"To disguise its true purposes,” surmised the Lion.
"That's right,” said Nick. “Paratwa psychology, pure and simple—a perfect example of their style, just like the massacres. If you have to kill one person, kill thirty others at the same time to camouflage your intentions. If you have to hide your presence in a computer net, make a lotta false tracks."
Huromonus went on. “Our informant claims that Doyle Blumhaven ordered him to not only ignore a certain discrepancy between two different sets of transit computer records, but to replace the first set with the second set. The first set was retrieved from the transit system by E-Tech Security immediately following the massacre. The second set—data presumably altered by the sunsetter—was substituted some sixteen hours later."
A wild grin appeared on the midget's face “Go ahead—make my day. Tell me that there's a name on that first set that's missing from the second one."
Edward Huromonus's smile grew.
"Bingo!"
"You whacked it, Nick!” yelled one of the cheerleaders.
"Yeah, but I couldn't have done it without you folks. Hell, you know these archives like the back of your hands."
The Lion noted how the trio swelled with pride. To the cheerleaders, Nick was not a mere computer programmer, but a living legend—one of the pre-Apocalyptic geniuses, restored to life. At the very least, the midget must be considered an angelic presence here, if not an outright god. A compliment from Nick was probably considered as a gift from heaven.
"We not only have a name,” said Huromonus, “we have the corporation that this individual is employed by."
"Thank you, Susan Quint,” murmured Nick. “Wherever you are."
The Lion mouthed silent agreement. If the assassin had killed Susan Quint in the Honshu terminal as it had intended, the Paratwa would not have been forced into the ultimately more dangerous action of altering the transit records.
"Our missing name belongs to one Calvin KyJy,” continued Huromonus. “He is the special aide to Corelli-Paul Ghandi, founder and executive officer of CPG Corporation, the fifth largest company in the Colonies. There is, however, some contradictory evidence that seems to indicate that this Calvin KyJy was in the Colony of Michigan Deuce at the time of the Honshu massacre."
"Just another smoke screen,” said Nick.
"We suspect as much."
"I know this Ghandi,” said the Lion. “At least I've met him a few times over the years."
Huromonus nodded. “I know of him, but our paths have never crossed. Until now. I just finished some basic background checking. Corelli-Paul Ghandi founded CPG Corporation twenty-five years ago."
"That time frame clicks,” said Nick. “We know the sunsetter's been in the archives about twenty-two years."
"And Ghandi founded CPG Corporation in a rather spectacular manner. One day, he was merely a common crewmate on a Costeau shuttle. Almost overnight, it seems, he managed to arrange enough serious financing to cover the start-up costs for a new high-tech company. A most difficult task, to say the least."
"Where'd his funding come from?” asked Nick.
"Some money came from legitimate enterprises. But a great deal of the financing is believed to have emanated from black market sources."
"That good old anonymous investment process,” grumbled Nick, “legal and fully supported by the ICN.” The midget shook his head. “Jesus, your society brings new meaning to the concept of money laundering."
The Lion remembered something. “At the time, the story was that Ghandi, on an illegal prospecting foray to the surface, discovered some sort of high-tech cache. And he returned from the last expedition alone. I recall there was a real furor over that. There were even some accusations that he murdered his crewmates down on the planet."
"Correct,” said Huromonus, “although there was never enough solid evidence to formally implicate him. Ghandi's story was impossible to dispute. He claimed that his crewmates were lost on the surface when a violent tsunami hit the Chinese mainland. He claimed to have survived only because the shuttle captain had left him aboard ship and he managed to lift off before the sea wall hit. An E-Tech base in China did register a tsunami on the day in question.
"Ghandi was charged and convicted of illegal surface prospecting—a fairly minor violation. He had to pay a stiff fine, but that was the extent of his legal problems."
"Let's assume,” said Nick, “that our boy Ghandi actually came across the Paratwa down there. And he struck some sort of deal with them."
"How would they have gotten to Earth?” the Lion asked.
