uan met him at the door. "Oh, Mister Frank!" he cried, and hugged Gobi. "I'm sorry!"

"It's all right, Juan," Gobi told him.

"I didn't know what to do!" Juan cried tearfully.

"It's not your fault," Gobi said, feeling his own grief weigh on him. He felt like the man in one of those old China coast lithographs showing a criminal being led through the streets with his head protruding from a wooden cangue. His crime was pasted on the board for all to see: Not present when son crashed in virtual world.

"He just won't leave!"

Gobi blinked dully at Juan. "Who won't leave? What are you talking about?"

"The other mister. I try to tell him you're not at home! You're at the hospital. I tell him call back, but he no listen! He's still here!"

"Juan, who is still here?"

"He!" Juan's frightened eyes looked down the hall toward Trevor's room.

Gobi stepped briskly down the hall. As he passed his study, he noticed the wall cube was on, glowing. Behind, in the kitchen, the extension cube was also on.

Gobi opened the door to Trevor's room.

The room was dark except for Trevor's cube, which was switched on like the other sets. The man standing in front of the screen turned slowly and flickered. He nodded almost imperceptibly when he saw Gobi enter.

"Dr. Gobi," he said with a bow. "My name is Akira Wada. I'm so sorry to be intruding. Your servant said I could wait here."

He moved as fast as the graphics would allow. He stood in front of Trevor's V-board, which was parked at the foot of the bed.

The man nodded thoughtfully. "This is your son's equipment." He looked up at Gobi. "Very high quality."

"Action Wada?" Gobi was too surprised to protest the holoid's presence in his house. He'd obviously been teleprowling on the premises.

"You know who I am?" the Japanese holoid asked with a faint smile. " 'Action' is my nickname because I am supposed to get things done. Not always, I'm afraid," he laughed lightly.

Gobi nodded. He remembered Wada from his background search on the Satori Group. He had pulled the file on Wada's interview from Offshore Networking magazine. "You're the Vice President of Operations for Satori Corporation, aren't you?"

Action Wada blinked at him. "Actually, Dr. Gobi, at the moment I am the Acting Director of the Satori Corporation."

"What's happened to your chairman, Kazuo Harada?" Gobi asked bitterly. "I suppose he had to resign after what's happened. To 'save face' for the corporation. Isn't that how it works?"

"No, he has not resigned," Action Wada's form crackled at the joints and then reintegrated. "In fact, he has disappeared."

Gobi paused to take that in. "Well, he's going to have to take full responsibility for the breakdown of Virtuopolis. I can promise you there's going to be hell to pay! And I'm not just talking about damages!"

Action Wada waited for Gobi's outburst to subside. Then he continued. "When you met with our representative Mr. Kimura in San Francisco, we were not sure whether you would agree to work for us or not. I regret that Mr. Kimura did not present you with all the necessary facts."

Gobi felt a familiar chill course through his body. "What do you mean? He showed me the demo for your so-called 'post-virtual' environment. You could have fooled me. If it's not some sort of an elaborate hoax, it was pretty convincing. What was Kimura holding back?"

"I must tell you the real reason we wish to employ you, Dr. Gobi." Action Wada took a step closer to Gobi.

Gobi noticed a slight blemish of fractals, like stubble, on Wada's chin. His eyes looked a little too wide-orbed. Was he wearing turbo-contacts? Gobi's sixth sense told him the holoid had some extrasensory features built in for remote intelligence-gathering. Was he picking up stuff in the rest of the house while they were chatting here?

"Our chairman disappeared in Neo-Tokyo shortly before the crash of Satori City," Action Wada said confidingly. "We have reason to believe the two events are related. The fact is, we need you to help us locate him. We need your, ah, expertise in such matters."

"My expertise?"

"Intuitive investigations are your specialty, are they not? You are known to be - what is the term? - a 'consciousness detective.' You investigate phenomena involving states of altered consciousness. Well, consciousness is the business that Satori is in. We've built our reputation on it."

So that was it. Gobi had to laugh. They were shopping around for a PI. An on-line Philip Marlowe. They needed a Continental Op to find a missing person in a city that was missing half the time. It was almost a letdown, really. But he was glad to get to the bottom of it.

"I don't do that kind of work anymore," Gobi replied cautiously. "I did in the past, but that's ancient history. I'm strictly involved in academe these days. R and R. Research and Regurgitation. I'm sorry, but I'm really not your man, Mr. Wada. You need someone else. Have you tried Kroll & Kawasaki Associates? They have operatives everywhere. They're very good, I hear."

