Hunt sat back, still regarding her steadily, and gave a satisfied nod. “Funny things, heads,” he said again. “Aren’t they?”
He waited. Gina stared down at the floor. A trickle of drink from her upset glass had run down a leg of the side table and was spreading into the carpet. She leaned forward to mop it with a tissue. And then she froze, suddenly, and looked up, the first glimmer of comprehension illuminating her eyes. “What are you getting at?” she whispered.
“I could call Gregg Caldwell through VISAR to check,” Hunt said. “In fact, we will. But I’ll lay you a thousand bucks to a penny
right now that General Shaw doesn’t exist either.” The look of horror on her face told him that he was getting through. He drew a long breath, then went on. “They’re fake memories that were written into your head at another JEVEX outlet somewhere. We’re pretty certain that somebody got to you somewhere after you and Baumer left PAC. So we have to assume that they know everything you did up to that point. Then they overwrote what happened with the fabricated sequence that you remember, and just for good measure added in the business about Shaw to get you working for them. Fayne was their first try to collect—at least, I hope it was the first?” Gina nodded. Hunt sighed. “It was neat. If you and Sandy hadn’t gone tripping on the Vishnu, we might never have cottoned onto it.”
Gina went through some of the pictures in her mind, searching for possible flaws or inaccuracies. There were none. She shivered, drawing her sweater tighter around her. “I can’t tell. I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t about what I remember.” A fearful look came over her suddenly. “This couldn’t be anything like what happened to Baumer, is it?’’
Hunt shook his head firmly. “Don’t worry about that. You’ve just lost a few memories, that’s all. A good binge could have done the same thing. You’re still very much you.”
“I’m not sure I feel it. When you know there’s part of your mind that doesn’t belong there . . . It’s not exactly comforting.”
“People probably used to think the same about cardiac valves and synthetic kidneys.” His manner was sympathetic and reassuring now. She had accepted it and would cooperate once she’d had a chance to get used to it. That was the main thing.
There was a long silence while Gina thought it through. Hunt mopped up the spilled drink for her while he waited. “Is there anything we can do to unscramble it?” she asked finally.
“I don’t know. We’d like you to let VISAR analyze those patterns anyway, to see if there’s any way of recovering what was overwritten. Would you mind?”
Gina shook her head. “I’m kind of curious, too. That’s me, remember?”
“Terrific. You’ll survive. I’ll be getting along for now. I’ve got a few things to do.”
“Oh . . . Vic,” Gina said as he moved toward the door.
He stopped and looked back. “What?”
“Thanks.”
He grinned. “Glad you can see it that way. I’m sorry I had to get personal.”
“That’s okay.” Gina managed to muster a smile back. “Did Sandy tell you that she thought I was pretty dumb, too?”
“No. Why?”
“For chickening out of VISAR’s porno trip. She says if it was her she’d have gone for it.”
Hunt laughed and began moving to the door again. “You see?” he said. “Scientists are more curious.”
“There was something else, too.”
“What now?”
Gina’s smile widened and became impish. “The fantasy that VISAR put together out of my head.”
“What about it?”
“You were ii1 it, too.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The Ganymeans were dubious that anything could be done to reconstruct the memories of Gina’s that had been overwritten. Nevertheless, she allowed VISAR to go over the recollections that now existed in her mind to see if it could find any seams. It processed, correlated, reinterpolated, and analyzed the data in every way that offered a shred of hope that some vestige of what she had actually experienced during the missing hours might be extracted, but the results were uniformly negative. Essentially, the elements of a pattern had been rearranged. The information carried in the previous arrangement was gone, and no amount of juggling could re-create it. As Hunt observed, it was like asking a position in a chess game to say something about the previous game played by the pieces.
All that could be said for sure was that from some time after leaving PAC with Baumer—which couldn’t be pinpointed since it was no longer possible to compare Gina’s story with his to establish where they diverged—to some time before she walked back into PAC, something had happened that was different from what she remembered. And that was probably all that would ever be known. But if a conclusive pointer existed anywhere to the organization that Cullen was looking for, that was where it lay concealed.
Then Calazar, on behalf of the Thurien-Terran Joint Policy Council for Jevlen, formally notified Garuth that a move to terminate the Ganymean custodianship of Jevlen was being actively considered. Nobody was blaming Garuth or his colleagues from the Shapieron, who, Calazar readily acknowledged, had made a magnificent attempt, under impossible circumstances, at a task whose problems had been greatly underestimated.
“We have to accept that our very different origins and the temperament that they confer do not equip us to comprehend this race, let alone direct its affairs,” Calazar said. “The entire history of our own dealings with the Jevienese was insufficient to teach us what should have been obvious. Therefore we shall accept the counsel of those whose perception has been shaped by a better guide.”
