Two arms brusquely made a path between the Council officers, into which stepped Margaret's mysterious Islander. His scruffy tunic and wild ponytail stood out like a scar in a courtyard full of crisp white uniforms. Natch didn't know whether to feel scared or comforted when the man put an arm across Natch's chest, like a parent claiming a wayward child.
The larger of the two Council officers eyed the Islander's copper collar with disdain. "So this is Margaret's Islander," he said, elbowing his cohort in the side. "Remember the one with the ponytail that came at us down in Manila? Looked just like this one."
His fellow officer let out a malicious chuckle. "I remember," she said. "Shot him full of darts. Bastard just kept coming."
"Finally had to crack his skull, right?"
The Islander maintained his composure and did not take the bait. "I'll bet he had a stack of Council officers' corpses lying next to him when you finally took him down, too."
"Better watch your manners, unconnectible," sneered the Council man, clearly irritated at the Islander's demeanor. "You're not in the Pacific anymore. Without this, we could have you begging for mercy in two minutes." Then he fearlessly reached one hand up and flicked his finger against the collar.
Before the ping of the vibrating metal had faded away, the Islander was in motion.
Natch had never seen anyone move so fast. One second, the Islander was standing at rest; the next, he had zipped around and placed the offending officer in a chokehold. The second guard reached for her dartgun in a panic, but it was too late. The Islander had already lifted her comrade's weapon from its sheath and aimed it squarely at her forehead. "Ah," he hissed savagely, "but which one of you is going to take it away from me?"
Within seconds, officers all over the courtyard were scrambling towards them with weapons drawn. Natch had never actually faced the barrel of a Defense and Wellness Council dartgun before; now he found himself facing at least thirty of them. The fact that he was present only as a multi projection was slight comfort. It became less comforting still when Natch realized that several of the dartguns pointed at him were actually multi disruptors.
The Islander shook off the tension with a dismissive snort. He released the officer from the crook of his arm and shoved him roughly towards his companions, tossing the dartgun on the ground as an afterthought. Then he flipped his ponytail over one shoulder and parted another path in the crowd as if nothing had happened. "Well?" he called to Natch. "Are you coming or not?" The entrepreneur forced his knocking knees to follow. Scores of Council eyeballs watched in silence as the two walked briskly through the courtyard and into the Center for Historic Appreciation. Natch let out a loud breath of relief as soon as the doors closed behind them.
The atrium was empty of visitors, except for two Council guards standing idly against the wall discussing baseball. Neither gave Natch or the Islander so much as a glance as they threaded their way between the scientist statues and headed down one of the corridors.
"Bloody tracking devices," muttered the Islander. "Do they think we actually want to wear these fucking things?" He reached up with one hand and tugged at the collar as if about to fling it boomerangstyle down the hallway. Natch noticed for the first time that the collar was not actually suspended in air, but balanced on the man's neck over a fine latticework of metallic thread. The contraption looked hideously uncomfortable.
"Did you say that thing is a tracking device?" asked Natch, struggling to keep up with the Islander's giant strides.
"Of course it's a tracking device. Why else would they make them so fucking conspicuous? You can see an Islander with a collar from a kilometer away."
Natch was usually not interested in cross-border politics. But he had to keep this strange man talking, if only so he might figure out his relation to Margaret and the Phoenix Project. "But you need those outside the Islands," he said. "How else you going to survive out here without OCHREs?"
Halfway up a flight of stairs, the Islander stopped dead in his tracks. "You've got a lot to learn about your governments, boy." He reached into his pocket with a scowl and dug out a small disc the size of an ancient coin. "See this little device? You can pin it to your collar, or wear it on a string around your neck. Made from spare parts, and you can see multi projections with it, interact with bio/logic code. Explain that to me."
Natch eyed the circle with embarrassment. "So why aren't you wearing that thing instead?"
