminutives of my name, although that boy Hiro sometimes called me "Doc T" and, of course, little David used to call me "Tayr." That I missed, as I thought he had been cute as a button.

Still, I smiled and perhaps shaded the truth a lot about my accomplishment, "She was very, very lucky. I can't take much credit." The look Evelyn gave me seemed like she didn't believe me. She drew me into her boudoir, and we sat and talked. Himeko was with a client and couldn't join us, but Evelyn said she was doing well. Mr Hunk was gone, though! He had quit about a year ago, and Evelyn whispered that he had made some sort of arrangement with his family.

Perhaps the arrangement only extended in not renting his body to spinsters by the hour because he was still putting out BDs every few months. I would have been rather upset if he had stopped in the middle of the story arc of his latest series, as he was a dashing, swashbuckling pirate in this one. I had the sudden intrusive thought that I had missed my chance to rent him myself but shook my head, as I would never really do that.

It wasn't that I wasn't attracted to anyone. I often was, and even when I wasn't, I could appreciate the attractive parts of people I saw every day from an aesthetic perspective. And it would have been a lie to say holding a mostly naked Evelyn hadn't been a little stimulating. However, unless I imagined I was in a fairly long-term romantic relationship, I couldn't get super-excited about the prospect of physical intimacy. I could appreciate a beautiful man or woman, but I wouldn't really want to "partake" unless I felt a more serious emotional bond with them. It was weird, especially in this world where sex on the first date was often the norm.

I honestly didn't know what I was going to do about it because I was committed to my plan on expanding my network, and I had already noticed a little bit about how I had changed already with just two nodes. Would it get to the point where I couldn't relate to regular people anymore? Or rather, not enough for me to form a suitable emotional bond, anyway? Relationships were supposed to be a thing between equals, I was told and always believed, so I could see that happening if I didn't see anyone as being my equal.

Again, I shook my head to clear it and decided to table those thoughts. They weren't useful to me, and there was always the chance that I was overestimating how much my personality might change with each expansion of my cognitive capabilities. It was a tricky problem and one I didn't have a solution to. I didn't feel any different about having my friends, for example.

"So, are you going to be running a clinic again? There's been a dearth of good healthcare, especially cybernetics related, around Japantown," Evelyn complained.

I nodded, "Yes, although I'm going to keep my real name out of it. Not sure what I will call it, but I'm directly across the corridor from Clouds. That pretentious clothing store. What happened to Dr Suzuki's practice?" He had been the one who installed my stealth system after all, and I wouldn't fuck around with quacks near my body.

She made a face, "His clinic was firebombed during The Troubles... I think he moved out to Watson. One nice thing about the Moxes is that they restrain the more militant boys and girls."

The Troubles?! Were they republicans, in the Irish sense?! I snorted and couldn't help myself, saying while grinning, "Come out, ye black and tans, come out and fight me like a man." Evelyn looked at me oddly, and I could see green text scrolling across her eyes as she was obviously doing a net search. Shit, I couldn't help it, but I wasn't doing anything for my reputation of being a normal teenage girl. However, this had been one of Danny's favourite songs back in Brockton Bay, especially after drinking a few beers when I was little. Although, he hadn't sung it once since Mom died. Still, I knew every line and could sing it from memory.

Instead of commenting on the anachronism, though, I saw her tapping her finger, obviously listening to the song, so I waited until she finished. She grinned, "I might re-write the lyrics to this song. It's got a good tune, and the Moxes might quite like it if it was more ... applicable to current events."

I was startled, saying, "Uhhh... you know where you sleep every night? Should you be getting political?" I glanced around, looking for recording devices, which was stupid since they could be practically microscopic.

She snorted, "They don't actually record anything here. If they even had the ability and that came out, it would destroy the business. Most of our clients are so shy that most of the doll personalities are at least half therapists but with happy endings." She chuckled, "Besides, I wouldn't be attributing it to myself, just in case it did get popular."

Still, I frowned, "If you want to uncover hundred-year-old music for them, I still think you should pick something a little less confrontational and a little more optimistic."

She raised an eyebrow at me and said, "Okay, Miss Expert On Hundred-Year-Old Music, what would you suggest?"

I sighed and stood up, thinking fast and doing a number of quick net searches before I found what I was looking for. Doing a quick handshake with the SmartWall in the room and began clapping along with the karaoke version of the song that I found on the net.

I wasn't a great singer, but I tried, and what did you know? It came out better than it usually did, "Sun is shinin' in the sky, there ain't a cloud in sight. It's stopped rainin' everybody's in the play. And don't you know, it's a beautiful new day, hey hey..."

