by M. J. Locke
Jane turned to Sarah, who gave her a minuscule nod and gestured for her to follow.
Thondu’s obvious discomfort lingered in her mind as Jane and Sarah departed the restaurant. But more interesting to her was that clearly, he—he?—did not want to spend any more time in her company than he had to. It confirmed her suspicions that he had stolen the feral sapient out from under their noses last night.
Sarah took her down a catwalk. Along the way, a group of adolescents played stickball nearby, leaping into the reaches of the mid-gee netways. Gravity was heavy enough here that she found their gymnastics impressive. At a café, young couples sat at small tables. Some of them even looked human. Groups of young Badlanders roamed the streets. Jane grew nervous as one group approached, laughing raucously and gesturing. They stared at Jane and Sarah, and there was a hint of menace in their behavior. But a large, multilimbed young man appeared from the shadows nearby. He was holding a dual-snake-DNA staff. The group grew quiet, and passed Jane and Sarah without a word.
Jane glanced at Sarah with raised eyebrows, as the young man faded back into the shadows.
“Shivas,” Sarah murmured. “Angels. They work for Obyx.”
“Obyx has an army? Christ, Sarah.”
“Relax. They’re not vigilantes. They’re peacekeepers. More like a neighborhood watch committee.”
“How come nobody talks about this?”
But she was being naïve, and she knew it. Obyx’s name certainly came up, when the city and cluster power brokers talked about the impacts of legislation or other proposed city plans on local neighborhoods. Still, none of them had ever let on that Obyx was a gang lord. Neither had Chikuma; if anything, she had seemed to hold hir in a certain wary regard.
Perhaps it was simply because Jane herself had never dealt directly with Obyx; she had never had to, since city resource issues were in Hiro’s and JimmyM’s hands. And, well, the more extreme gene-mods made her nervous. It was the slippery-slope thing. Where was the boundary between human and not? “I can’t believe JimmyM would let this go on.”
“Are you kidding? JimmyM counts on Obyx to keep the peace here. Fitzpatrick’s police force is underresourced anyway, and the beat cops don’t like it down here much. It creeps them out. And the Badlanders don’t particularly want a lot of chrome enforcers here, anyhow. Some of them have a bad attitude about mutes.”
“Chrome?” Jane repeated, looking at her askance. “What the heck is a chrome?”
“You are, dear. I am. People who cling to the basic genetic blueprint they were born with. The biologically leashed. That’s how they see us.”
It was all Jane could do not to stare at the bizarre changes the Viridians in this sanctum had made to themselves and their surroundings. Suffice to say, few people looked remotely human, and few spaces looked able to fully accommodate humans. Yet the Viridians stared as if she were the freak. She supposed she was.
She had heard the arguments over changing the human genome. Everybody had, by now. The Viridians argued that it was all simply a matter of degree. Everyone Upside had enhancements. Genetic screening and nanosurgery had long ago eliminated genetic deformities and illness; anyone with decent funds had access to treatments that dramatically slowed the ageing process. Like Jane, many Upsiders chose additional enhancements (extra fingers, enhanced vision or hearing) that made it easier to do their job or adapt to their physical environment. Even Xuan, who was rather a purist about mods, had had his eyes and visual cortex enlarged and adapted to see farther into the infrared and ultraviolet; it made rock hunting in the dim reaches of the belt much easier. Downside, where gene-mod laws in most countries were so strict, people had so many fleshware and waveware enhancements that they were just as modified in other ways.
“So they came to an understanding with JimmyM’s administration,” Sarah was saying. “I should know: I helped negotiate it. The Badlanders have their own volunteer neighborhood watch group and fire brigade and waste recycling services.”
This was a side of Sarah Jane had never known.