Margaret's Islander gazed at Natch with an unspoken accusation of gullibility hovering just behind his eyes. "Because wearing these collars is the law if you're an Islander," he sneered. "And if you don't obey the law, you get visits from the Defense and Wellness Council and the Prime Committee and fuck knows who else." Then he slipped the disc back into his tunic and kept climbing the stairs.
Natch trotted alongside the big man as they crossed a covered walkway over the courtyard and into the Surina Enterprise Facility. A hoverbird bearing the Council insignia zoomed across the skyline directly in front of them. "Where are we going?" said Natch. "That message I got this morning ... Are you taking me to Margaret?"
"No. Margaret's locked herself in the residence, preparing for the speech. You'll see her afterwards-if there's anything left to see."
"So what's this `performance' you need me to do? Or was that it down there in the courtyard?"
The Islander shook his head. He had led them to the end of a wide corridor and an imposing set of double doors. "The performance is in here," he said grimly. "Just be yourself. Stick by me and make sure everyone sees it. Speak if you have to, but don't say anything memorable." The doors slid open of their own accord, but not before the man thrust one hand forward and slammed it against the metal with a bang. "And one more thing you'll need to know: my name is Quell."
Beyond the doors was a large bowl-shaped meeting room. A lavish bouquet stood in the center of the room, underneath a revolving banner that flashed HAPPY 400TH BIRTHDAY, SHELDON SURINA over and over in ten-second intervals. About four or five dozen guests congregated in small clusters around the room, all of whom had turned their attention to the sudden and noisy arrival of Natch and Quell.
It's the whole biollogics industry, Natch thought with a quickly stifled gasp.
If it wasn't quite the entire industry, the guest list for this little reception certainly encompassed its top tier. Natch saw hated rivals and fierce competitors in every corner. Jara's old boss Lucas Sentinel was camped near the bouquet with a group of well-known channelers and capitalmen. A pasty man with a mop of black hair, Sentinel did not tower over his companions so much as sway awkwardly in their midst like a tree. The drudges Sen Sivv Sor and John Ridglee were holding court on opposite sides of the room. Libertarian rabblerouser Khann Frejohr sipped chaff alongside the shrewish programmer Bolliwar Tuban. Natch felt a hand clap him on his shoulder, and turned around to face Billy Sterno. "Nice entrance, pal!" chirped the fiefcorper before scuttling off, his Chinese eyes glinting with mischief.
I need a licensee who can generate enough ripples on the Data Sea to make the Council stay its hand until I unveil the technology, Margaret had said.
I guess that's what we're doing, thought Natch. Generating ripples.
Natch and Quell began a slow stroll around the periphery of the room. The fiefcorp master put on a haughty look and did his best to forestall any conversation. For the most part, it worked. The members of the bio/logics elite seemed content to stay in their balkanized clusters and throw scandalized looks at the fiefcorp master and the Islander from afar. After ten minutes of this, however, Natch started to get restless. Everyone in the room had noticed them already, and the crowd would soon be gathering in the auditorium to await Margaret's speech.
"Okay, have we made enough of a show?" he muttered in a low voice, unsure whether an Islander could respond to a ConfidentialWhisper.
"Not yet," replied Quell calmly. "I want to catch one of the stragglers."
Natch frowned. "Stragglers?" Then he heard a violent cough behind
him, and turned to see the bulldog face of Frederic Patel.
Natch did not bother with formal greetings, because he knew he would receive none from Frederic. The short, barrel-chested programmer had not inherited the slick mannerisms and sharp fashion sense that made his older brother Petrucio so popular among the drudges. If they had not inherited the same olive complexion and lithe moustache, one would be hard-pressed to identify the two Patels as brothers. But even during the worst days of their vitriolic competition, Natch had to admit that Frederic was one of the few engineers in the business whose skills stood up to Horvil's.
"Well, if it isn't the thief," snarled Patel.
The fiefcorp master laughed scornfully. "Watch who you're calling a thief. Looks like you've stolen your number one slot back, for a little while at least."
