Jump 255 - Multireal Part 16

Jara felt the tug of some indefinable emotion when she saw the monolithic scientist statues in the atrium and remembered her own little epiphany there last month. Huddling scared at the feet of Sheldon Surina. Deciding to give the MultiReal demonstration in Natch's place, even if that meant confronting the Council. Horvil's unexpected declaration of affection. She cast a peripheral glance toward Horvil now, but the engineer had his nose buried in one of the rol top desk's cubbyholes.

The tourists were al focusing their attention on the empty courtyard out the window, but nothing seemed to be happening. A few officers of the Defense and Wel ness Council strode by, weapons at the ready. Surina security was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly the doors to the Revelation Spire burst open and spat out a gaggle of Council officers. They were dragging along some colossal figure who was shackled in their midst. For a moment, it looked like the man might actual y be trying to walk on his own power. Then one of the white-robed officers bashed the back of the giant's knee with a rifle b.u.t.t, hard, and he slumped down again.

One of the observers zoomed in for a closer look.

Jara gasped. It was Quel .

Within moments, the gang of white-robed soldiers had muscled the Islander across the courtyard to their waiting hoverbirds. The view bobbed and weaved anxiously, searching in vain for an angle that would show what was happening.

Minutes later, a trio of Council hoverbirds took flight and zipped away southward.

Jara turned around and discovered that not only had the other fiefcorpers abandoned their individual projects and gathered behind her chair to watch the video, but a cotton-headed Robby Robby had multied in at some point and was shaking his head theatrical y at Jara's elbow. She had completely forgotten he was coming here to help with the drudge statement. Had he heard about the business license situation yet? If so, he was doing an excel ent job of hiding it.

"The drudges are going to want an explanation for Quel 's arrest," said Serr Vigal in a barely audible whisper. "We'd better include something in the statement."

"I don't think that's necessary," said Jara. "n.o.body's going to believe that Quel had anything to do with Margaret's death, wil they? Even the drudges can't be that dumb."

Horvil nuked the video display with a gesture. "Let's find out," he said. A block of text appeared in the upper right corner of the window: ZEITGEIST 29a Another fine Bil y Sterno program Subject: Was Quel involved in Margaret Surina's death?

Boxes of words exploded on the screen like popcorn. Words cl.u.s.tering together, forming a.s.sociations, merging. Pacific Islands. Unconnectible. Andra Pradesh. Words sp.a.w.ning new meta-concepts, branching off into new avenues. Murder: Fiefco,p economics. MultiReal.

Final y the frenetic activity began to subside. A graph superimposed itself atop the linguistic graffiti and began spontaneously populating itself with data.

Was Quel involved in Margaret Surina's death?

1 1 % Yes 18%.

LeaningYes 52% Not Sure 12% Leaning No 7%.

No The numbers wobbled up and down in ever-narrowing increments as the program gauged the currents of thought traversing the Data Sea. And then two smal photographs blinked into existence next to the words Leaning Yes: Sen Sivv Sor and John Ridglee.

The atmosphere in the room grew gloomier by the second as the numbers quickly began to skew toward the affirmative answers. Jara final y shut the thing off when the numbers for Leaning Yes reached 40%.

Only Robby Robby seemed not to care. "These Zeitgeist numbers are total y meaningless, kids," he said, picking at his virtual mane with an equal y virtual comb. "Ignore 'em. Take it from a professional."

Horvil pursed his lips with skepticism. "Zeitgeist has always been pretty accurate for me."

"Oh, I'm sure the numbers are accurate," said the channeler cryptical y. "But they're stil meaningless. What does Natch think?"

Jara frowned. "Where is Natch? Is he stil in Andra Pradesh?"

"He multied over there," said Merri. "Vigal, didn't you fol ow him over to the multi facility?"

The neural programmer clapped a hand to his forehead. "You're right, I did. I had to make a quick stop in Omaha." He peered around the room, as if he expected the entrepreneur to materialize there at any moment. "Natch was standing right next to me when I opened my connection, but he definitely wasn't there when I closed it. I never even thought to look."

Jara gave a sidelong glance at Robby, wis.h.i.+ng he wasn't around for this conversation but knowing there was nothing she could do about it now. She cast her mind out to the Data Sea. "Looks like some drudges saw him at the Tha.s.sel Complex earlier, but he managed to give them al the slip. How the heck does he do that?"

