The Octagonal Raven

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Not exactly hard proof, but we can work it in somewhere.” I glanced at her. “Could you look through to see what else there might be?”

  “I can do that.”

  The gatekeeper clinged quietly, and I checked the InstaNews holo display that appeared, showing an image of a building I did not recognize.

  … another demonstration in Ankorplex … protesting the planned implementation of perceptual testing as a voluntary additional admission criteria for the elite Sinouk University …

  Proctor General Diem … “This is not a requirement, in any sense of the word, but merely a means by which students can offer the admissions board another proof of their capabilities.…”

  The image switched to a group of adults brandishing signs and long poles.

  Because parents opposing the voluntary criteria have threatened violence against the administration, Proctor General Diem has reluctantly requested Federal Union support to keep the university open. “We will not give in to violence … or the threat of violence.…”

  I shook my head. The locales varied, but the approach was the same — set up the ground rules so that the opposition’s only real options appeared unreasonable, illegal, or futile. For years, if not generations, it had worked well. But there were signs that the tactic was getting old, and creating more and more frustration — leading to a social explosion?

  Could I put all the pieces together in time?

  I wondered.

  * * *

  Chapter 74

  Kewood

  * * *

  As I looked at the solid cherry wood desk, I smiled, if faintly. I’d always hated the mist desk Gerrat used, appropriate as it might have been for him. I’d never cared much for smoke and mirrors.

  The gatekeeper announced a Lester Liery from MagTron. Even I as accepted, I was on the link, asking Majora to check out who he was.

  “Yes?” I said politely to the holo image in front of the bookcase.

  “Lester Liery from MagTron, Director Alwyn.” Liery was another perfectly featured, straight-nosed, dark-haired pre-select — more like me than my brother had been. Somehow that bothered me.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked.

  “The word has gotten out that you’re rather interested in the use of … mobile artificial organics, Director Alwyn.”

  “That’s not quite correct.” I forced a smile, waiting for Majora to fill me in.

  “Daryn,” she reported, “from what I can find out quickly, Liery works for someone at MagTron. MagTron is a subsidiary of DGen, and that’s the Deng holding multi.”

  “Thanks,” I linked back, returning my full attention to young Liery.

  “I must have been mistaken.…” Liery didn’t look as though he were ever mistaken about anything.

  “Don’t MagTron and DGen both use monoclones for specialized testing and other purposes?”

  “I wouldn’t know about DGen, ser.” The “ser” was clearly condescending.

  “But you’re the one in charge of their use at MagTron?” I pressed.

  “I’m a special assistant. I was just following up —”

  “That’s a rather vague term, special assistant. Whose special assistant are you, Director Deng’s?”

  “I report directly to Director General Rustau.”

  “Good. That’s very good. I’d like to meet with him the day after tomorrow. That does fall under the duties of special assistant, doesn’t it?”

  “Director Rustau is rather occupied these days.”

  “I am certain he is, Liery. I imagine he has a great deal of explaining to do. He may have more if he puts off seeing me.” I smiled politely. “That’s his choice, of course, but … he should be the one to make it. If anything untoward is going on, and I’m certain it’s not, but if it were, and it came out that my request were not given to him … well, he would have to find someone to blame.” I smiled again.

  “I’ll be sure to convey your request, Director Alwyn.”

  “Thank you. I’ll look forward to hearing from him.” I didn’t let him respond before breaking the connection.

  Then I walked down the ramp to the office where I’d installed Majora. I could have linked, but I wanted to see her face — in person.

  She looked up from a small squarish table as I closed the door behind me. “That call from Lester Liery … he works for Tyler Rustau, and he’s the head of MagTron. That’s the biggest operating subsidiary of Deng’s outfit.” I nodded.

  “I twisted his arm a little, suggested that he set up an appointment with Rustau for me.”

  “You aren’t going out to meet him? After all this …”

  “It’s not that far. MagTron’s in Porlan. Deng’s in the southern Sinoplex, but Deng will avoid meeting me. I’m sure that’s why the follow-up came from MagTron. Someone’s worried, or at least concerned about my clone inquiries. If they weren’t, they’d ignore me. Liery was set up to feel me out for a deal — same old good old pre-select stuff I heard about but never believed happened. The problem Liery has is that I don’t have any special assistants, except you, and they don’t know about you yet … or they do.” I grinned.

  “So what will happen? Nothing?”

  “Absolutely. Not a thing. Liery will convey my request, and it will be ignored. Then if I press for an appointment, they’ll stonewall everything, and then see me and plead total ignorance, and say that, of course, they’re happy to meet with the head of UniComm, but they have no idea of the reason for my request.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Can you find out what divisions and sections of MagTron have clone permits? Those have to be public records. And, if he’s innocent, I bet Emyl Astol will be more than happy to let us know how many he shipped to each section. If we have trouble there, we know who else is involved. And I’ll bet that if we push hard enough, there are going to be some missing clones that can’t be explained.” I frowned. “Unless they’re using Emyl for cover, and are illegally cloning their own, but that would take …”

  Majora nodded. “I see what you mean. We can check suppliers, and anyone who is shipping stuff will probably tell us.”

