Bug Park

by James P. Hogan

  Michelle's firm was in a high-rise called the John Sloane Building. Corfe knew it already, having come here the previous week to voice his suspicions to Michelle about DNC matters. They entered via a revolving glass door. Kevin saw from a directory on one wall of the lobby that the offices of Prettis and Lang were on the fifth floor. The day receptionist had left, and a security guard at the desk signed them in. After calling upstairs to verify that they were expected, he directed them through to the elevators.

  Everything about the building seemed to have been formed by sticking together rectangular blocks, like Lego, Kevin thought, looking around while they waited. Even the numberless, internally illuminated clock overlooking the lobby floor. Or was the enclosed space formed by some kind of inverse process of subtracting blocks from some primordial Lego continuum that had once filled the universe? He wondered if architects got their inspiration from their children's cereal boxes over breakfast.

  Michelle was waiting for them when they emerged from the car. "Hi," she greeted. "I was beginning to get a little worried. It took you longer than I'd have thought. You'd have been going against the worst of the traffic."

  "We stopped to pick up some stuff at a hardware place on the way," Corfe said.

  "No problem with the tape?" she said to Kevin. He shook his head and patted the school bag that he was carrying. Michelle led them across a landing area and a short distance along a corridor to a door bearing a brass sign that echoed the firm's name. Inside was a reception desk facing a waiting area containing glazed parallelipipedal furniture vaguely suggestive of a table, couch, and chairs—probably designed by architects—and beyond that, a deserted area with desks and data terminals, file cabinets, other assorted office equipment, and a garnishing of potted plants to relieve the utilitarian blandness. A passage on the far side brought them to a door bearing Michelle's name. It opened into a private office occupying a corner of the building, with windows in two adjoining walls. There were law books and begonias, framed certificates and degrees, and a corkboard of photographs and personal mementos, combining a businesslike appearance with a feeling of hominess in the way that femininity seems uniquely able to achieve—reassuring in its orderliness, yet with enough clutter not to seem clinical. A tape player and monitor on a metal cart were set up by the desk, which faced the room diagonally across the angle of the two windows. Kevin handed Michelle the cartridge from his bag while Corfe pulled up two of the chrome-armed visitor chairs. Michelle loaded the machine and sat down. Then she opened a manila file folder that was lying on the desk and pulled across a yellow pad.

  "First, let's get the background straight," she said. "Now, just exactly what is this tape, and where did it come from?"

  Kevin explained how, the previous Friday, a mec that Taki had set aside to take back to his place had gone missing. (He didn't see any need to go into how Taki had gotten the mec over to Kevin's house to begin with.) Well, what was the obvious way to find out where a lost mec was? "Couple into it from the lab and look around to see where you are," he concluded.

  "Makes sense," Michelle agreed.

  "So that was what we did. It was last Friday afternoon. Mom was getting ready for that seminar over the weekend. The front hall at the house was piled up with all kinds of stuff. That was where Taki must have left it, and it got put into one of the bags somehow . . ."

  Michelle raised a hand. "Was it out on its own, in a way anyone at the house would recognize it? Or was it inside something?"

  "It was wrapped in some plastic with a relay card that Taki had been testing, then put inside a folded plastic bag with a rubber band around."

  "Okay."

  "Anyway, that's about it. I coupled in and sent out its ID code when we got to the lab. Taki was following on the external monitor. And this is what we got." Kevin nodded at the player where Michelle had loaded the tape.

  "Did you start recording from the beginning?" Michelle asked as she pressed a button on the remote.

  "Whatever goes into the monitor is recorded automatically unless the option is switched out," Corfe answered.

  After several seconds, Taki's voice came over the audio. "Any luck?"

  Michelle looked puzzled. "Is something happening? . . . What am I supposed to be seeing?"

  "I'm still inside the bag," Kevin reminded her.

  "Oh, right."

  The voices on the tape continued.

  Kevin: "Well, I'm through but mummified. Now I have to try and get out of this stuff."