"One of these days," mumbled Horvil, "Natch is just going to disappear for good right under our noses, and we won't be able to do anything about it."

Vigal made an exhausted sigh. "He might prefer it that way."

20.

The redwoods mocked him as the tube train hurtled through their midst, back and forth, back and forth without ceasing. Natch wondered how much human agency was actual y required to run a tube route. Would this train stil be plowing the dark between the trees a hundred thousand years after humanity had gone permanently fal ow? Would some alien civilization stumble on this planet mil ions of years from now and find nothing but self-repairing trains caught in endless loops, transporting no one, serving nothing?

Natch focused on the curmudgeonly face staring back at him from the window. The letters beneath the man's chin instantly solidified into Prussian blocks of gray, obscuring Natch's view of the sequoias.

THE TRUTH WILL OUT.

by Sen Siw Sor Am I the only one who remembers that the death of Margaret Surina also means the end of the Surinas?

Yes, readers, that venerable line of scientists, visionaries, and freethinkers founded by Sheldon Surina and continued by Prengal and Yes, readers, that venerable line of scientists, visionaries, and freethinkers founded by Sheldon Surina and continued by Prengal and Marcus has now seen its terminus with Margaret's death.There are other more distant relations stil living at Andra Pradesh, but only Margaret could claim direct descent from al three of those great scientific pioneers.

The functionaries who wil rise to fil the void in the Surina organizations are hardly worthy of the name.Jayze and Suheil Surina, the two most likely candidates, started tussling over the family riches as soon as Margaret disappeared to the top of the Revelation Spire. Suheil has spent ten years administering the Enterprise Facility-a cozy bit of nepotism if ever I've seen one-while Jayze has wasted decades meddling in local Indian politics. It's doubtful that either one of them could spel MultiReal, much less program it.

So what should the Council do with the man who has uprooted this great tree of wisdom?

It's no secret whom I'm talking about. I'm talking about the man with the audacity to hijack MultiReal right out from under Margaret's nose.

The man accused of violating no less than one hundred twenty Meme Cooperative rules and regulations.The man who may have just ordered a hit on his erstwhile partner in the MultiReal business.

A premature judgment? Certainly. As the standard disclaimer for my column states, I'm no officer of the law, and I wouldn't presume to issue a final verdict before al the facts are in.Al I can do is look at the evidence in the public eye.

But isn't it peculiar that Margaret was murdered right before the Meme Cooperative suspended Natch from the fefcorp she founded? Isn't it peculiar that the Islander Quel -a man on Natch's payrol -was dragged out of the Revelation Spire by Len Borda's officers? Isn't it peculiar that Natch himself left the bodhisattva's side only hours before her body was discovered, and isn't it peculiar that he may have been the last one to see her alive?

I repeat: what should the Council do with this man?

Natch waved his hand and sent the drudge's words back to the netherworld of yel ow journalism. He shouldn't have been surprised. The unholy trinity of Sen Sivv Sor, John Ridglee, and Mah Lo Vertiginous had long ago set aside al political differences to declare their hatred for Natch. Why should a worldwide tragedy change anything?

Nor should Natch have been surprised by the Council's reaction to the accusations against him exploding across the Data Sea like miniature starbursts: nothing. No statements, no admissions, no denials. Magan Kai Lee could dispel most of these accusations by revealing that Natch had been on a Council hoverbird at the time of Margaret's death, but instead he chose to drop out of public view. n.o.body had seen or heard from High Executive Borda in days. Even Chief Solicitor Rey Gonerev was maintaining complete radio silence, a remarkable achievement considering the amount of attention she normal y received from the drudges.

The entrepreneur thought back to Quel 's words atop that Spire, moments before his arrest. Do you real y think Borda would hesitate to murder a Surina? Then you don't know your history.

Natch summoned the famous video of that burnt and twisted shuttle wreckage on Furtoid.

Marcus Surina and al the progenitors of the stil born teleportation industry had been in that shuttle. Now the vehicle looked like a brummagem sculpture, like a steaming t.u.r.d left by some enormous metal beast. The camera panned over the wreckage in silence, and then lurched suddenly.

Jutting from the bottom of the frame was a b.l.o.o.d.y severed hand....

Had Len Borda ordered the death of Marcus Surina? Had the high executive set in motion the Economic Plunge that sent Natch's mother to the streets of Old Chicago? Was there any way to prove such a thing after almost fifty years?

