Chapter 1: The Student

February 14, 2101.

Holidays are one of the signs of humanity's depravity. We need to set aside a few special days each year to remind ourselves to do things we could just as easily do any other day, then pretend there's something terribly meaningful about it.

Pretty much every holiday consists of lies and tragedy. Adults lie to children, telling them there's a fat old man in a flying sleigh who'll bring them presents; men lie to women, saying, “I'll love only you for the rest of my life”; women lie to men, saying, “I love you for who you are. It has nothing to do with money.” Thanksgiving gives you a reason to be ungrateful the rest of the year; Spring Festival gives you a reason not to go home the rest of the year. Holidays that didn't evolve from religious or folk traditions generally commemorate someone's death, or the deaths of a whole group of people. And why do we commemorate them? Because they were the heroes of their age, because their sacrifices changed things and even brought tangible benefits to those of us alive today.

So, when it comes down to it, this is just another sort of transaction. Roses, firecrackers, dressing up as ghosts, being a good child, and so on, all on the right day, in pursuit of sex, wealth, candy, or presents. Of course, if you're unlucky, you might get a “you're a nice guy” rejection, a fine, a pedophile, or domestic violence instead.

It was the first Valentine's Day of the twenty-second century. That afternoon, a young man walked into an ordinary internet café in Chicago.

He was about twenty, white, with brown hair, and there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. Soon after entering, he spotted another young man about his own age and walked straight over.

“Hi, my name's Dewitt.” The brown-haired young man sat on the sofa beside him and introduced himself.

The young man browsing the internet and drinking coffee wore glasses and looked studious. He was Asian, with an ordinary short black haircut and a pale, clean-cut face that gave him the look of a bookworm.

The young man in glasses replied out of politeness, “Um... hi. You can call me Mike.”

“Relax, kid. I'm not hitting on you. I'm straight, so you can stop looking at me like that,” Dewitt said. “Sonny told me I could find you here for some ‘technical support.’”

Mike eyed Dewitt suspiciously. “Which Sonny?”

Dewitt replied, “Sonny Lucchese.”

Mike said, “I've met him a few times. We're not that close. Who are you, anyway?” Even the greenest gangster could have seen he was lying.

“I told you, my name's Dewitt.”

“There's no one like you in the Lucchese family.”

Dewitt said, “That's because I only started working with them this morning. You can think of me as a ‘consultant’ who provides a certain kind of advice.”

Mike's expression shifted slightly. “Wait... heh...” He gave a disbelieving laugh. “You're saying you're ‘Consultant’?” He repeated the question with greater emphasis. “You walk up to me, introduce yourself, and then tell me you're that ‘Consultant’?”

Dewitt, by contrast, looked perfectly calm. “So you've heard the name.”

“Heard it?” Mike was getting a little worked up. “Consultant's an internet legend. Ever since he first appeared three years ago, there've been countless stories about him going around. There are so many now you can barely tell which ones are true. Some people say he's been arrested; others say he's a fictional character who never existed. There was even a group at my old university that started a fan club for him. You're only a year or two older than me at most. How could you possibly be...”

Dewitt cut him off. “Mike Byron, third-year student at the University of Illinois. You're from Tennessee. Your family consists of your parents, an older sister, and two brothers. Your neighbor's name is Fred, and the mail carrier who delivers your newspaper is called Satuk. Your father's used-car business isn't doing too well. Your sister's boyfriend has been tied up in a lawsuit for six months, and there's still no money to send your two younger brothers to college. I think that explains quite nicely why a promising young man like you would be working for a local gang.”

Mike suddenly grew nervous and lowered his voice. “Where did you dig all that up? Are you a cop? HL?”

Dewitt said, “Your university has the world's most advanced supercomputer research center, backed by enormous sums of Imperial funding every year, yet student records are very easy to get hold of. Whether you're studying computer science, science and engineering, or drama, as far as the university is concerned, students' personal information is garbage compared to research data. Garbage isn't worth guarding very carefully. Since you've gone to public schools all your life, I imagine you understand what I mean.”

Mike rolled his neck uncomfortably. “Fine, you broke through the University of Illinois's third virtual security system. What do you still need me for? You can already hack into over 90% of the world's computers yourself.” Still reluctant to concede, he added, “And as far as I'm concerned, that alone doesn't prove you're Consultant.”

Dewitt said, “I'm planning a big job. Understand, kid? The Lucchese family still doesn't trust me. They need me to do a few things to prove what I can do. Of course, I can understand that. I run into similar situations whenever I arrive in a new city. Employers vary in caliber. Try getting a bunch of louts who spend all day carrying guns and grenades and trading in contraband to believe there's such a thing as an ‘armchair detective,’ and all they'll say is, ‘That's bullshit.’

“So when I deal with clients like these, I often need to give my brain a bit of a break and do things that don't require quite so much careful calculation. And what I'm about to do requires your help.”

Mike was smart too. He got straight to the point. “What's the pay?”

“Kid, work with me and you'll solve all your financial problems and acquire plenty of intangible assets besides. So I'd advise you not to do anything stupid, like turn me down.”

Mike considered this. “All right, here's the deal... I can't agree to anything just on your say-so. I need to check with Sonny. If he can confirm you're not a cop, I'm willing to hear the rest of the plan. Also, stop calling me kid, even if you really are Consultant.”

Dewitt stood up. “You don't need me to tell you how to reach Sonny. I'll wait outside and have a smoke. There's still a lot to do today, so you'd better make it quick.”

After watching him walk away, Mike muttered thoughtfully to himself, “Today... He's not going to get me mixed up in the Genovese family's delivery, is he... He sure knows how to pick a day.”