  “If they won’t, I might be able to interest the advocate general of Noram.”

  “Seglend would love something like that.”

  “Can you check it out?”

  Majora nodded. “What are you going to do?”

  “Formulate a news series on startling information … perhaps beginning with a piece on how widespread monoclones are, and all the big multis who are using them, and for what. I’ll have to come up with a better name.” I looked into her eyes, and wished I could just look.

  Instead, I took a deep breath. “How are we coming? Can we start all those series as planned?”

  “We’re still scheduled for the third oneday of July — that’s gives us ten days.” She called up another display and studied it. “Devit Tal has five blocs in, and they’re in production for the music and effects you stipulated. He says he can have five more by the end of the week. Recardo just linked in a while ago — he’s got six blocs, he says, on transport, and he’s in Westeuro to get the right scenes for geographic spread. He claims he’ll have three more by the end of the week. Cyhal says he has all the pieces for ten spreads, but he’s just started working with production to board them.…”

  “I need the stuff from Mahmad … and Mustafa’s would help.”

  “I’ll follow up on those.”

  With my hand on the door as I opened it, I smiled at Majora, wishing we had more time, just the two of us, but if we didn’t get all the special projects on line — and quickly, there might not be any time at all. My guts were tight all the time, far more than when I’d been a pilot.

  Back in my office, I walked into the adjoining alcove, where I’d installed my own equipment and called up one of those I’d been working on.

  The initial title that filled the image screen was just two words — Hard Choices. The word “Hard” was deep black. “Ch
oices” flashed between white and silver.

  My voice rolled over the montage that began with a quick glimpse of Blue Oak Academy, then a shot of The College, the Centurium at Southern University, and various other locales instantly recognizable, if not by name, as educational institutions.

  This week Hard Choices looks at perceptual intelligence testing — ability assessment or social structuring? That’s the question.…

  Perceptual integrative testing — there have been demonstrations about it, and claims for it and against it. Is a successful PIAT test an auto-entry to the best schools? To a career with the strongest multis? Or is it a tool for discriminating against norms? Or against pre-selects who don’t belong to the right clique?

  The next montage was one of building facades that belonged to multis, although no logos or names were displayed.

  Does a good PIAT score vault a young man or woman over others of equal or greater intelligence and ability? Or does it show a deeper type of intellectual ability? Do the abilities supposedly measured by a PIAT translate into greater capabilities? Or are they, as some charge, merely a way to screen out those without absolute loyalty to the present power structure? Why do ninety percent of all norms tested fall in the lower sixty percent, when ninety percent of all pre-selects are in the top fifteen percent? The pre-selects get the schools and the top jobs. The norms don’t, and much of this choice is based on the PIAT. But how accurate really is this test? Is there a reason based in ability?

  Then came a quick flash over testing consoles, old-fashioned written-style tests, and a focus on a figure in a shimmering white singlesuit whose face was obscured by a blaze of light.

  Can the psycho-physiologists explain this? All this week, we’ll be looking at perceptual testing.… What is it, and does it really measure intelligence and intellectual abilities? This series will look into the rumors — and the dark side of the PIAT and other perceptual tests.…

  I stopped the image. There needed to be another blockbuster, slam-to-the-gut fact in the intro … maybe two, if I could find them. I began to search through all the raw facts.

  I also hoped it wouldn’t be too long before the quick and dirty survey data arrived.

  * * *

  Chapter 75

  Kewood

  * * *

  From Majora’s reports, it appeared as though most of the assignments would be done on schedule. I had also decided against any advance publicity before my massive programming change flooded the UniComm channels. So far I hadn’t gotten any rumors through third parties, but those would come. With any luck, they’d come in a few more days.

  I frowned. I hadn’t heard from Brin Drejcha about the commentaries. I pulsed the link.

  All I got was his sim.

  “Brin, this is Daryn. Get back to me when you can.”

  Then I started to review some of the boards that Majora had set up, looking to see what was missing — or more important, what felt missing. I didn’t get far before the gatekeeper chimed.

  “Director Alwyn … this is Mustafa.…”

  Mustafa — what was his assignment? Residential and lifestyles — a not-so-subtle way of highlighting the vast gap between pre-selects and even well-off norms.

  “Yes, Mustafa?”

  “I was getting some footage of the Mancha Polo Club. Let’s say we had some trouble.…” His dark face beamed. “But we’re all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, ser. Got some good footage, too. Already sent it back. Hadn’t thought this was going to be that much of a story … but, you know, ser … really is one.”

  “I’m glad you’re finding it so. Make sure you’ve got plenty of facts and numbers to go with the footage.”

  His smile broadened. “We got that, ser. Wier’s already boarding it.”

  “Good!”

  “But someone might be calling you. Security here wasn’t too happy. They were less happy when I pointed out that we were shooting from a public thoroughfare, and that we weren’t shooting people. Buildings aren’t protected by privacy.”