"Primo's." Frederic gave a dismissive flip of the hand, leaving Natch to wonder what else he had stolen from the Patels recently. "A little while. What's that mean?"
"That means, sometimes history repeats itself."
Frederic made a whistling sound with his nose that, after a moment, Natch realized was laughter. He swept his gaze to the Islander, who stared back with an impenetrable glare. Natch suddenly remembered Quell's instructions to say as little as possible, but the big man no longer seemed to care. "You heard your boss's speech yet?" Patel said, addressing Quell.
"No," replied the Islander.
"We're not gonna be bored to death, are we?"
"The world might be a better place if you were," Quell said, deadpan.
Again the whistling sound. "So that's the game you two are playing, eh?" Patel rasped. "Well, fine with me. But now it's our move."
The level of conversation in the room had dipped noticeably since Frederic's approach. Lucas Sentinel had wandered close and kept taking discreet peeks at the confrontation like a nervous hyena. John Ridglee was not even trying to disguise his blatant attempts to read lips.
Natch was trying to decipher Frederic's comments and formulate a response when a loud neutral tone sounded throughout the room. The marquee displaying birthday wishes to the dead Sheldon Surina was now announcing the imminent arrival of his descendant Margaret onstage. Within seconds, industry mavens were cutting their multi connections to the party and preparing to reconnect inside the nearby auditorium.
Frederic Patel vanished without so much as a glance back in their direction. Natch breathed a sigh of relief, following Quell out the same doors they had entered through. The show was about to begin.
"I'm telling you, this can't go on forever. One of these days, the Data Sea is just going to collapse."
"They've been saying that for a century."
"But come on, look at how much more bandwidth we're using these days. Multi, the Jamm, the Sigh. Even quantum computing has its limits."
"One point three billion multi projections at Marcus Surina's funeral, and not a single glitch. That's all I have to say."
"Yeah, but-"
Jara stood and listened to the jabber of the couple beside her as she waited for Margaret Surina to take the stage. Personally, she sided with the doomsayer who feared the imminent collapse of the computational system. She looked around at the thirty-five thousand visible spectators filling the arena and tried to imagine the seraphic order of number needed to describe the bandwidth requirements for so many people.
But the vertigo did not end there. The Surina auditorium statistics told her there were actually 413 million multi projections here waiting for Margaret to reveal the mystery behind the Phoenix Project. 413 million people whose brains were trying to maintain the illusion that they were real bodies inhabiting real Cartesian space, when that was clearly impossible.
The analyst summoned a calculator and wide-eyed her way through the math. 413 million people wedged into a space designed to fit thirty-five thousand real bodies. Which meant that right now almost twelve thousand people from every corner of the solar system believed they were standing in the exact same spot as Jara....
Then she noticed that the attendance had skyrocketed another 150 million spectators. Jara shook her head violently. Human minds could not comprehend such vastness. Better to swallow the sweet lotus of multi and be done with it.
Especially when she had so many more urgent questions to contend with. Like where was the rest of the fiefcorp? What was this "Phoenix Project" that had so entranced the public's imagination and completely absorbed the world's richest woman for years? How did Natch fit into this whole puzzle? And how would this new technology affect her job?
Just then, a young woman in a green-and-blue Surina security uniform passed mere centimeters away from Jara's right side. The woman-no, the girl-had her dartgun drawn and was clearly petrified. I'd be petrified too, thought Jara, if I had a few thousand Defense and Wellness Council troops on my heels.
Which brought up the most perplexing question of all: What was the Council waiting for?
Moments later, Margaret Surina took the stage. Jara hadn't seen her arrive, so she couldn't say for sure whether Sheldon Surina's heir had multied onto the stage. Margaret had chosen a formless robe that draped across the floor like a tent and slowly changed colors from blue to green and back again. Her frosted black hair lay across her shoulders. She seemed completely calm, like the commander who had already greenlighted a battle plan and now waited for its outcome to slowly unfold.