"Probably a small shuttle,” replied Huromonus. “After all, Meridian entered our defense net by shuttle. And the Council has already discussed the likelihood that the Paratwa possess very sophisticated antiscan technology. If that's true, then twenty-five years ago—a time when the majority of the defense net was not yet even in place—one small ship easily could have gotten through."
"It's perfect,” said Nick, shaking his head. “Son of a bitch! I should have thought of this before. I always assumed that the tripartite assassin, and whatever other Paratwa came with him, somehow figured out a clandestine way of entering the cylinders. I could never work out the details, though. It always seemed so incredibly complicated ... so risky.
"But they didn't come to the Colonies! Instead, they must have used this antiscan gear to penetrate E-Tech's planetary tracking. They landed on Earth. I should have seen it!"
The Lion noted that the cheerleaders were frowning. Nick had overlooked something. Their computer god possessed imperfections.
"I'll be damned,” muttered the midget, still stunned by his oversight. “The Paratwa landed on Earth, suckered this Ghandi's shuttle down, killed his crew, probably destroyed their own shuttle, and then had Ghandi transport them up to one of the cylinders. He probably docked first in one of the real out-of-the-way pirate colonies—a place where few questions would be asked. He dropped his new friends there, then flew the shuttle back to his original departure terminal where he gave everyone the bullshit story about his crewmates being lost in this tsunami."
"It adds up,” said Huromonus.
"Damn right! And this Calvin KyJy—Ghandi's so-called aide. He must be the third tway. The backup. The one that Susan could have identified."
"Then this Ghandi must be functioning in the manner of Doyle Blumhaven,” mused the Lion. “He's just another front man for the Paratwa. Do you think the tripartite could be running their operation?"
"I doubt it,” said Nick. “No, there must be someone else. Maybe an Ash Ock lieutenant—someone of Meridian's rank ... or maybe even the actual tway of an Ash Ock."
The Lion recalled the Ash Nar assassin's ominous warning at the retreat—the words that supposedly came from Sappho herself. You can live under our domain or you can die under it. The choice is yours.
He allowed himself a deep sigh, hoping to prevent his guts from clamping into new torment, hoping to prevent physical reacknowledgment of his cowardice, of the utter hopelessness of defeating the Paratwa. But surprisingly, the stomach cramps did not come. For the first time since the retreat massacre, he felt a sense of hope. Huromonus's revelations offered fresh possibilities. Even my body recognizes that there may be cause for optimism. The thought almost made him chuckle.
"I've ordered a full data probe of CPG Corporation,” said Huromonus. “In a short time, we'll have a complete profile of the company and its chief officers."
"Excellent,” said Nick.
The Lion asked, “Anything new on these freelancer stories regarding Gillian's and Susan Quint's connection with Lester Mon Dama, the Church of the Trust, and these female genejobs?"
Huromonus shook his head. “Zork-Morgan, the FL-Sixteen freelancers who broke the story, have not been very cooperative. We're still trying to track down their sources, as well as investigate some of these women who Zork-Morgan claim have been genetically modified. But as yet, we've generated no hard data. And Lester Mon Dama is still missing
."
The Lion nodded. “Could there be a connection between this priest and CPG Corporation?"
"An interesting possibility."
Nick shrugged. “We can dance in circles all day trying to make sense out of that mess. But right now, I say we get back to the task at hand. It's time to shake up the archives. It's time to catch ourselves a Freebird."
"It's time to crack the surface!” hollered a cheerleader.
"The big quake's a-coming!” hollered another.
* * *
A pale blue background speckled with soft cotton puffs dissolved across the main screen; a representation of Earth skies that once were as common to the planet as human beings. The Lion stared, briefly entranced by the pure imagery: dreams of a place he had never known vacillated with a deeper feeling that their upcoming actions would somehow forever deny them access to it.
But the archives had to be sacrifice. Freebird had to be driven from the self-imposed depths of its data fortress. And according to those who knew better, destruction was the only way.