---xxxxxx---

After that, it was a two-person karaoke session until I had to leave, as she had a client, and I had to leave. I had to stop myself from humming along as Dr Hasumi while supervising the transfer of all production to the building next door. My company had grown past existing solely on the second floor of my building, which had somewhat surprised me.

The quality assurance job had become the absolute most sought-after job in my enterprise since I made changes to the QA process. I hadn't allowed people to bring in BDs from home because there was no way I was allowing a viral vector of unknown datashard to be connected to my air-gapped systems. However, I would buy ten BDs a week and created a simple system where my employees could vote on which ones I bought, and slowly over time, the library of what a person could watch while QAing increased.

The engineer that I had just hired to help me caused me to blush in embarrassment as after we were alone, he sang softly and surprisingly well, "Lad, I don't know where ya been, but I see you've won first prize!" Our karaoke session had gotten bawdier and bawdier, and we had just been singing "The Drunk Scotsman," and this man had correctly identified the song I had been humming. I was clearly dealing with an educated man of culture here.

I tried to glare at him but couldn't help but grin, trying to explain, "That song had been stuck in my head." I was actually pretty impressed he recognised the song just from me humming it. The fact that he wasn't afraid to rib his boss a little bit on what was his first day made me feel better about hiring him. That was good because his salary was seven times what one of my average workers was making, and that was before profit-sharing incentives. He was the first Corpo that I had actually hired; even all of my supervisors were barely more than straw bosses, just regular workers with enough responsibility and ambition to manage a few people apiece.

"Come across the street, and I'll discuss what you'll be working on first," I told him, and we left the building in silence. He snorted in amusement at the sign on the outside of my office as we walked inside. It said, "Dr Hasumi, PhD, MD, CEO, CTO, CFO, Head Honcha, El Jefa, etc." I had put it up as a joke, and I was glad someone finally found it amusing.

We sat down, and he said first, "I'm curious about what you need dedicated engineer assistance for. I have examined and tested your product... our product, rather... and it seems rather mature and effective. It's mostly a regular braindance implementation, and I doubt you'll trust me to work on the confidential, patented areas, employment contract and NDA or not."

I nodded solemnly. That was true. He wouldn't be allowed to work on either the confidential circuitry and especially not on the software that made the sleep inducer work. He wouldn't even be allowed to walk unescorted into the production area because an especially intelligent man, like he was, could use some of the flashing jigs to get the binary code or possibly my master cryptographic keys from the station that installed my proprietary software onto the assembled devices.

It was true that a forensic disassembly, including physical de-encapsulation of the memory units on the device, would eventually work, but I had designed the system to use distributed and encrypted memory to be resistant to this type of reverse engineering. There was no reason to let someone bypass all of that effort involved.

"You're not wrong, but there are a number of projects that I'd like to work on that your assistance will be very useful, from a new product to assist with some of my production and quality assurance systems," I said mildly. We were both Corpos, so I wouldn't prevaricate just to be polite. I didn't trust him, and he would think less of me if I implied that I did.

He raised an eyebrow, "A new product? Or a variation? My speciality is software, not electrical engineering. I can get by, but I probably understand circuits less than you do from what I can tell."

I nodded, triggering the holographic display on my desk to project an image of something that somewhat resembled my first-generation device, except a lot bulkier, "This is, essentially, a ruggedised version of my first device. It costs two times as much to produce, but you could literally drive over it with a deuce-and-a-half, and it would still be functional."

The engineer was silent for a moment as he inspected it. My holographic projector was very high-end and could produce three-dimensional full-colour images, which was important as I mostly used it for biosculpt consults. However, the man in front of me zeroed in on the drab green colour of the exterior of the device, raising an eyebrow, "A military product?" He let out his breath in a hiss and sat back in his seat, eyes widening a little, "Yes, this product really does have military implications, doesn't it? I assume my job will be software related. This already looks ready to ship, almost, though, so what is your plan? I have no experience at all working on military products."

"If all I wanted was a ruggedised version of the inducer, it is indeed ready to ship. However, that would make a mediocre product for a military customer, at best," I said, spreading my hands out. I tilted my head and asked, "How much do you know about modern warfare?"

"Absolutely nothing," he said immediately, which pleased me. If he had tried to bullshit me, I would have been upset.

I nodded, "You wouldn't be surprised to know it is very computerised now, though?"

"Clearly. Even in the third world, they have some manner of computer-based warfare management systems. I would guess things like individualised or squad-based data links all the way up the chain of command, jam-resistant frequency hopping encrypted comms at the minimum," he said as if this was an academic exercise.

I slapped my hand into my fist and nodded, "Precisely. It is the squad management systems that I want my devices integrated into. There are dozens available, but mostly they use a similar standard, so it isn't actually that hard to develop for."

"So the commanders can see when their soldiers are sleeping?" he asked, still not quite getting it.

