A poke from Kiniru’s wet nose was usually enough to wake Sam, but today the akita had to resort to planting one of her huge paws on his stomach. The sudden pressure forced all the air from Sam’s lungs in an explosive burst. He sat up, gasping.

Kiniru, a canine grin on her usually somber face, sat gazing at him eagerly. A glance at the wall screen, which he always left set for a view from the outside, showed him the gray clouds hauling a threat of rain in from the Pacific. That gloom would soon banish the morning sun, making the day suitable for a funeral. He flicked the control, and the trideo set boomed to life. While Heraldo Fong’s Enquiring Eye raked through the story of some sensational thaumaturgical murder, Sam tossed back the covers, shaking his head in wonder that the arcology programming director would broadcast such hysterical drek at this hour. As Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed, Kiniru stood and skipped back. She padded to the door and looked back expectantly.

“Hold on. I’ve got to get some clothes on.”

Kiniru barked her impatience.

“Go talk to Inu. He knows enough to keep quiet.”

Instead of obeying and joining Sam’s other dog, Kiniru sat down, tail beating against the doorway. Ignoring her impatience, Sam clicked Fong off in the middle of a tirade against unlicensed magicians in order to use the screen for the room’s computer. There were no messages waiting, so he started a check on his continuing inquiries concerning his sister’s whereabouts and condition. The screen flickered, displaying the status of his programs as he dressed. The same as yesterday-nothing. Sam ignored the flashing symbol from the expert system monitoring his apartment’s computer. He knew what it wanted, but he was not yet ready to let it send the message he had composed for Sato-sama. It had possibly become irrelevant; Sato was due to arrive at the arcology in a few days.

Kiniru butted his leg.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Inu was exactly where Sam expected, sitting calmly by the door. The brindled black and white mongrel barked its greeting and stood. As Sam palmed the door open, the dogs squeezed past him, jostling their master to the side. He watched them run down the corridor toward the open area at its end. The Level 82 park was big enough for the akita to get a good run. Because the other residents knew and liked the dogs, they never complained about them running free. Inu stopped just inside the shadows of the corridor to glance back reproachfully at Sam.

“Go on, Inu. I’m staying here.”

Inu waited until Sam made a shooing motion with his hand before gamboling out into the sunlight to join Kiniru and some of the level’s children in a game of chase-and-tumble. Sam wished he could be as carefree as the former stray. It was Inu that had followed him back to the arcology that night of a year ago, making a place for himself in Sam’s world as though it were sheer destiny. While Kiniru was pure-bred, this creature of the streets was almost feral, yet he had settled into arcology life as though he’d been whelped there.

Sometimes Sam wondered if this were only a veneer, a canine version of his own resignation. When Sam had returned to Renraku after the kidnapping, he’d expected the corporation to treat him as a disgrace. Instead, he and Jiru had been sent for evaluation to certify that the kidnapping bad not unbalanced them. No accusations of wrongdoing. In fact, not a single mention of the events. Stupefied, Sam had gone along with official efforts to ease him back into corporate life, expecting at any moment to be denounced by the guard he had shot. Censure never came. It was as though nothing had ever happened.

But that didn’t mean Sam could forget. Inu was always there to remind him. Sometimes he awoke in the night, the guard’s face frozen in his memory and the accusing voice saying over and over, “I was Mark Claybourne. You took my life from me.” Surprised and frightened when Claybourne penetrated Sally Tsung’s illusion, Sam panicked. He had shot at the young guard, but had only intended to wound him. It was Sam’s agitation and unfamiliarity with firearms that left Claybourne so horribly injured that modem medical science had been hard-pressed to save the guard’s life. When the doctors were unable to restore full nerve function, Claybourne committed suicide. Claybourne may have taken his own life, but Sam took the blame.

It was only after Sam’s return to the arcology that he discovered the identity and fate of the guard. It had not been an easy job. Someone had sealed Claybourne’s medical records as though actually trying to hide Sam’s deed. Once Sam had the information, Claybourue took up residence in his dreams, a ghost of the mind. Unable to atone, Sam struggled daily with the guilt, praying for forgiveness and understanding and vowing that his hand would never harm another innocent life.

What about the shadowrunners whose schemes had so enmeshed him? Did they feel any remorse? Did they care that they had made a killer out of Sam? Not likely. Like Inu, they were almost feral, their way of life at complete odds with Sam’s corporate world. He presumed the bunch was still out there somewhere, cooking their deals and running their shady scams. They probably didn’t even remember him. He was just a suit to them, passing briefly through their shadow lives. They were runners and he was Corp an alien in their world.

Renraku, one of the corporations that made the world go round, had taken care of him and his sister after their parents died. Having grown up thinking of the corporation as both home and family. Sam’s loyalty had been fierce. The events of last year, however, had left him numb with shock. Now came another severe blow to his image of the corporation he called family. What he had seen in the Matrix two days ago raised painful questions of ethics and responsibility. Questions to which he hadn’t the vaguest answers. Hell, questions he didn’t even want to think about. But it was becoming harder and harder to make Renraku resemble his old beliefs.

When his wake-up alarm chimed, Sam let the demands of the moment push all these disturbing thoughts into the background. Hanae would be here soon and he still hadn’t eaten or showered up. He stepped back inside. He was dumping the empty packets from breakfast into the disposal slot when the door chirped. “Who’s calling, please,” he said into the intercom, at the same time hitting the switch to send his refuse down to the arcology’s recycler.

“My, we are formal this morning. All right. Hanae Norwood, sir. Perhaps you remember me? We met at the Independence Day celebrations last year.”

Sam palmed the door open to a giggling Hanae. The jet black helmet of her hair set off her bright Eurasian features, but the drab gray of her very proper suit was out of character. Though suitable for a funeral, it was a far cry from the bright colors she favored. Lifting herself onto her toes, she kissed Sam’s cheek as she entered.

“This would have been much simpler if I had stayed here last night.”

“I wanted to be alone.”

“Don’t sound so worried. I understand,” she assured him as she fished through her purse. “I’ve got an armband for you here somewhere.”