  "Is there—"

  "Shh." Tones of a woman's voice, muffled and unintelligible, then Kevin again: "I'm not anywhere in this house, and that's for sure."

  "How could it not be in the house? That's crazy."

  "Well, either it got taken out by mom, or it got taken out by Harriet. Nobody else has been here, have they?"

  "Oh, okay. . . . I guess so."

  "Logic, Taki. Logic."

  The woman's voice was still audible intermittently in the background. "I take it that's Vanessa we can hear?" Michelle said.

  Kevin nodded. Patches of light and shade shifted meaninglessly, but were getting brighter: the bow view from a whale coming up out of the abyss to check on the world. "Now I'm cutting my way out," Kevin commented. A wedge of shadow sliced downward, and a dark blur opposite resolved itself into a claw hand pushing aside a curtain to let in a flood of color. At the same time, Vanessa's voice was answered by a man's, louder and understandable now. They were talking about whether to stay and have dinner in, or go out. The view through the curtains enlarged into a vista of massive geometric shapes, which proceeded through a series of jerky turning movements to transform into strangely leaning cliffs: Manhattan from the ground, painted in pastels and seen in a distorting mirror. "It's the inside of a paper carrier bag full of folders and books," Kevin supplied. "Taki remembered seeing it on the hall table."

  "This is Martin Payne with her that we're hearing," Michelle checked.

  "Yes," Kevin confirmed.

  Michelle had filled in some background on Payne while she was waiting—nothing sensational: items on file in the local press and business news; listings of companies with their directors and chief officers; things like that. She'd even found a good picture of him from a black-tie banquet with the mayor and city officials held a little over six months earlier. He certainly looked more what she thought of as Vanessa's type than Eric did.

  She listened as Payne suggested getting business out of the way first. Vanessa's voice replied, "I've brought copies of the QA reports that I told you about. The figures—"

  Michelle stopped the tape with the screen showing the huge hand withdrawing a maroon file, and looked at the other two quizzically. "QA?"

  Corfe frowned and rubbed his nose with a knuckle. "Quality Assurance. She must be giving him test results on Neurodyne's latest models."

  "That's what I figured too." Kevin said it as if he were experiencing a sour taste. Michelle resumed playing the tape. The ensuing exchange between Vanessa and Payne confirmed Corfe's guess, although somewhat garbled by the foreground sounds of the mec extricating itself from its wrappings and then being tipped out of the plastic bag.

  "Very clever. Now how are you going to get back in?" Taki's voice said.

  "Shut up. If I want your opinion, I'll give it to you."

  The view stabilized for a few seconds as the mec took in the surroundings from the seat that it had found itself on. "Oh yes, you can see it's Vanessa now," Michelle commented.

  Corfe leaned forward to peer at the screen more closely. "Yes, that's the main salon on the Dolores, all right. I can see where they are now."

  Kevin nodded. "It gets obvious later." The scene turned like a view from a carousel, then halted to focus on the space between two cushions. The space grew larger and engulfed the viewer, and then gave way to an angle looking back out, as if from a cave.

  "Getting under some cover, Kevin?" Michelle said.

  "You bet."

  Then Vanessa said, "I don't th
ink he's going to change his mind about it, and we can't risk being too pushy. Honestly, I've made all the suggestions that I think would be prudent."

  Then came the first glimpse of Payne in a red shirt and white pants as Vanessa turned away. He said, "Then we'll have Phil go ahead and draw up a codicil. It's probably the safest way, anyhow." Michelle raised the remote and seemed about to stop the tape again, then changed her mind. There was more, but lost behind more wisecracking between Kevin and Taki. Further fragments came through the scraping and swishing noises while Kevin climbed the folds in the flag.

  Payne: ". . . way it's set up. Phil has already looked into that angle. . . . redirected in your favor . . ."

  Vanessa: ". . . Kevin as it stands. As I said a moment ago, I've tried everything that . . ."

  "I couldn't make out what that—" Kevin began, but Michelle hushed him with a wave.