And even if Borda had murdered Marcus Surina, did that necessarily mean he had murdered Margaret too?

Natch shook his head. These questions were too big for him; let politicians like Khann Frejohr tackle such matters. Al Natch needed to know was who had planted MultiReal and black code in his skul and how to get his license back from the Meme Cooperative.

That f.u.c.king weasel Magan Kai Lee, he growled to himself. The lieutenant executive had found a way to neatly slice Natch off at the knees. It al looked so easy in hindsight. Take away Natch's license to sel bio/logic programs on the Data Sea, and you took away his ability to profit from MultiReal through any legitimate channel. Oh, there were plenty of Lunar tyc.o.o.ns outside the aegis of the Meme Cooperative who might stick him on their payrol , plenty of back avenues to making money he could explore. But Magan had judged him correctly.

He knew that Natch wouldn't let go of MultiReal on any terms other than his own. And scavenging the dark corners of the marketplace for sc.r.a.ps, with the Council d.o.g.g.i.ng his every move-that was tantamount to giving up.

Then there was the problem of Jara. Magan had put al the leverage in Jara's hands. If Natch obeyed the Meme Cooperative's order and granted her core access to MultiReal, she would have just as much control over the program as he did. Natch wasn't sure if she had the legal right to sel it off or give it away. But she would have the power to simply move the databases somewhere else on the Data Sea where n.o.body else would ever, ever find them. And yet, what alternatives did Natch have? He could always defy the Meme Cooperative's order, but then he would have to go on the run from the Council again, a prospect he dreaded.

Natch summoned a mental picture of the a.n.a.lyst and studied it intently. Jara was n.o.body's pushover. But she was also hopelessly naive and eminently predictable. How long would she last as Magan Kai Lee's puppet before either he or Len Borda did away with her?

Once that happened, MultiReal would be in the hands of the Defense and Wel ness Council. And after thatThe nothingness at the center of the universe.

Natch would not give up.

Borda, he's on some kind of crusade against my family and everything we've touched, Margaret had told him. But Natch, you need to know thishe can't take MultiReal away from you. He can't. I've made sure of that.

Why shouldn't he believe it?

Jara had the advantage. She had the authorities on her side through whatever misguided deal she thought she was making with the Council. She had the legal rights to MultiReal while the rest of the fiefcorpers' fates were tangled up in Meme Cooperative jurisprudence. She would even have public opinion on her side, at least in the beginning.

But what did any of that matter? Natch knew how to control people. He knew how to disa.s.semble them and find their weak spots. Moreover, he possessed the ability to move the whole world, to put the bio/logics market in a panic with a few wel -placed rumors and bits of black code, to change public opinion by cozying up to the drudges and the opinion makers. Who cared that the public suspected him of involvement in Margaret Surina's death?

That was a temporary impression sown in panic and fed with unsubstantiated rumor. It would fade.

Natch knew what motivated Jara. He knew her better than the Council, no matter how long they had been fol owing her and how many thousands of background doc.u.ments they had uncovered.

He could handle Jara.

The entrepreneur nudged his eyelids open a fraction and took a surrept.i.tious peek around the tube car. How long had he been sitting here debating himself with fists clenched? Time was a sieve. He looked at the three spies of the Defense and Wel ness Council who had been fol owing him since the Twin Cities-spies who stood out from the rest of the businesspeople, tourists, and layabouts like ants in a bowl of sugar. They gazed back at him and grinned cruel y.

Natch turned his attention back to the window, which had been recycling fiefcorp industry news for the past few hours. He could feel the black code inside him, a thousand vessels of doom just waiting to unload their toxic cargo on his OCHRE systems.

He could handle black code. He could handle the Defense and Wel ness Council and the Meme Cooperative and the Patels, too. He could handle anything the world threw at him. The world might just depend on it.

2I.

Horvil reclined on the bed with arms held high in a position of surrender. His parents had long ago relinquished their piece of the estate to Aunt Beril a and moved on to warmer climes-the control ed heat domes of Nova Ceti, to be specific.

Yet here his old room sat, unchanged, like a mausoleum for his teenage years. The same battered chair with nailhead trim stil hunkered near the door.

