by Sean Platt
Nicolai watched Micah, his mind continuing to roll thoughts of Rachel like an old euro coin across the backs of his fingers.
What will happen if Enterprise gains majority at Shift? Nicolai had asked Rachel, back when he’d naively thought he’d been controlling that conversation.
But given the bomb Carter Vale had dropped at the Prime Statements — his futile but optimistic plans to dig up the pie-in-the-sky Project Mindbender then offer its brain-uploading services as a Directorate social service — there was no way Enterprise would be winning majority now. For a while, it had looked like the advent of digital beem currency would make Enterprise thinking accessible to everyone and win some hearts and minds. But the pipe dream of living forever in the cloud? That was far more interesting.
Shift was now just days away. More people would shift from Enterprise to Directorate than the other way around. The Senate wouldn’t just keep its Directorate majority; it would magnify it. Nicolai’s question to Rachel would be moot.
What will happen, Rachel had turned around to ask Nicolai, when the old get older, the rich get richer, and the rest of the world has no way to keep up? What will happen when what happened with Noah West begins to happen with everyone at the top of both parties?
What happened with Noah West?
Oh, but that’s the most delicious secret of all.
It was a pyramid of games. Rachel, Nicolai had thought at the time, was an old woman whose power was circling the drain. But after talking to Sam Dial, he had his doubts. Sam might be Beamsick, his mind forever torn like a fraying rag. He might believe in spooks and digital saviors and men in black come to steal him away. But Nicolai’s ear had learned to discern the kernel of truth when he heard it, and he’d heard plenty from Sam.
Nicolai hadn’t wanted to talk to Rachel then any more than he wanted a conversation with Micah now. He wasn’t a free-agent employee of Micah’s Department of Capital Protection. He wasn’t a contractor for Ryan Enterprises. And yet the Ryans had stolen from Nicolai’s father to build their empire. They’d grabbed Nicolai by invisible strings, and the independent fighter inside him resented every bit of it.
What makes you think this is about politics? Nicolai had asked Sam.
And Sam had answered with his most biting, poignant bit of truth yet: Isn’t everything?
Micah sat on the chair’s arm beside Nicolai. Nothing Micah did was by accident, and his body language told Nicolai two things: I’m your buddy, and you can trust me, and You understand who’s in charge here, don’t you?
“You’re being awfully quiet,” Micah said.
Nicolai looked up at Micah’s too-handsome, forever-young face. “I don’t think it’s awful at all.”
“But do you understand? Do you agree with me? Even if you don’t work with me, you’re working with me, in a way, regardless. Not because I want you to but because Enterprise is who you are and can’t help but be — and because you’re like me, not like my brother. And if I may be presumptuous, it’s also because the real art you’ve created in the world is the technology my family licensed, which made the largest revolution in history possible.”
Again, Micah gave the word “art” that insulting little emphasis, pandering so Nicolai would understand. Like explaining complex concepts to a toddler with a doll.
“I don’t agree with you, no.”
“About working in Enterprise?”
Nicolai felt battered enough by Ryans lately to risk speaking plainly. “About pretty much everything.”
Micah watched Nicolai with those piercing gray eyes of his for a few long seconds. Then he smiled, laughed, and stood. He crossed to the bar and poured two glasses of red wine from a bottle that had smelled recently opened when Nicolai had passed it earlier, as if Micah had always intended to let it breathe for this particular moment. The cultured snob who’d grown inside Nicolai had been eyeing the bottle for a while now. It seemed to be a Rococo ’89 and was subtly perfect. Not showy and nowhere near lowbrow. If there was one wine that Nicolai might consider sharing with Micah and would never be able to find on his own, this was it.
Micah returned with two glasses. He held one out to Nicolai. Nicolai kept his hands where they were and stared, but then Micah rolled his eyes.
“Oh, just fucking take the glass, Nicolai. I know you don’t like me much, but I also know you’re not this rude. You and I, we’re like brothers. Same as Isaac and I are brothers, except that I have far more in common with you than with him. Isaac and I don’t get along most of the time either, but in the end we’re still blood.”