And just as the bodhisattva opened her mouth to speak, a hundred doors slammed open at once, and the Council made its entrance.
With dartguns crossed over their chests and eyes fixed forward, they came marching into the auditorium single file, like robots. The crowd parted anxiously to make way for the soldiers. Some cut their multi connections on the spot, but most quickly recognized that the officers were carrying few disruptors. No, whatever High Executive Borda's intentions were, sowing panic in the crowd was not one of them. The lead Council officers stopped meters away from the stage.
If Margaret feared an imminent death, she did not show it. She regarded the intruders with an icy stare that said, Whatever you have planned for me, you're going to have to do it in front of 700 million people. Jara did not know much about Margaret Surina aside from the standard drudgic platitudes and generalities, but at this moment she felt a great surge of admiration for the woman.
The Council troops stood at attention, their rifles before them, and did nothing.
A hush fell over the crowd as the bodhisattva began to speak.
"Once upon a time," said Margaret, "we believed in technology.
"Our ancestors were the original engineers. They discovered the laws that govern the universe and learned how to master them. They paved the earth with rock and sent wheeled machines to rumble across it. They spread to the four corners of the earth and, not satisfied, flew to the heavens. Still not satisfied, they flew to the stars.
"And somewhere along the way, they got lost.
"Somewhere between the first man to build stone tools and the first woman to create an artificial intelligence, our ancestors became separated from their innovations. They stopped seeing their creations as extensions of themselves, and started seeing them as external to themselves. Other. Distant. Remote.
"Science became an impersonal god, a grim idol beyond reproach or appeal.
"And once technology was no longer a part of them, it became an enemy to conquer.
"The god that had been embedded within them all became a force to be chained and made to do their bidding. Instead of seeking communion with the god, instead of striving to understand the kernel of truth that is within us all, they sacrificed their own skills to feed him. Our machines will do more so we may do less, they said.
"And so, in the apogee of their folly, our ancestors created the Autonomous Minds."
A rustle of disapproval from the audience. A hateful murmuring.
"The Autonomous Minds: eight machines committed to managing the world economy, eight machines entrusted to safeguarding the environment, eight machines consi
gned to solving the problems of human diplomacy. Eight intelligences so vastly other that our ancestors feared to `taint' them with human morals and ideals. Imagine having more faith in a lifeless machine than in a human being!
"Our ancestors abandoned their independence to the Autonomous Minds. They delivered the reins of the earth into the hands of the Minds. They trusted in the order of the Keepers to convey their will, using the arcane machine tongues that only the Keepers could speak.
"It was to prove humanity's greatest mistake."
A monolithic structure floating in the midst of the auditorium, a holographic representation of the world's first orbital colony, Yu. Circular platforms within platforms performing an intricate dance to the symphony of G-force. Gardens of unparalleled lushness and beauty like that mythical garden lost in the deeps of time. Citizens basking in the warm spring of eternal Progress under controlled atmospheric domes.
"Yu," Margaret continued. "Humanity's greatest hope. An experiment to bring us out of earth's cradle and into the stars. A self-contained community of ten thousand, constructed in orbit above the earth, stocked with a cross-section of humanity's best and brightest. Yu was the culmination of thousands of years of Chinese art, science and culture-and its controls were placed in the hands of the Autonomous Minds and their Keepers.
"But this arrangement was not destined to last."
Shrieks, sighs, tears of anguish from the crowd at the first detonation. And the second.
Daisy-chain explosions rocking the orbital structure, domes bursting and debris spinning off into the void of merciless space. The spinning discs suddenly still. Pandemonium. Colonists scrambling like mad for their primitive spacecraft. Companions reaching to hold their loved ones in a last embrace. And then the death spiral-the shuddering descent into the earth's atmosphere-the shrieking burning hellfire plunge through the clouds, in an unstoppable trajectory towards the lofty towers of New York City ...
Bracing for impact-
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