"No, I don't think so, Dr. Gobi," Action Wada persisted. "Contrary to your expressed opinion, I believe that you are indeed our man. I wouldn't be here otherwise. I assure you."

"I told you, I quit being a private investigator years ago," Gobi repeated. "I do a little corporate consulting now and then. A little R and D, a bit of product analysis, some scenario planning. That's the extent of it."

Action Wada grinned. "Yes, I've heard about your recent research efforts on behalf of Shiseido-Dior. You did a reading on their new line of 'karmic cosmetics.' Correct me if I'm wrong: 'People with skin trouble have something sticking to them from a past life. They were cruel to animals, abused them, or tortured them in some way, and that negative behavior has left a residue on them in this lifetime. But they can, if they so choose, balance that karmic pH factor with an application of this revolutionary skin cream from Shiseido.' " Wada chuckled. "That's wonderful! Really ingenious!"

Gobi looked at him stonily. "Animal cruelty leaves a mark on the abuser. It seeps through people's genes karmically. And it affects the sensitivity of their skin. This fact is gradually becoming better known." He paused. "I thought my report to Shiseido was supposed to be confidential."

"Please don't misunderstand me, Dr. Gobi," Action Wada protested. "I have nothing but the greatest respect for your - ah - bold intuitive approach. It's - it's truly profound. What can I say? Besides, that product is selling extremely well, isn't it? What's it called? 'Karmic Cleanser?' So your vision has been vindicated where it counts most - in the marketplace."

"Thanks," Gobi said dryly. "And now, Mr. Wada, if you'll excuse me. I'm really quite exhausted."

Action Wada didn't miss a beat. "No, I was thinking more along the lines of the work you did - not too long ago, if I'm not mistaken - for Ono NeuroIndustries." His eyebrows lifted inquiringly. "A case involving a missing person? There seems to have been a string of them lately. Does the name Ono ring a bell? Yasufumi Ono, the president of Ono Neuro? You came out of your self-imposed retirement to tackle the case. May I ask why?"

Gobi's face hardened. "I can see that you're remarkably well-informed, Mr. Wada," he conceded. "I won't mince words with you. The case you're referring to was a rare exception for me. Please believe me when I tell you, I haven't handled anything like that in years. Anyway, if you know that much, you ought to also be aware of the fact that I was unable to solve it. I never did find the man."

Action Wada rotated on the balls of his feet as he studied the furnishings in Trevor's room. His gaze returned to Gobi after he had made his sweep.

"Perhaps you didn't go far enough, Dr. Gobi?" he suggested. "I don't mean to be harsh, but perhaps that's been your trouble all along?"

Gobi eyed the holoid with mounting irritation mixed with dread. "What do you mean by that?"

"Let me ask you something." Action Wada blinked at him. "Why did you give up your career as a private investigator? You were on the cutting edge, yet you chose to retreat to the ivory tower. Yes, you're doing brilliant work. You're highly respected in your field. But it's all theoretical. You could have gone further." He sounded reproachful.

"Like where?" Gobi felt the dryness in his throat and the familiar pressure building around his windpipe. So it was all coming back to him again, full circle.

"You could have broken through, Dr. Gobi - to the other side," the holoid hissed at him from another time and place. "The whole world is on the verge of something new. Soon it will be part of the mainstream. But you were a pioneer. What held you back? You were so close."

Gobi closed his eyes. He had been close once. But that was a long, long time ago.

"Mister Frank!?" Gobi heard Juan's voice call to him anxiously from the hallway. Gobi's thoughts recoiled back to the present. Action Wada's holoid still swayed on the balls of his feet, a grin frozen on his face. But the light in his eyes had somehow dimmed.

"Go-bi . . . ?" The name slurred off Wada's lips like syllables of water. Gobi stepped past the scroll-like image and swiftly left the room. He found Juan at the end of the hallway, his ample form trembling in his colorful Guatemalan shirt.

Juan had his ear cocked outside the door that led to Gobi's private meditation chamber. His personal Zendo was off-limits to everyone, including his housekeeper and his son.

"Juan, what's the matter?" Gobi asked.

"The other mister, I see him enter your room just now!" Juan's eyes were wide with alarm. "The mister you are talking to in there?" He nodded in the direction of Trevor's bedroom. "¿Es posible, señor?"

