Free The Machiavelli Interface by Steve Perry

changed some—it changed constantly—but she got the gist. She said, "Lookin' Zuri."
    "Callit cheap, showit hard."
    Geneva was still against the wall, unseen by the boy, who had made no move to enter the room. He was too streetwise to go into a place he hadn't checked out before.
    Geneva looked at Dirisha and raised one eyebrow.
    "He wants proof of who I am," Dirisha said. "He's carrying a message for me." To the boy, she said, "What do you need, boy? What hard showit?"
    "Catfang, callit."
    Catfang? What the hell was that?
    The boy gathered himself to run; Dirisna could see him tensing. If she didn't have the answer, he was supposed to take off. Catfang... catfang, cat—wait, she had it.
    "Callit slicer," she said.
    The boy's grin returned. "Gray shroudwrap say tellit turdtalk—'It's time.' "
    Dirisha shook her head in disbelief. "Anybody got any loose stads?"
    Port fished a plastic coin from his pocket. "I got a fiver."
    "Give it to the boy."
    Port scaled the five standard coin to the boy, who snatched it from the air easily. He rubbed his thumb over the disk rapidly, to test for the heat-threads that showed it was genuine, then nodded. "Needit moutheyes askit Resh."
    The boy took off.
    Dirisha nodded at Geneva, who shut the door.
    The blonde relaxed and shook her head. "What was that all about?"
    "It's a message, from Khadaji. 'It's time,' he says."
    "What?" That was from Rajeem, who had come back into the room.
    "I think it means it's time we helped the Confed along on its fall," Dirisha answered. "I think we've just been asked to start a war."
    "What?" Geneva added her voice to those of Rajeem and Beel.
    "Khadaji sent the message, he had to. The boy wanted to know what catfang was. It's the knife Khadaji gave me. Slicer , in the local patois. Nobody else knows about that except Khadaji. And shroudwrap ought to be clear enough."
    Rajeem said, "Khadaji? Here?"
    "I doubt it," Dirisha said. "But Pen—the real Pen—could be. Or it could be any member of the Siblings. They have to be tied into this, somehow. It doesn't matter. Nobody but Khadaji knew to look for me here, and even if anybody else did , they wouldn't know about the knife."
    "But—war? With what army?"
    Dirisha's mind was already working. She smiled at Rajeem. "The matadors."
    "They're spread all over the galaxy by now," Geneva said. "Just contacting them would be a major undertaking."
    "That's the thing, hon. First thing we have to do is figure out how to call 'em."
    Rajeem shook his head. "You're serious about this!"
    "Hey, don't worry about us, Rajeem. You're Khadaji's handpicked leader. After we win, you've got to run the show."
    "You're crazy."
    Dirisha smiled. "Well. It's something to do."

Nine
    AFTER MASSEY HAD FINISHED his report, Wall stood mute for a time, staring at nothing. He had known; maybe he hadn't wanted to acknowledge it to himself, but he had known.
    To Massey, Wall said, "You have documentation?"
    Massey glanced down at the flatscreen in his hand. "Yes, sir."
    "Logged into a computer?"
    "Only my portable, my Lord Factor." He extended the device toward Wall.
    It was a standard reader, as long as a man's hand from fingertips to wrist, slightly wider than a palm. That such a small thing could hold such infamy was unbelievable. The plastic should burst asunder, spewing the tainted viral/molecular brains like a rotten fruit full of gut flies.
    Wall took the flatscreen and hefted it. "You have done well, Massey. I consider the matter of Khadaji balanced."
    "You are too kind, my lord."
    "Doubtless, to my friends. Not to my enemies." Wall stared at the small computer as he continued to speak. "No one is to know of this matter. All your electronic sources are to be wiped; all your... organic sources are to be put to brainscan and this portion of their memories... deleted. Call on Legal, ask for Referee Dim Sû Leh—she will arrange the necessary documents for the scans. Have the subjects taken to my personal simadam for the procedure."
    "Yes,