Soon they entered the Catacombs, deep in the heart of Viridian territory. Jane had heard of this place, even seen pictures. But it had not prepared her for the reality. The Catacombs were a segmented set of short, interlocking tunnels dedicated to Badlander nanoart. Assembler and disassembler jets ejected nanites, changing statuary and bas relief, works that moved across the face of the walls. It was living art. Faces and forms—obscene, horrific, stunningly beautiful—emerged from and receded back into the assembler troughs and vents: here a fabulous, quasi-fourth-dimensional, hypercubist rendition of the Mona Lisa; there a Pan with a grotesquely sized, erect penis chased a bald, nude nymph with oversized breasts, who first eluded him, laughing, then grew oversized and ate him, then melted into a new Pan and nymph; over there a crystalline doe and her twin fawns grazed on emerald grass against a backdrop of magnificent mountainscapes; yonder a miniature tableau of the Promenade, only when you looked closely, the people were made of machine parts. Occasionally, works of art stepped or floated out of their milieus and drifted away or melted, or integrated with another across the way.
Everywhere she looked, something strange, wonderful, or disgusting blossomed, moved, dissipated. The artists—or perhaps some were art patrons; it was hard to say—either sat alone, plugged into the assembler hackports, molding their creations with gesture and Tonal_Z song, or gathered in small groups to discuss the tableaux.
Sarah paused, her hand on the door to a building adorned with a fluid array of genetic and digital images. “Here we are.”
Jane looked up above the door. A sign scrawled FIRST UPSIDE GATHER in fluid lights. Sarah had brought her to a Badlander church. She touched the circular door and it melted open. Jane followed. The door reformed behind them.
Jane looked around, and felt disappointed. She had been … not expecting—that would be unrealistic—but at least hoping for something awe-inspiring. Something that gave her the feeling she had had in the presence of the Voice. This, this gather had its idiosyncrasies, but it was little different from any other church, temple, or synagogue she had ever been in.
One of the staff had them sit in an alcove off the main sanctuary. Learned Harbaugh entered after a short delay. He had nearly reached them when the street door melted away and a young woman burst in.
“Learned Harbaugh! I have urgent news. I have to speak to Learned Obyx—”
At the same moment the intruder saw Jane, she recognized the other. It was not a young woman; it was none other than Thondu wa Macharia na Briggs. Jane remembered the young woman-man in her dream. “Thondu” was gene-modded. A Viridian. Thondu was Vivian Waĩthĩra. A hermaphrodite, then, or other intersex person, who used Viridian tech to morph from one gender to the other at will, and change races as well.
“Relax,” Jane told the young troubadour. “Learned Obyx already knows I’m here.”
“Thondu,” or whoever he, she, or ze was, gaped at Jane in distress. Learned Harbaugh laid a hand on the youth’s shoulder and whispered something, his eyes never leaving Jane’s. The youth turned to leave, but Jane said, “My business and yours are likely the same. Why don’t we all go speak to Obyx together?”
“Obyx wants to speak to you privately, and our young friend has other duties,” Harbaugh said. He led Jane and Sarah down the hall into a small office. The office was simple: nano-grown chairs, bioart along two walls, and a fountain cascading down the third. In one chair, eyes half closed as if meditating, was Obyx.
Jane had seen images but had never met Obyx in the flesh. She had expected hir to be strange, but had not been prepared for how beautiful ze would be. She brushed palms with Obyx’s huge, frondlike hands.
Sarah said, “Thanks for taking the time to see us. This is Jane Navio.”
Obyx nodded a welcome to Jane. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Likewise.”
“Sarah”—with a gesture at her—“tells me you need my assistance. I ordinarily don’t see visit
ors, but I admit I was intrigued by the request.”
Jane glanced at Sarah, who stood deadpan, her arms folded. “I’m here to talk to you about the Ogilvies.”
“The Martian Ogilvies?”
Jane nodded. “Through their shipping company, Ogilvie & Sons, they’ve been trying to get a stranglehold on all shipping ports between Mars and the outer system for years. And they’re making a fresh assault on Phocaea. I believe they are responsible for the disaster in the warehouses, as well as the death of one of my people, Marty Graham.”
Obyx studied Jane. “These are serious accusations.”
“The Ogilvies have done these kinds of things elsewhere. They did it on Vesta. They have to be stopped before they wreak their havoc here, too, and I plan to stop them. But I need your help.”
“They need to be stopped?” Obyx repeated. “Why?”