Nicolai looked at the rich red liquid.
Micah pushed it a centimeter forward. “Don’t tell me about how you’re not my brother. It’s so predictable.”
Nicolai took the glass. Micah chuckled and said, “That’s the problem with being a rugged individual, isn’t it? We do the opposite of what everyone else thinks we should do then run into a paradox when what someone expects is for us to be contrarian.”
Nicolai hated himself for taking the glass, but Micah was right. About many things. Nicolai wasn’t that rude. He didn’t like the idea of doing what Micah expected, even if the thing he expected was to refuse. And like it or not, he was more of a brother to both Ryans than he liked to admit. He’d known them both for sixty years, and they’d shared an uncountable number of meals and drinks and nights of room and board. They’d been through good and bad, thick and thin, friendship and betrayal. Their history went back too far not to be complicated. It would be easy for Nicolai to hate Micah because sometimes, that’s what brothers do.
Nicolai still felt he needed a victory, so he settled on saying, “That’s not really a paradox.”
Micah clinked his glass against Nicolai’s and said, “That’s why you’re the writer.” Then he sipped. Reluctantly, Nicolai joined him, his mind torn as to whether or not he should appreciate the wine’s bold taste and rich bouquet or find it repugnant on principle.
“So,” said Micah.
“So what?”
“If you’re willing, I have something I’d like you to do.”
“I don’t work for you, Micah.”
“I know that. But I also know that you keep coming here when I invite you. Not as a subordinate, but as a guest. If I had to guess, I’d say that you want to avoid me, but find yourself unable to resist the pull of…oh, hell…destiny? Is that too thick?”
“A little.”
“Like it or not, your past is tied to my family’s. And like it or not, both of our histories are tied to development in the present. Few people know this, Nicolai, but according to some of the eggheads at Xenia reporting to me, there’s sentiment out there that The Beam’s nature is changing.”
This was news to Nicolai. He found himself interested despite his best efforts to remain indifferent. “Changing how?”
“At the same time,” Micah went on, ignoring Nicolai’s question in a way that was in no way accidental, “the world itself is changing.”
“The world?”
Micah gestured, still half-sitting on the arm of the chair. “All of this. The city. The way we live. Not just us at the top, but everyone all the way down to the poorest kid below the line. In the same way Xenia talks about a coming change in The Beam, the people I’m connected to in politics talk about this Shift marking a change in the world.”
“Politicians always talk like that,” Nicolai said. But in the back of his mind, he heard the paranoid, Beamsick voice of Sam Dial: in the past it was a choice between one color and another name for the same color…but this time it actually matters.
“I suppose we’ll see,” Micah said. “But if you ask me, it seems like quite a coincidence. Two separate groups — and authoritative groups who’d know, not gossipers — talking about coming change. So, destiny? Maybe it’s not that far-fetched after all.”
“Just because nanobots rode here on my back doesn’t mean — ”
“I think we both know there’s more to it than that,” Micah said,
a trifle short. “I told you as much, and I’m sure my mother told you more.”
Nicolai forced himself to finish his sip then set the glass down slowly. He’d assumed Rachel and Micah wouldn’t have cross-talked about Nicolai’s visit because the Ryans ate their young — and, he supposed, their elders. But in just a few days, news of Nicolai’s poking into Ryan affairs had made its way ‘round the circle.
“Look, Nicolai. You can go off and play your piano if you want. Go paint. Go read and write books. Wear a fucking beret for all I care. But I know you better than you’re giving me credit for, and I know that you’re equal parts artist and capitalist. It’s not even incongruent. I feel the same way about myself. The art we create is big and bold and doesn’t appear on a canvas. To put it bluntly, people like you and me — we make the world. That’s our art. So you can brush off your father’s creations if you want. You can turn away from everything I do the same as you’re turning away from everything my brother does. Maybe you don’t want anything to do with any of us, despite the fact that you thought it pertinent to go and talk to Rachel. And that’s to say nothing of what’s going on with your little girlfriend.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Micah gave a tiny, patronizing smile.
