Free Altered Carbon by Richard Morgan

room,” I tried, in Japanese out of pure curiosity.
    The screen
jumped into life so dramatically that I took a step backwards. From whirling,
multi-coloured fragments it rapidly assembled a tanned Asian face above a dark
collar and tie. The face smiled and changed into a Caucasian female, aged
fractionally, and I was facing a blonde thirty-year-old woman in a sober
business suit. Having generated my interpersonal ideal, the hotel also decided
that I couldn’t speak Japanese after all.
    “Good
day, sir. Welcome to the Hotel Hendrix, established 2087 and still here today.
How may we serve you?”
    I repeated
my request, following the move into Amanglic.
    “Thank
you, sir. We have a number of rooms, all fully cabled to the city’s
information and entertainment stack. Please indicate your preference for floor
and size.”
    “I’d
like a tower room, west facing. The biggest you’ve got.”
    The face
recoiled into a corner inset and a three-dimensional skeleton of the
hotel’s room structure etched itself into place. A selector pulsed
efficiently through the rooms and stopped in one corner, then blew up and
rotated the room in question. A column of fine print data shuttered down on one
side of the screen.
    “The
Watchtower suite, three rooms, dormitory thirteen point eight seven metres
by—
    “That’s
fine, I’ll take it.”
    The
three-dimensional map disappeared like a conjuror’s trick and the woman
leapt back to full screen.
    “How
many nights will you be with us, sir?”
    “Indefinite.”
    “A
deposit
is
required,” said the hotel diffidently, “For
stays of more than fourteen days the sum of six hundred dollars UN should be
deposited now. In the event of departure before said fourteen days, a
proportion of this deposit
will
be refunded.”
    “Fine.”
    “Thank
you sir.” From the tone of voice, I began to suspect that paying
customers were a novelty at the Hotel Hendrix. “How will you be
paying?”
    “DNA
trace. First Colony Bank of California.”
    The payment
details were scrolling out when I felt a cold circle of metal touch the base of
my skull.
    “That’s
exactly what you think it is,” said a calm voice. “You do the wrong
thing, and the cops are going to be picking bits of your cortical stack out of
that wall for weeks. I’m talking about
real
death, friend. Now,
lift your hands away from your body.”
    I complied,
feeling an unaccustomed chill shoot up my spine to the point the gun muzzle was
touching. It was a while since I’d been threatened with real death.
    “That’s
good,” said the same calm voice. “Now, my associate here is going
to pat you down. You let her do that, and no sudden moves.”
    “Please
key your DNA signature onto the pad beside this screen.” The hotel had
accessed First Colony’s database. I waited impassively while a slim,
black-clad woman in a ski mask stepped around and ran a purring grey scanner
over me from head to foot. The gun at my neck never wavered. It was no longer
cold. My flesh had warmed it to a more intimate temperature.
    “He’s
clean.” Another crisp, professional voice. “Basic neurachem, but
it’s inoperative. No hardware.”
    “Really?
Travelling kind of light, aren’t you Kovacs?”
    My heart
dropped out of my chest and landed soggily in my guts. I’d hoped this was
just local crime.
    “I
don’t know you,” I said cautiously, turning my head a couple of
millimetres. The gun jabbed and I stopped.
    “That’s
right, you don’t. Now, here’s what’s going to happen.
We’re going to walk outside—
    “Credit
access will cease in thirty seconds,” said the hotel patiently.
“Please key in your DNA signature now.”
    “Mr.Kovacs
won’t be needing his reservation,” said the man behind me, putting
a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Kovacs, we’re going for a
ride.”
    “I
cannot assume host prerogatives without payment,” said the woman on the
screen.
    Something
in the tone of that phrase stopped me as I was turning, and