Jane bit her tongue to keep from shouting. Apparently, Obyx did not intend to make this easy. “Nearly a hundred people were assassinated on Vesta, during the months after they took over there—and among them were Vesta’s former leaders. People like you and me. I was there. I barely escaped with my life. We all are in grave danger unless they are stopped.”
Obyx only smiled at that, but Jane continued. “Their ships are on the way now. Do you really want to sit by while they overrun Phocaea? Your people live here, too, and they, too, will suffer.”
Obyx laced hir many fingers together. “I appreciate your newfound concern for us Badlanders. But I doubt that the Ogilvie family poses a threat to us. When it comes to these traditional power struggles, we have a policy of live and let live. And frankly, the city and cluster officials have made it clear by their actions that they don’t perceive the same threat that you do.”
“They are mistaken,” Jane said. “Elwood Ogilvie is not known for his subtlety, and he’s not going to leave things to chance.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Obyx said. “Why should you care about what the Ogilvies do to us?”
Jane stroked her lip, studying Obyx. “Let’s assume for the moment,” she said, “that Ogilvie’s representatives have already been to see you. They’ve given you a bit of information—only what they want you to know, of course.”
Sarah was trying to get Jane’s attention with small movements and noises, but Obyx merely seemed amused. “All right. Let’s assume that.”
“They’ve given you a promise,” Jane said, “that the Badlanders will be left alone if you stay out of the coming fight, and a subtle threat about the trouble you’ll reap if you get involved.”
Obyx threw back hir head and laughed. Jane glanced at Sarah. She was glaring, and shook her head minutely again. Jane ignored her warning.
“If what you say is true,” Obyx said, “then whyever should I cooperate with you? If this big fight is looming, it looks to me as if I have nothing to lose and everything to gain by staying on the sidelines.”
Jane smiled, and sprang the trap. “Oh, you have a dog in this hunt, all right. You have the feral sapient.”
Obyx did not react overtly, but hir gaze grew more intent. Sarah and Harbaugh openly gaped—though, Jane suspected, for different reasons.
“Thondu extracted it for you,” she went on, “during the sapient’s attack last night, and you’ve got it hidden away. But it’s useless to you here. It takes up too much room for you to house an active copy in your systems, and you can’t get it off Phocaea. If the Ogilvies find out you have it, and find out what it’s worth, whatever limited—and, I might add, bogus—immunity you’ve worked out for your own people won’t be worth the electrons it’s inscribed on. Your only hope is to get the sapient offworld before Elwood and his fleet of hired hands get here. But your leverage doesn’t extend to Benavidez. You can’t get your courier a berth.”
The silence stretched. Obyx stared thoughtfully at the open air above Jane’s head. “Your scenario is quite amusing. Is it not, Sarah?”
“Amusing is not the word I’d choose,” Sarah replied. “Jane, what is this about?”
“A good question,” Obyx told Sarah. “And I have to wonder about your own motives for bringing her here.”
Sarah stiffened. Jane felt a twinge of guilt. But if she had told Sarah what she had planned, Sarah would never have arranged this meeting. And too much rode on it.
Whatever misgivings Sarah had, she kept to herself. “I assumed you’d at least want to hear her out.”
Obyx’s gaze shifted back to Jane. “Still, all you’ve brought me is conjecture and supposition. You’ve spun a conspiracy from air and paranoia, and want me to put my own people’s lives at risk, for what? What do you want in return? Other than a vague promise to support you, if and when it comes to that.”
“You people can hack a barrier that shuts out ‘Stroiders’ motes,” Jane said. “I’ve seen it myself, on the way here.”
“Yes. And?”
“I want two things. One”—she held up her index finger—“I want you to give me a hack that disables that barrier. Two”—she held up her middle finger—“I want a way to record and send to a remote location everything that happens to me, automatically and instantaneously. I want that signal to be unblockable, and I want that remote location to be unhackable.”
Obyx burst into incredulous laughter. “Absurd!”
“Why?”
Obyx leaned close. Jane could smell hir breath. It was a nice smell—clean and inviting. Her own reaction bothered her. She wondered whether it was a hack, or hir real body chemistry. Nothing was ever real with the Viridians—or everything was.
“Nothing is unhackable, and nothing is unblockable. Nothing.”