Nick aimed a finger at the screen. “Again, this is the representational aspect of Freebird—sort of its ‘public image'—its front. But the real guts of this program must reside in a floating core drive, which—at any particular moment—is probably scattered in hundreds of discrete locations throughout the archives. That's why it's so difficult to track. The core drive is never in one place long enough to get a handle on it. That's why we haven't been able to ream it of its data and that's also why the sunsetter has been unsuccessful—at least so far. This floating core drive is what enabled Freebird to make it up to the Colonies in the first place, two and a half centuries ago. It was fast enough and smart enough to have escaped detection and detoxing when the archives were originally transferred from the planet. But all that's about to change.” The midget grinned at Huromonus. “Gee, I sure hope this works."
The E-Tech director sighed. “I would, Nick, prefer a more positive attitude. Future generations will doubtlessly remember me as the man who ordered the decimation of the archives, the man who wiped out much of the collected knowledge of humanity's past."
"Yeah, this could be the greatest loss since the library at Alexandria got trashed."
"Indeed. And I would prefer, at least, that future history texts provide a codicil to my actions. Something on the order of—'He did it for a good reason.’”
"Hey,” offered Nick, “not to worry. No matter what happens, they'll always remember you as ‘Crazy Eddie.’”
Nervous laughter sounded from the cheerleaders. Even the trio's good-natured bantering had dried up as the moment of reckoning approached.
"I think we're ready,” said Nick.
"Do it,” ordered Huromonus.
Nick turned to the cheerleaders. One of them typed as set of commands and muttered, “Here we go."
Another said, “This is for Adam.” The other two nodded in silent accord.
Earlier, Huromonus had outlined the combination of factors necessary to accomplish archival decimation: “Full-scale destruction can be initiated only from within this prime data-retrieval section. It remains the only location where all of the major nexus points can be simultaneously accessed. And as the acting E-Tech director, I am probably the only one who can guarantee our security while this catastrophe is being engineered.” A rueful smile had crossed his face. “We are going to send a cry out to every E-Tech programmer within hailing distance. Some of them will use any means possible to stop us."
The Lion had agreed with Huromonus's assessment.
"To force Freebird out in the open, we not only have to destroy the archives here in Irrya, we have to wipe out the duplicate systems as well. Shock wave one forces the back-up security algorithms to pop out of their safe little foxholes. They stand up, as it were, take a look around, and try to discover the reason for the calamity within the primary system. But they don't perceive any direct threat—the first shock wave has not touched their systems—so they don't go into their instant defensive modes and disengage RF/laser com matrices. At this point, they will still be perceiving the problem as being limited to the Irryan system, although they will begin a standard countdown leading to emergency cutoff.
"And that's when we hit ‘em with everything we've got—shock wave two. We mow down the security algorithms, preventing com disengagement. And then we blow the backups to hell!"
A cheerleader shouted, “All security algorithms up and out of their foxholes! Fifteen seconds to cutoff!"
That was Nick's signal. “Shock wave two ... Now!"
Fresh sirens howled, contributing to the din. A cheerleader grabbed Huromonus by the elbow.
"Sir, the guards outside the vaults are signaling! Two senior programmers have arrived! They're demanding entry! They're threatening the guards with extreme sanctions if they're not allowed to pass!"
Huromonus gently lifted the cheerleader's hand from his elbow. “Are the programmers armed?"
"No, sir!"
"Are the guards armed?"
"Yes, sir! I catch your meaning, sir!” The cheerleader spun back to one of his consoles.
Another cheerleader shouted, “All security algorithms are down! Cutoff procedures terminated!"
"Hit ‘em with the aftershocks,” commanded Nick.
Another series of electrospasms spread through the system. More sirens wailed. Monitors displayed dizzying explosions of color and data—nonsensical arrays of light and motion—the outlines of desperation, of a network fighting to maintain sanity in the face of massive traumatic shocks to its deepest circuitry.