Which was as direct an admission as could be asked for that henceforth the policies of JPC would be determined by humans, with the Thuriens effectively endorsing whatever they decided. Putting in a Terran occupation force would only be a matter of time after that.
An hour or so after Garuth announced the news, Hunt, Cullen, Danchekker, a dejected Garuth, and Shilohin assembled in Garuth’s office. Caldwell, who had confirmed to nobody’s surprise that General Shaw was a fiction, joined in from Goddard, appearing on a screen via a link through VISAR and ZORAC.
There was one last angle that Hunt could think of to try and stall things. “What are the chances, Gregg,” he asked, “of you getting back to JPC through UNSA somehow and seeing if we can get them to put a hold on it? I mean, you can see the kind of outfit we’re up against here: riots in the streets, assassinations, kidnapping and mind— editing, lethal chips in people’s heads. And Dell’s convinced he’s getting really close. It just needs another break. If this team is pulled out now, we’ll lose the lot.”
“This whole move by Eubeleus is a cover for something,” Cullen
put in. “He’s not going to Uttan to grow daisies in some terraformed monastery. If we could get JPC to hold off on that, somehow, I’d feel a lot more comfortable.”
“But why would he have left at such a critical time?” Danchekker queried. “How could Uttan be more important if his designs have something to do with Jevlen?”
“That’s what I’m saying we need to find out,” Cullen answered. Then Caldwell said from the screen, “Aren’t you overlooking one small point?”
“What?” Hunt asked.
A hand flashed briefly before the image of the craggy, wirehaired face. “I’ve been sitting here listening to all this talk about whether this Eubeleus is crooked or straight, and what he plans to do on .Uttan. And it’s all very interesting. But there’s one minor thing: I haven’t heard one piece of evidence, yet, that proves he had anything to do with what you’re talking about.” The others turned to exchange glances with each other. Caldwell went on. “All that we know he’s done is offer to take a big piece of the problem light-years away from the scene. That’s very nice, and it’s what JPC sees.” He gestured again. “Nothing connects him with the things that Dell’s worried about. There are only three witnesses who could have given a positive line
back to him, but not one of them’s any good. Fayne’s dead; the Marin girl had her tape wiped clean; and Baunier’s a gibbering idiot. You see my problem? If Ebeleus’s aim was camouflage, he’s done a good job. I don’t have one solid fact to go back up through UNSA, trying to get the brakes put on JPC. I don’t like the feel of this either, but I can’t go stirring things up at that level on the basis of what we’ve got. There just isn’t a case.”
And he was right, Hunt conceded, slumping back in his seat. Politics was Caldwell’s business. He knew the system. If he started rocking the boat because he didn’t like the feel of things, but it turned out that he had nothing concrete to back it up, then nobody would take any notice when he did find something.
A heavy silence had overtaken the room. Garuth got up and moved across to the window to stare out at the dilapidated towers of Shiban. As a city it was falling apart; but he had developed a strange, inexplicable fondness for it. Perhaps it had something to do with its being the first place that had come anywhere near feeling like home since the Shapieron’s departure from Minerva. Had he been left in charge of it, he wouldn’t have imposed any sudden or drastic changes,
he decided. He would have let it be, allowing it to seek out and evolve its own solutions at its own pace. Those were always the kinds of changes that endured, he had found. The worthwhile changes.
“And I still have the feeling that we were getting so close,” he said aloud.
Afterward, Hunt stopped by Gina’s suite to give her the news and to see how things were going.
“And when you go through it, Gregg could be right,” he told her. “Eubeleus may have nothing to do with it. We can’t make any case to JPC. Any junior lawyer with his name still wet on the door could make mincemeat out of it.”
Gina shook her head. “Surely there has to be some way to get further.”
“Probably true, but hardly constructive.”
“What about that office of Baumer’s, the one I went to? Mightn’t that turn up something?” she asked, reaching for a straw.
“It was broken into and ransacked. Whoever did it made a bonfire. There wasn’t enough paper left to write your name on. Now, wasn’t that convenient for somebody?” Hunt stretched back in his chair. “I don’t know, Gina. Why do people insist on complicating life like this? You’d think they’d learn to just enjoy the pleasant side of it, wouldn’t you? It’s short enough. . . Thinking about it, I might even go and join this monastery of Eubeleus’s. Now, wouldn’t that qualify as a genuine miracle?” He grinned tiredly across the room at her. “Anyway, how are you feeling? I never even thought to ask.”
“Oh, a bit like having a tooth out. It feels strange at first, but you get used to it. Pretty much the way you said.”
“That’s good to know, anyhow. Did you talk to Sandy?”
“Yes. She’s glad it worked out.”
ZORAC came through at that moment with a call for Hunt from Duncan Watt, who was at another JEVEX site with the Ganymean engineers. Further findings had corroborated the nonsensical conclusion of the first: not only was JEVEX evidently far smaller than the original design information said; if what the Ganymeans were discovering was typical, it was virtually nonexistent.