“Point is, you’d be lying to yourself. If you stop being angry and hurt long enough to think honestly about all of this, you’d see how obvious that is. Turning from my requests — or, if you prefer, my suggestions, which you may feel free to adapt and take as your own ideas — would be cutting off your nose to spite your face. It’s another thing that she and you have in common, and she’s just as slow to come around and get on the winning side.”
“You mean your mother?” Nicolai asked, heart thumping at Micah’s mention of “she.”
“Yes, Nicolai,” said Micah, his voice thick. “My mother is who I’m talking about. Rachel Ryan wants to be a free-agent artist.”
Again, Nicolai decided to dodge, pretending not to hear Micah’s sarcasm. He was having trouble keeping all of his lies straight. Did Micah know he and Kai knew each other? He’d been assuming not, but it’s not like it would have been impossible to tie them together. Micah’s Beau Monde access would have no trouble connecting them, even if only casually. Rachel might even have said something to Nicolai about Kai; he couldn’t remember. That was the problem with secrets.
“What’s your…suggestion?” Nicolai asked, hoping the many truth detectors he felt sure Micah had on his body and in his office’s canvas wouldn’t hear his uncertainty.
“You’ve heard about Craig Braemon’s Respero fundraiser. The Violet James Foundation thing.”
It was a statement, not a question. Nicolai watched Micah, trying to control his breathing. The house of cards was growing too tall. Not only did Micah know Nicolai had been snooping in his family, he also seemed to know something about Kai…and maybe the secret they were keeping from him, about Kate-né-Doc. But now there was this, too. Craig Braemon’s pre-Shift event. The same pre-Shift event that conspiracy theorist Sam Dial had already convinced Nicolai to attend for nefarious purposes, not even an hour ago.
Nicolai nodded. He managed to say, “Sure,” but didn’t trust himself with a second word.
“I’d like you to attend. As a Capital Protection representative.”
“Why?”
“Because Braemon doesn’t like me. We have…history. But it’s already become one of those events that’s more than its face value. He’s also tied to my mother.”
“Does he like her?”
“Probably not. But they have other ties. I think.”
“You think?”
Micah shifted, finally coming down to sit properly in the chair, taking a sip of his wine.
“I’ll be blunt, Nicolai. Let’s slash the knot, in the spirit of honesty and having all cards on the table. I know you know Kai Dreyfus.”
Nicolai resisted choking on his wine.
“And I know you know about the Beau Monde. Of course you do because you’re not stupid. And because after talking to Kai, I know that she knows, so of course you’ve discussed it.”
“Kai is just a friend,” was all he could think to say.
“Sure she is,” said Micah, and Nicolai found himself unable to read the man’s subtext — if there was more to what he knew than he was letting on. “Because she’s lobbying for you, same as she’s lobbying for herself.”
“She is?” The idea was strangely touching. He knew Kai’s lust for Beau Monde status, but he hadn’t known she was arguing for Nicolai’s inclusion without being asked. In the moment, he found himself missing her.
“I might as well tell you because Kai will tell you anyway: She thinks I can get both of you in, and I’ve told her truthfully that I can’t — but that I may know how to find out who controls the decisions. Braemon is part of that.”
“You’re sending me to this fundraiser so you can get Kai and me into the Beau Monde?”
Micah shook his head. “I’d be insulting you if I pretended that was the reason. Of course it’s not. But Braemon has something I want, too.”
“What?”
“A vote.”
“A vote for what?”
“You don’t need to know that any more than I need to know other people’s privileged information. Like: any secrets you and Kai might be keeping from me.”
“We’re not — ”
“I want leverage on Braemon. But that’s good news for you because you also want leverage on Braemon.”
“I don’t want leverage.”
“Sure you do. Same as Kai.”