The same hearty ficus plant stil towered over the southwest corner of the room, an embarra.s.sment of fecundity. And the windows were stil broadcasting raucous advertis.e.m.e.nts for Yarn Trip's reunion concert in Beijing, even though the concert had come and gone eight years ago, and the band had long since broken up again, re-reunited, then split (theoretical y) for good.

Horvil remembered the day of that concert. He had stomped out of the house after an argument with Beril a and rented his own apartment the very same afternoon. But every time he came back here, his aunt rewound the window decorations to that same frozen instant. As if one day, Horvil might thaw the moment and resume life in the manor like nothing had changed.

He sensed an incoming Confidential Whisper. Aunt Beril a.

"You can't avoid me forever, Horvil," she said, voice properly petulant.

"Wel , I'm right down the hal ," replied the engineer. "Come on over. We can listen to Yarn Trip together. I always forget-were you into their molten lava phase or their mocha grind phase?"

An audible frown. "You know I've got a meeting to prepare for."

"Real y? Sure you're not just afraid to face the fiefcorp after what you did? I mean, shutting down the programming floor's one thing, but actual y trying to rol back the changes-"

"This isn't about the fiefcorp. It's about you. Why haven't you fol owed up with Marulana already?"

The engineer harrumphed. "Don't think I'm gonna take the job, that's why."

"But this isn't some dul bureaucratic position. Chief engineer for Creed Elan, Horvil! A position of responsibility. A job of consequence, for process'

preservation! You'd have a staff. You'd have a budget and the best equipment. And you wouldn't have to put up with him."

"Not that again. I don't want to hear it."

He could feel Beril a's frustration from al the way across the mansion. She abruptly changed course. "Listen, Horvil, you tel those people they're welcome to stay for a few more hours until everything blows over. But I won't have drudges camped at my gates forever! I wil not have my household disrupted like this. Do you hear me?"

Horvil prived himself to Aunt Beril a's communications without a word. Then he closed his eyes, turned to face the wal , and played Yarn Trip's turbulent "s.h.i.+tscape Symphony" on his internal sound system. Twice. Loud.

Jara found a study down the hal and appropriated it as a temporary office. The room looked like it might have lain untouched for several generations, or perhaps been transported here intact from antiquity through some subversion of time and s.p.a.ce. There were a lot of rooms like that in the mansion.

Jara looked at the treepaper books sitting on the shelves and shook her head at the ancient names filigreed on their spines. Coleridge, Toynbee, Kipling.

She lay down on the couch, draped one arm over her forehead, and cried for a good ten minutes.

What had happened to her career? How had she devolved from such a bright and promising student to a pariah in her own fiefcorp? Jara tried to retrace the winding path that had led her to this moment-the affair with the proctor, the years with Lucas Sentinel, the obsession with Natch, the dal iances with Geronimo-but it al seemed sickening and improbable.

You can't even say the faefcorp situation is al Natch's fault, Jara told herself. You're to blame almost as much as he is. You partic.i.p.ated in Natch's lies and schemes for three years without saying anything. You even spread false black code rumors when Natch asked you to. Magan Kai Lee threatened the company right to your face, and you didn't do a thing about it.

Jara felt a sudden urge to contact Geronimo again, but the urge came from a place far removed from l.u.s.t. Then she pictured Rey Gonerev, reading a bureaucratic report about Jara's Sigh activities with a knowing smirk on her face. I've read so much about you in the Council files that I feel like I know you ... intimately, the Blade had told her. So Jara restrained herself.

A knock sounded on the door, and in came Benyamin.

"I looked into the situation with the a.s.sembly-line floor," said the young apprentice, "and it's not good."

Jara felt like rol ing over and tel ing Ben to go away. "Not good how?"

"Greth Tar Griveth-that woman who blackmailed me-she made a big mess." Benyamin flopped his arms aimlessly like limp dough, unable to muster the energy for a more emphatic gesture. "Turns out she was taking that money and using it to bribe some of her people. I don't know if Magan Kai Lee put her up to this or what. But Greth's people have been sabotaging the MultiReal code.

Throwing in little surprises of their own."

Exhaustion had taken Jara's senses, and she couldn't quite get her mind to spark. "How bad is it?"

"Wel , Greth only had limited access to the code in the first place. There's only so much damage she could do. But add the rol back on top of it, and you've got ... Wel , you've got a big mess."

"Does MultiReal stil work?"

"Sure, it works just fine, for your basic one-on-one interactions. But we won't be able to do that twenty-three-way soccer game anytime soon."