"I've got a tracer on what looks like a core drive! It could be Freebird!"
Nick leaped from his chair. “Location?"
"I'll have a rough physiograph in ten seconds!"
"Make it five!"
"Got it! It's right here in Irrya! The core drive is scampering all over the place, trying to avoid getting fried in any terminated circuits!” The cheerleader hopped from foot to foot, as excited as a three-year-old. “Look at that sucker move!"
"Go to mommy!” urged Nick. “Show us the way!"
Another cheerleader yelled. “We've got calls coming into E-Tech from all over the Colonies! The backup facilities are screaming for explanations!"
"Let ‘em scream,” Nick hollered. “Just stay glued to that core drive!"
"It's heading for a nexus!"
"Bingo! We must have fried a good portion of its floating memories. It's running home to mommy—or at least to where it thinks mommy is."
"I've got a precise nexus location,” announced a cheerleader. “It's a standard sub-system terminal at the following coordinates. Southern Irrya, Epsilon sector, one point two-three-six-six miles north of the polar plate, two-five-nine degrees!"
"Close that nexus!” ordered the midget.
"Doors are shut and latched! That core drive is going nowhere!"
"Got you, you son of a bitch!” howled the midget. “We've trapped it!"
The Lion risked an interruption of their delirious agitation. “Any trace of the sunsetter?"
"Negative!” shouted a cheerleader.
"We didn't expect much success there,” said Nick, his voice instantly calmer. “A sunsetter is way too compact. And it's designed to hide itself in a network, and stay hidden no matter what's occurring.” He risked a quick glance away from his terminal, caught the Lion's eye. “Besides, like I told you ... it's not the sunsetter we're after.” The Lion nodded. The coordinated destruction of the archives was far too complex to offer them a realistic shot at both of the warring programs. They could effectively track one or the other and Nick's priorities had been clear. He wanted Freebird.
"I've got data on Freebird's check-in terminal,” said a cheerleader, sounding much calmer, as if he was taking his cues from Nick.
"The sub-station terminal is located in a private dwelling ... a house owned by the Church of the Trust."
"Well, now,” muttered Nick. “Our old friends. Why doesn't that
surprise me?” He turned to Huromonus. “We've got to raid this house—right now. Our zap of the archives no doubt revealed to the sunsetter the same information it revealed to us. The Ash Ock might already be zeroing in on this location."
"They might send their assassin,” said the Lion, trying to keep a disturbing amalgam of emotions out of his voice.
Nick's response was suitably grim. “We'd better bring a lot of firepower."
O}o{O
Ghandi had never before seen Ky and Jy completely naked. Even at the chalet, in those cold-blooded moments surrounding Doyle Blumhaven's murder, the tways had worn translucent gowns, the sheer fabric providing just enough of a buffer to hide the flesh beneath Ky's left armpit and Jy's right one—the only portions of its collective body which Calvin found embarrassing.
It was difficult accounting for such reticence. The Ash Nar could kill with impunity, publicly ejaculate on a dead man, and probably do things to helpless animals that would discomfit lifelong sadists. But for as long as Ghandi had known him, the identical twins—Ky and Jy—remained inordinately modest about exposing their strange scars.
Colette had warned Ghandi never to speak of the tways’ blemishes in Calvin's presence.
When Ghandi stepped through the CPG shuttle's midcompartment airseal into the tiny exercise chamber, the twins were floating, naked and wet, beneath the open hatch of a steamjet cubicle. Obviously, they had just come out of the shower following a workout. The last person they were expecting to see was Ghandi. He rarely came to this section of a shuttle. When the Ash Nar was aboard the same CPG fleet vessel, Ghandi usually preferred to remain sequestered with the crew on the upper decks.
Today, he was not quite sure why he was making an exception.
Instantly, the tways pinned their arms against their bodies: fast enough to prevent him from seeing their scars; fast enough to call attention to their movements.
The Paratwa (#3 in the Parawta Saga) Page 23