  Payne: "Who else . . . background to the situation . . . Eric's the only one who . . . contest anything . . . right there in writing, notarized and . . . not around to argue . . ."

  Vanessa: ". . . wish there was a day when . . . sick and tired of . . . can rely on Phil."

  Payne: ". . . worth it when it's over . . ." There was a blurred patch that included a word that sounded like "dynamics."

  "The folds of the flag were muffling the sound," Kevin interjected. "If I remember right, he was asking about theoretical work."

  The mec paused at the top of the cabinet in time to pick up Vanessa saying more clearly, "You stick to organizing the finances. You're better at it. Don't worry about the scientific side. Leave that to me."

  "I was just curious," Payne replied, sounding short.

  "I think you might find this more interesting." Vanessa handed him a green folder.

  "What is it?"

  "Open it and see."

  There was a silence while Payne read. The mec found sanctuary in the shadows behind one of the figurines and began scanning the scene. Michelle nodded to herself as she recognized Payne fully now from the photograph. He was murmuring aloud as he read. ". . . not restricted to places like Florida and California. . . . Year-round market in northern states . . . capture twenty percent of existing VR in two years, annual growth rates of . . ."

  Michelle sat up with a start. "That's from one of the reports that I gave Eric from Ohira! They're talking about moving in on Bug Park." She shook her head disbelievingly. "The bitch! . . . Oh, sorry, Kevin."

  "That's okay. I, er, guess you're right. . . . It's not really that big a thing—us, I mean."

  Corfe was rubbing his palms on the arms of his chair and shifting agitatedly, containing himself with difficulty. "I knew there was something like this all along. . . . Look, I'm sorry, folks, but I'm about to start talking outta line here. I've kept it to myself until now, but . . ."

  Michelle stayed him with a hand. "All in good time, Doug."

  By now, Kevin and Taki were debating the nature of the room. Corfe nodded as the view of furnishings and art works flowed by on the screen. "There's an entertainment center in that cabinet," he remarked. "It was me and Mike Ellipulos who installed it." The view backed up and came to rest on the carved crest adorning the end wall. "There it is," Corfe announced. "Princess Dolores."

  "This is wonderful, Vanessa." The view moved back to Payne as he finished his scrutiny of the file. "I hadn't realized it could be worth so much. Will I still be able to afford you when you own all this?"

  Vanessa moved closer to him. "We'll own it." They exchanged a few more words about having a drink and then driving to a restaurant somewhere, and then left, Payne with his arm around her.

  "That's about it," Kevin said. "The rest is just me and Taki."

  "Did you see anything else that we ought to know about?" Michelle asked him.

  "No. The mec was almost out of charge. I didn't think there was enough to get it back down, so I left it."

  Michelle raised her eyebrows. "You mean it's still there?"

  "It seemed better up there than having it run down out in the open somewhere." As Kevin spoke, the image cut out. Michelle stopped the tape.

  "They didn't mention Microbotics or Payne's name anywhere," Michelle commented. "How did you establish who he was?"

  "I didn't until yesterday," Kevin replied. "When Ray came to the house."

  "The ferry captain who was at the barbecue," Corfe threw in.

  "Yes, I remember him."

  "He was asking about a guy that we both used to know at Bremerton," Corfe explained. "Well, this guy became Payne's skipper on the Dolores—still is for all I know. When I told Ray that, Kevin recognized it as the name on the plaque that we just saw on the tape."

  "I see. . . ." Michelle sat back and contemplated the blank screen for a while, then scanned over her notes.

  "What do you make of it?" Corfe asked after what seemed like a generous allowance for silence. When she didn't reply immediately, he offered: "Vanessa's been taking Eric for a ride. They're setting up for Payne to move in on the business, and then, hell, I dunno . . ." He exhaled heavily and waved a hand. "Eventually, she walks, I guess, and Eric gets left . . . with what, the crumbs and a lot of problems?"