“Another one,” Watt announced.
Hunt was baffled. “Another fake?”
“Worse. I wanted you to see this one for yourself.”
“Where are you?”
“Traganon, city about three hundred miles north.”
“So, what have you found?” Hunt asked.
“Well, you know what we found at the other sites: usually some interfacing and i-space transmission gear that was real enough, and then streets of impressive-looking cubes and beamguides all doing nothing. But take a look at what we’ve got here. It beats the rest for sheer audacity.”
Watt stepped to one side to reveal the scene behind him. He had been standing in front of a wide window. It looked like that of a control room, facing out over a vast floor, dark in shadows. The floor was bare and dusty: just an empty expanse of untiled concrete, stretching away between lines of square, unadorned pillars into shadows cast by a few, weak, overhead lamps.
For a moment Hunt wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. Nothing. They didn’t even bother faking this one. Rodgar thinks it could have been like this for centuries.”
The camera moved, sliding Watt out of the frame completely and showing more derelict galleries. There were oddments of trash and debris scattered in places, and here and there a length of cable hanging from a roof support. Small animals were scurrying in the shadows. Hunt wondered if there had once been equipment installed there that had been moved elsewhere for some reason.
It seemed larger than most of the other vaults that Duncan had checked. Hunt tried to visualize it as the Thurien designers had intended: packed with tiers of crystalline slab stacked to the roof and serviced by access elevators and walkways—Hunt had “visited” some of the halls on Thurien where VISAR’s bulk-processing centers were located. The contrast between the desolation of the view on the screen and the image in Hunt’s mind took on an odd significance that he couldn’t quite pin down. He stared at the screen with a strange mixture of somberness and reverie.
“You’re getting around, anyway, Duncan,” he half heard Gina saying from across the room.
“If you think Shiban’s run down, come and see this place,” Watt answered.
Something moving caught Hunt’s eye—something bright, appearing and disappearing in the shadows higher up between two of the pillars. Several things, tiny white points. Hunt stared at the view, then realized that they were flying, insectlike creatures, crisscrossing through a shaft of light from one of the lamps. They looked like speeded-up images of stars orbiting in a black void, he thought to himself.
“Did you hear about the news from JPC?” Gina was asking Duncan.
“Not yet. What’s up?”
“Oh, it doesn’t sound too good. .
And then a strange superposition took place in Hunt’s mind of the scene he was looking at, and the picture in his imagination of what should have been there but wasn’t. He saw the void, but its volume filled in his mind’s eye with banks of Thurien processing crystal; the tiny points of light were still there, orbiting through the solid lattices. And suddenly he saw them no longer as stars, but as atoms.
Or as elementary quanta .
Quanta of what? Nobody knew. It could have been anything.
The quanta that a real, physical universe could evolve out of.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Langerif, the new deputy chief of police, had applied himself to continuing his late predecessor’s policy of cooperation with the Ganymean administration. He became a regular visitor to PAC, and in particular showed much interest in learning more from the security people that Cullen had imported from Earth. He even arranged for a three-day training class to be held in PAC for a picked group of his own officers. At the same time, a firm of contractors that the Gany— means had been vainly pressuring to start work on remodeling and redecorating parts of the complex at last responded, zealously sending in a legion of workers as if anxious to make up for the lost time. So, for the last few days, PAC had been swarming with all kinds of Jevlenese.
The scientists, however, had become too engrossed in a completely new explanation of Phantasmagoria that Hunt had suddenly produced from nowhere to take much notice.
The practical usefulness of mathematics arises from the fortuitous ability of some mathematical constructs to approximate real physical processes. There is no obvious reason why such correspondence should exist; luckily for engineers and others, it just does. This makes it a lot easier and cheaper to test a design for, say, a bridge-by making a mathematical model of it and seeing what happens when mathematical trains roll over and mathematical winds blow—than having to actually build the bridge. But as science probes successively deeper and more refined levels of
reality, things change. Complexity and nonlinearities become more important in their effects, making mathematical representation more intractable, until the real thing becomes a better model of the model: a daffodil, a single cell of it, or even one DNA molecule from the cell is a far more concise and comprehensible statement of what’s going on than the reams of equations that would be necessary to express it analytically in symbols.
Accordingly, the computer techniques used for modeling reality developed from the simple mechanized solving of analytical equations to progressively more elaborate methods of simulation. The trend was reflected in system architectures, where, to accommodate demands for ever greater speed and precision, earlier design philosophies based on bringing passive data to a few centralized processing bottlenecks gave way to connecting large numbers of simpler units in parallel to provide on-the-spot processing of large arrays of data simultaneously.
Hogan, James - Giant Series 04 - Entoverse (v1.1) Page 35