  “Be careful.”

  “That we will, ser.”

  From Mustafa’s smiles, I had the feeling he’d found something more than I’d thought.

  The gatekeeper clinged. It was Brin. I put on a smile as his image appeared.

  “You were looking for me, ser?”

  “I was. I wanted to look at those commentaries.”

  “Ser?”

  “The ones about pre-select programming being dictated by the pre-select cabal …”

  “Oh … yes, ser, what about them?”

  “Why don’t you come on up to my office and let’s look at them.”

  “Things are pretty rough.”

  “That’s all right.” I broke the link.

  Brin appeared within five minutes, and I motioned him to one of the green leather chairs on the other side of the desk.

  “What do you have?”

  “Just this so far.” His words were flat as the projection appeared before the bookcase.

  The opening montage showed the word “Commentary” in red in a hard-to-read script, followed by a scan of the marble arch leading into UniComm, then by a glittered stone pyramid before a black building. Someone’s voice rolled over the montage. The sonorous voice wasn’t Brin’s, but the effect was merely dull.

  OneCys programming policies are being directed by a small group of pre-selects. OneCys continues to attack UniComm, including personal attacks on UniComm directors. OneCys is not answering the charges. What — or who — does OneCys have to hide?

  I recognized the words. I should have since they were mine, word for word. Unfortunately, they got worse.

  Personal attacks are not good. They are scarcely something of which anyone should be proud, let alone a major netsys such as OneCys.…

  “That’s enough.” My words were quiet, but Brin cut the images. My first instinct was to yell — or to throw Brin right through the nanite screen and into the courtyard. I didn’t. I smiled. “Tell you what, Brin. Your team’s efforts have shown me that perhaps these commentaries weren’t such a good idea after all. Just scrap them.”

  “You mean that, ser?”

  “Absolutely. Scrap everything — all of the commentaries I assigned to your team, I mean. We’re probably a lot better just staying with a far more factual format.” I smiled more broadly. “In fact, I’d like you to spend some time looking at the factual material OneCys is using on their reports on education and multilateral developments. Look into it in some depth, and we’ll talk about it, in say, two weeks. Use the same team.”

  I could feel his confusion. He’d clearly expected me to dress him down. I’d sensed the defiance. “I appreciate your efforts more than you’ll know, Brin.” And I did, if not precisely in the way in which he would understand.

  For one thing, it was clear that the system personnel and I were thinking on a different level than Brin, and possibly some of the other senior managers. And second, it was all too clear where Brin’s sympathies lay. For now, it was best to do nothing with him, except try to keep him out of the program development and presentation loop.

  “Actually … who do you know at NEN?” I asked him.

  “Several of the managers … Piet DuGroot, Georg Sammis …”

  “Could you set up some meetings — face-to-face, next week — with them? Feel them out on how they’re handling both the OneCys program changes and the personal attack approach that OneCys seems to be adopting. You know these people. I don’t, and I think they’d be far more open to you. Maybe you could set it up for me to meet them later, but I’ll leave that up to you.” I smiled. “Do you think you could do that? We’ve got to address this continuing attack style, and maybe you could get some insights.”

  Brin didn’t know whether to beam or to be skeptical. “I suppose I could. I don’t know how much they’d say. You really want me to go there?”

  “People don’t say as much on the net, and it’s harder to r
ead their body posture, and you’re closer than anyone but me to the problem.”

  That got a smile, if tentative.

  “See what you can do. If you have to take a week, then do it, but I’d like you to see everyone you can.”

  Brin nodded, a bit more enthusiastically.

  “When you get back, we’ll talk about how to integrate what you discover with the late fall specials I’ve got people working on.”

  “Late fall?”

  I shrugged. “That’s the way it looks. You can’t create new products overnight.”

  “That’s good, then. We’ll have plenty of time to do it right.”

  “I want it done right,” I affirmed. “I need to get onto to some other things, but keep me posted on the arrangements and who you’re going to meet.”

  “Oh … I certainly will.” He was already itching to get out of my office, and I thought I knew why.

  After he left, I found myself smiling sadly, wondering why Father and Gerrat had let Drejcha stay. Because he was so transparent? Because anyone who replaced him would be more dangerous?

  I didn’t know, and that bothered me, too, because I hated to think my father had been losing his sharpness. As for Gerrat, for all his winning personality, he’d had never had that kind of perception.

  I looked down at the polished cherry surface. My reflection was murky, like everything at the moment.

  * * *

  Chapter 76

  Kewood

  * * *

  I was leafing through the assignment sheets, the ones Majora and I had put together and never inputted to the UniComm system, when there was a rap on the side of my open office door. I looked up. The senior correspondent — Devit Tal — stood there.

  “Come on in. Sit down,” I offered.

  Tal closed the inner door as he entered. He sat in the green leather chair across the corner of the cherry desk from me. His gray eyes fixed on me, cool, penetrating. “Mahmad’s missing.”