  Michelle looked at Kevin dubiously and bit her lip, as if unsure how much to say of what was going through her mind. Kevin met her stare with an unvoiced challenge, daring her to just try and concoct some excuse for getting him out of the way, like asking him to go next door for some sandwiches or something. Dammit, he'd gotten the tape; it was his dad. . . .

  If she had any such thought she seemed to think better of it, and relented with a nod that was probably unconscious. "I think it might be more serious than that," she said. Kevin's and Corfe's eyes met for an instant, then shifted back to her. She checked her notes again. "Vanessa said something about trying to change somebody's mind. She had to have been talking about Eric. Let's see if I can find it." She rewound the tape to where the mec was heading for refuge between the cushions, then replayed from there, picking out selected parts of the dialogue between Vanessa and Payne. "There. Vanessa's trying to change his mind, but doesn't think that being pushy would be prudent. Change his mind about what? . . . Now Payne's talking: they have to have Phil draw up a codicil. That almost certainly means Phillip Garsten, yes? Then, a few seconds later, we get something being directed in Vanessa's favor, with a reference to Kevin that seems connected. . . . Eric's the only one, and then something about contesting. . . . Then a reference to something needing notarizing, followed by somebody not being around to argue." Michelle paused the tape and looked across the desk. "Is it suggesting anything yet?" Kevin returned a blank look. Corfe had the expression of somebody who would rather not have been thinking what he was just starting to think.

  Michelle fast forwarded through Ohira's projections for the entertainment market and Kevin's visual inventory of the cabin. "Now listen to this again, but in the context of what I just said. . . . Here. Payne hadn't realized it was worth so much. He wonders if he'll still be able to afford Vanessa when she owns it. She says not me; we'll own it. What's 'it'? What are they talking about here?" She looked from Corfe to Kevin challengingly.

  "I assumed it meant this business they'd just been talking about—the entertainment sector that Ohira has his eye on," Corfe said. His expression said that now he wasn't so sure.

  Michelle looked skeptical. "The wording's not right. You have markets, or you get them, take them, or steal them; but you don't own them. And in any case, people don't. Companies do. I don't think that's what they're talking about."

  Corfe's brow knotted. "Okay. So what do you think they're talking about?"

  "How about the whole technology itself—the DNC patents? Isn't that something that Vanessa could own—and then the two of them together if she ditched Eric and climbed aboard Martin's wagon?"

  The suggestion only seemed to mystify Corfe further. "How? How could something like that come about?"

  "Very easily," Michelle replied. "Eric owns the patents and leases them to Neuro
dyne. I checked it out today with Joe Skerrill. It's the kind of arrangement that you'd expect." Skerrill was Neurodyne's corporate attorney. Michelle paused. "But depending on how Eric's will is set up, if anything should happen to him, all rights could pass automatically to Vanessa. It could be as simple as that."

  Corfe shook his head and waved her away. "No! I can't buy that. He couldn't have set it up that way. . . . I mean, Kevin's his flesh and blood, for heaven's sake. Vanessa's not even . . ." He floundered and left it there.

  "You mean his will is more likely to name Kevin as the beneficiary?" Michelle supplied.

  Corfe looked about as if searching for some other way of putting it, then nodded. "I guess that's what I mean. Yes."

  "That could be changed," Michelle said. "In fact, thinking about it, I wonder what it was that Vanessa was trying to get Eric to change, but without being too pushy. What you'd do is," she spoke slowly and deliberately, sounding every syllable, "have a lawyer draw up a codicil to redirect it in Vanessa's favor." Kevin looked up sharply.

  "But what good would it do?" Corfe asked her. "If it wasn't what Eric wanted, he'd simply deny it."

  "If he were there to," Michelle agreed. "But what if he weren't?" She met his eyes pointedly, then Kevin's.

  Kevin stared at her disbelievingly. But even as the protest started to form on his lips, other snatches of what they had heard replayed in his mind. If such a document were ever produced in writing, notarized, Eric would be the only one who could contest it. And that was where the words not around to argue suddenly took on their full, ghastly significance. Corfe had seen it too and was looking pale.