"We'll see about that. Gracias, Juan."

Squaring his shoulders, Gobi slipped off his shoes and strode into the six-mat room of yellow woven tatami reeds. Action Wada barely turned around as he entered. "Ah, Dr. Gobi," the Japanese said, glancing at Gobi's stockinged feet. "I hope you don't mind if I keep mine on?" He chuckled. "I don't think it makes much difference in any case. My shoes are in Neo-Tokyo."

"Seen enough, Wada? How about if I show you where the bathroom is. I could flush you down the toilet."

"This is where you do your work, Dr. Gobi?" Wada looked at him coldly. "I mean, your deep work?"

There was a zabuton mat in the center of the tiny room with a turquoise and plum round zafu pillow on it. It faced a small altar with a 19th-century Thai Buddha sitting on it, its gilt long since worn off. A smaller Japanese Buddha, a dark cast-iron Manjusri, the Buddha of Wisdom, held court at its feet. An incense burner contained ash that had grown cold. A bronze Tibetan bell stood silent nearby. A brass bowl with a single azalea floating in the water stood as an offering.

How long had it been since he last sat here? Since the nightmare that had led him to Alta Bates?

On the wall, which Gobi had plastered himself, hung an ink-brush painting, a copy of Sengai's 18th-century Circle, Triangle, and Square.

"If you like, I can arrange to obtain the original for you," Action Wada said thoughtfully, studying the painting. "It's hanging at the Idemitsu Museum in Neo-Tokyo."

"What would you know about anything that's original?" Gobi retorted. "You're a projection of a projection of a projection."

Action Wada laughed heartily. "Very good, Gobi-sensei! You are right! When you are everywhere, you are practically nowhere. But let's talk business now."

"What do you want from me? I told you I'm not interested."

Again, Action Wada looked at him coldly. "I wanted to see your base of operations for myself." He sniffed the air. "Very refined vibrations. Good for classical trancework. You learned the Balinese technique? Maybe Burmese? You are accustomed to working with intermediaries?
You call on some of their nat spirits?"
He rubbed his hands. "Good, good." He turned to Gobi. "But I can see where you would end up with unreliable information if you rely on such primitive intelligence-gatherers. It's a long way from Mandalay, Dr. Gobi."

"Spit it out, Wada."

"Dr. Gobi, no offense meant . . ."

"I said spit it out."

"Very well. I have seen where you work. And the impression I am left with is this: 'Failure now may be more enjoyable than success later,' as the saying goes. I don't think you really want to succeed."

"Meaning what?"

"I can see how your search for Ono would have ultimately led you nowhere. Your - ah, studio - is too far removed from more powerful energy channels. Dr. Gobi, your only hope of finding anyone is to come to Neo-Tokyo yourself. In person. To start from there. Incredible energies have been unleashed since the earthquake. You can use them to your advantage."

"I have no intention of traveling to Neo-Tokyo. Or any place else, for that matter."

"Perhaps you will reconsider. I have taken the liberty of booking you on tomorrow's flight, a first-class ticket on Satori Airlines departing at noon from L.A. Metroplex to New Narita. You will be met at Narita by one of our operatives. He will be at your disposal."

"Something tells me we're not speaking the same language. I'm not planning to go to Neo-Tokyo. I'm not interested in looking for your chairman, Kazuo Harada. My son is in a coma. He may . . ." Gobi's face flinched. "I may lose him at any moment. I'm staying here with him. That's final."

"That's precisely why you mustn't waste any more time, Dr. Gobi. Your son's life depends on it."

Gobi moved up to the holoid. He peered into those cordless sockets of tele-optic energy. "What did you say? My son's life depends on it? My son's life depends on what?"

"Find Kazuo Harada. He has the missing source code for the new post-VR Virtuopolis that will jump-start Satori City. He can override the crash. That will restore your son and all the thousands of others who are hanging on by a slender thread of consciousness. If you don't cooperate with us - I don't need to tell you what will happen. It's up to you."

"What's the catch?"

"There is no catch." Action Wada's eyes were level with his. "What is your answer?"

Gobi had never punched out a holoid before. Wada's image flickered. The high-definition pixels glopped and the look of astonishment was worth the price of Gobi's admission to Neo-Tokyo.

Gobi only missed him by about 4,000 miles or so. But hell, it still felt good.