I shook my head, paused, and then nodded, "Well, yes. Partly. But mainly so that whoever is assigned to watch, or automated sensors, can quickly wake the entire squad. Some squad management systems include simple but robust AI-based systems that will alert the squad if suspected unfriendlies arrive based on sensors; other systems require human intervention. In any case, I want a system where a squad leader or his designee can quickly wake every man in his squad in an emergency rather than have to run to each physical body and rip the inducer off their heads."

"Ahhh.. that makes a lot of sense. For getting rest in dangerous areas, this would be a dramatic improvement on the status quo. Can physically-active soldiers survive on the reduced sleep schedule your devices provide? Over long periods of time?" he asked curiously. That was a very insightful question, too, which caused me to raise my eyebrows.

I made a waffling gesture, "The physical part of rest when you sleep is less than you'd think. Certainly, less than the mental part, but very active people would need at least one long sleep segment a week to keep up. Or alternatively, a nanosurgeon implant or daily supplement of nanomeds. However, the upcoming war won't be like Flanders. Modern warfare won't be months and months of constant trench warfare."

He raised an eyebrow, "You sound confident that this unpleasantness with the Free States won't go away, unlike all the other times."

"Yes. Neither side is backing down this time. I think this is going to be President Kress' last big huzzah. If she declined to confront the free states, she would never win the next election," I told him. I had spent a long, long time thinking about this, and I was mostly mollified that my conclusion was that this conflict was, more or less, unavoidable even if I hadn't done anything. Kress was up against the wall after being a dictator for forty years, and it wasn't because I had high confidence in the state of "democracy" that NUSA practised. The person who won the elections was the one who the oligarchs, collectively, wanted to run the nation. The CEO of Militech, Rosalind Myers, was already saying that Kress wasn't going far enough. If Kress didn't do anything, then she would be impeached or, more likely, die in a tragic coronary implant malfunction.

He smirked, obviously having the same opinion about NUSA's democracy that I did, but he nodded slowly after a time, "Okay. This is a new field for me, but it sounds rather exciting. Do you have test versions of some of the more common squad management systems?"

I nodded, "Yes. And all the documentation. I could probably handle this, but..." Software wasn't my expertise. Especially software that wasn't attached to an obvious medical device or implant. This was theoretically attached to a "medical device", but none of it was designed to make the interface of machine and human work any better, so I would get almost no help at all with it.

"But you're very busy," he finished for me.

I nodded. Yes, let's go with that, "I have written all of the documentation about interfacing with the black-boxed elements of the device's firmware, though. If you need additional APIs exposed, feel free to send me a message, and I'll work to implement them."

He popped all of his fingers, which sounded impressive. I was one of the people who couldn't really do that, no matter how much I tried. He grinned, "Well, I better get started then. My office is across from yours?"

---xxxxxx---

My new clinic in Night City had barely been open for a couple of days before I got an odd visitor. Well, it was a courier. After verifying my identity, he handed me an honest to god paper envelope and quickly departed. Or tried to hand it to me, as I made him place it on my receptionist's desk.

I put on some nitrile gloves and grabbed a respirator from my medical equipment, took the envelope into my private area, and said, "Kumo-kun, BSL protocols."

Instantly, I heard the relatively loud blowers I had installed in line with the venting system creating a slight negative pressure in the room as I hummed, amused. I had both exceptional anti-viral and anti-bacterial medicine immediately available, as well as agonists for most neural toxins that Kumo-kun would automatically inject into me if all of my muscles suddenly froze up. My internal nanites were primed to defend against invaders, too. The only thing I couldn't quickly cure was unusual prion diseases, but so long as I didn't lick the envelope, I thought I would be fine on that front.

"Let's see how bad they want me dead, eh?" I said to Kumo-kun and used an exceptionally sharp knife and tweezers to open the envelope. My name had been written on it with what appeared to be a fountain pen, in cursive, which I took for just bait. A less savvy girl would have immediately ripped the envelope open to see which ball she had been invited to, but I wasn't stupid.

There wasn't any obvious white powder falling out, so it wasn't likely anthrax. I raised an eyebrow, "Continuous spectroscopic analysis of the air, please, Kumo-kun. Notify me when you find any unusual organic compounds or virons."

I pulled out the single sheet of paper out with the tweezers and unfolded it, reading it.

"Dear Miss Hebert,

You are cordially invited for tea on or about the fifth of July at the Azure Plaza in Night City. I promise you that you will be much more pleased with the conclusion of this visit than the last time you patronised this establishment.

Please RVSP no later than the first.

Your grandmother,

Sionainn Astor-Armstrong"

What ... the fuck?! I had a grandmother?! This wasn't a Biotechnica assassination attempt?!