“Kai came asking you for something,” Nicolai said, “so why don’t you send Kai?”
“I am,” said Micah. He recrossed his legs. “I’m sending her with you.”
Nicolai found himself speechless. The levels of deception were endless. Maybe Micah knew all that he and Kai had done and tried to hide from him and simply didn’t care because there was a bigger prize on the table. Or maybe he cared plenty, and what was happening now was akin to a cat playing with its prey before leaving its guts on the floor.
“What do you want us to do?”
“Attend.”
“And?”
“That’s it. Just attend. Go to the event, and make your intentions clear.”
Nicolai squinted, not understanding. “You want us to threaten him? With what?”
“You’re not listening, Nicolai. Stop trying to read between the lines. Attend and intend. That’s it.”
“You want me to go to this thing with Kai. And once there, you want me to think good thoughts?”
Micah nodded. “Thoughts about getting what I need from Braemon. What you and Kai, by extension, need as well.”
This was feeling more and more like a trap. This wasn’t a mission; it was a prayer circle.
“Why?”
“I’m conducting an experiment.”
“Maybe you could tell me what the experiment hopes to prove?” Nicolai said.
Micah took a sip, his legs still crossed at the knee, his fine suit bold and powerful. “Whether certain…sources…are right about the network’s allegiance.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You brought your father’s nanobots to the NAU, Nicolai. As I said, there’s a lot of talk about how The Beam might be changing. I want to see if it’s true. As I’m sure my mother implied or flat-out told you we kept you close all these years not just because we like you and appreciate your mind, but because we think you’re important.”
“Noah Fucking West, Micah, if you’d just explain what you — ”
“Braemon’s security is impossibly complex. The gates are all guarded by highly evolved artificial intelligent agents. There is literally no way for a human to hack their way inside it.” He took another sip of wine, finishing the glass. “But if I’m right, your personal history with the AI might have made you some friends inside the system.”
“You think that just becau
se I want to get you inside Braemon’s system, it’s just going to happen?” Nicolai said, his jaw wanting to hang open.
Micah smiled. “Seems worth a shot to find out, doesn’t it?”
Nicolai swallowed. Sam Dial had suggested Nicolai attend Braemon’s party for reasons that worked for Nicolai but were only fully known to Sam…and now here was Micah, practically ordering Nicolai to do the same thing.
Nicolai watched Micah’s cocky smile, feeling his world’s bolts loosen even further than they’d felt of late. Unbidden, his memory played back a snippet from a NEXT talk he’d heard years ago that had refused to leave his mind:
As we scream past singularity, the idea that “everything happens for a reason” has intertwined with the expression “Everything that can happen, will happen.” The first has stopped being an expression about faith and has instead become a truth about the inevitable probabilities that come with an infinite-computing, nearly omniscient, AI-driven brute force loop.
Was the concordance of Sam’s and Micah’s directives a coincidence?
Maybe. But more and more, in Nicolai’s mind, the idea of coincidence was feeling obsolete.
Chapter Five
August 14, 2091
“Archer,” said the attractive woman to Sam’s right, touching his arm, “which way will you be shifting?”
It took Sam a moment to answer. Just a moment, but the pause — between his brain’s automatic response and the verification delivered through his cloud implant — was there. Ironically, it was The Beam that answered first, and Sam’s own reaction (a desire to correct the woman) came second. One more bit of proof that Beam off-worlding of processing was more natural than nature, given that biology was slower, and its recall not nearly as sure.
But yes, despite his brain’s knee-jerk rejection of his new name, he was able to verify that his identity tonight was that of Archer Latham, age twenty-four, quasi-reclusive software entrepreneur, native enough to District One that his family still thought of the city as Los Angeles. Sam had actually never been to D1 before now, but he’d created an extensive faux history for Archer Latham and naturally had maps and access to all of the public cams. His wetchip was one of the best he’d been able to afford. As long as he had a good Beam connection, he should be able to come across just fine as Archer.