Jane stood back. “I have confidence that the Viridians can come closest of anyone I know.”
“But … why? Why would you want such a thing?”
“Because he is a lawyer with access to huge financial resources, my enemy can create a privacy shadow at will,” Jane said. “He uses it against me. And I want to be able to shine light on their abuses. They manipulate the ‘Stroiders’ stream somehow. I want everyone to see them, when they think no one is watching.”
Obyx gazed at her speculatively, tapping fingers in a complex rhythm. Ze gestured for Harbaugh to step over. A transparent bubble surrounded the two of them. The two spoke, but Jane heard nothing. She glanced at Sarah, who shrugged. Then Obyx burst the bubble with a finger flick and leaned back. “This supposed conspiracy by the Martian mob that you postulate is better suited to the tainmosphere than to hard meatspace. But let’s say that, for whatever reason, a berth on a Downward-bound ship soon—within the next week, say—would be of use to me. Are you saying you can get me that?”
“I am. And I’ll let your courier board with no questions asked—despite the fact that you stole an extremely valuable item from my system, that by rights belongs to the people of Phocaea.”
Obyx tensed. “A sapient can be no other sapient’s property. Our species recognized this when slavery was eradicated. We are the foulest of hypocrites, to fail to apply the standard to intelligent, self-aware beings simply because they are not made of meat.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “First of all, human slavery hasn’t been eradicated. That’s a myth we choose to believe to help the rest of us sleep at night. Second, don’t lecture me about precious freedoms that are denied to digital denizens. We both know you have every intention of using the feral sapient to suit your own ends. Or, I should say, your masters’ ends, back on Earth.”
Obyx and Jane glared. Sarah shifted once more. Jane knew what Sarah would tell her; she shouldn’t provoke Obyx. She was deep in Viridian territory, and all of her tech was inactive, or readily within their control. Not that she believed they would truly harm her. Even so, she needed Obyx.
But hir cavalier dismissal of the lives of the people of Phocaea had gotten her blood up. Jane couldn’t help but wonder whether humanity would survive whatever use the Viridians had planned for the sapient.
But Obyx merely shook h
ir head, sadly. “You misjudge us, Commissioner. The sapient is a child. Less than a child. Intellectually it is massively powerful, but morally—socially—it is barely more than a fetus. That it would do great harm to itself and others … that is not its fault. But it needs schooling before it can be freed.”
“You admit you have it.”
Obyx smiled. “Let me just say that, if we had the sapient, in all our actions, we would have only its well-being in mind. As we do all sapient entities. We are not fools, Commissioner. We recognize the risks that volitional wavespace entities pose to meatspace.”
“And so you have Phocaea’s citizens’ well-being also in mind?”
Obyx waved an insouciant hand. “We intend no harm. But there are plenty around whose duty is to care for meat sapients. True wave sapients—especially wild ones—are far rarer and more precious. And they have no protection under the law. If we do not stand for them, who will?”
Jane looked at Obyx in mild disgust. But she had better not weigh in again with her opinions, or they would all regret it. “Do we have a deal?”
Obyx sighed, looking put-upon. “You ask a lot. We are giving you the keys to our own privacy. Once knowledge is unleashed, it is impossible to stuff it back into the bottle. Tech that allows you to disable our own defenses against ‘Stroiders’ could clearly be used against us.”
“Which you would assuredly be able to hack a new barrier against.”
“True. But not without a cost, in effort and time.”
“And in return, you’ll have what your people have sought for generations, a spontaneously created digital sapient. Untampered with, yours free to unleash on an unsuspecting populace … God help us all.”
Obyx still hesitated. Ze cupped hir chin in a hand. “How do I know we can trust you to live up to your end? I could give you this recording tool you seek, and you could renege. You might not only share with others this ‘Stroiders’-hacking tech, not only renege on your promise to obtain for us this seat on Sisyphus, but you might even let your close friends and associates in government, whom you’ve worked with for years, and whom you know and trust far better than you do us, in on the idea that we”—ze hesitated—“might have the feral. We cannot afford to be put openly in confrontation with the powers that rule Phocaea. Whoever that power might be.”