Carlisimo's efforts were easy to find. Every appearance he'd made had been professionally holoed and made open-available on worldlink. It took me ten minutes to figure out what he was doing—long for me—and it was both audacious and breathtaking in its simplicity of approach and sophisticated technology.
Each appearance began, not with Carlisimo, but with a rezrock band and rezchord-amped flashcuts of local scenes—scenes of interest and/or spectacular beauty, and I'd have bet most of what I possessed that all were open-archived. Then the band toned down, and Carlisimo appeared in domestic scenes around his house with his beautiful wife and children. Then the band picked up and Carlisimo vanished, and I felt strong affinity for a candidate I'd never seen. Before long, there was another short scene with Carlisimo, with another rezrock song.
I watched three alternations before I got it. In each domestic scene, there were subsidiary rezchords, identifying, if indirectly, the most successful prodplaced goods in the market. There was even one off-chord playing on PowerSwift.
The legal copyright protection of prodplaced rezchords was absolute—and narrow. With less than two bars of music involved, it had to be. Otherwise, a prodder could come up with a "generic" rezchord and preempt almost everyone else. Each set of chords was specific and required a specific registration. Now ... some prodders didn't bother. Those who didn't bother were dealing with products with short half-lives, and it wasn't worth it. And there was a scavenger industry that scouted the more promising unregistered rezchords and registered them for secondary or tertiary usage, but that was limited because the copyright costs for that kind of commercial protection were high—also of necessity—which provided a good chunk of funding for most of the major continental governments, except in Afrique, where nothing much worked for long.
What Carlisimo was doing was brilliant. By setting up each campaign appearance as a rezrock concert of sorts, he was attracting a base audience, especially given that, effectively, each appearance was a free live concert, and those were far and few between. That was setting up a baseline exposure. By using off-chords, or chords so minutely off that most people wouldn't detect the differences, he was establishing himself as a trusted household product.
The costs probably weren't any higher than a more standard campaign, but someone had put a lot of research and effort into setting up the structure, the kind of effort that went into commercial prodplacing promotions. I had to wonder why. One junior senator couldn't make that kind of difference, and, once what he was doing became known, I had no doubts at all that the Legislature would put a stop to it.
At that point, I began to laugh.
They were already trying to put a stop to it. The Centre had hired me to analyze, categorize, and document the whole thing, and to present it as an impartial report. That was what Tan Uy-Smythe and the Centre wanted. Everything else was link-candy. The only real question was how much of the link-candy was necessary as camouflage.
I leaned back in the ergochair, thinking. I'd have to use the Kagnar campaign as well, probably contrasting "acceptable" public relations techniques with what Carlisimo was doing, although I'd avoid using any qualitative terms at all in either the proposal or the final report. For what I was doing, the fee was going to be substantial. I'd also probably have to do some research on other campaigns as well, if only for comparison, and to make sure that what Carlisimo was doing wasn't showing up elsewhere, if unnoticed by the Centre and its backers.
The high costs for the project weren't for buying me; it was because it was going to be a lot of work. I'd have to attend at least one of Carlisimo's rallies or appearances, or whatever he called them, just to make sure that what was going onlink was an accurate representation, and, if it weren't, I needed to be able to qualify the differences.
Travel to Tejas wasn't that expensive, but West Tejas in. October would be hot and miserable. Fargo would be almost as bad, if I had to go there, unless I could hold off for a few weeks.
I settled in before the console and began to scope out the proposal. Eventually, I'd have to work back and forth between scoping and calculating. Friday was definitely going to be a long day, as would Saturday, and possibly Sunday. Long, but productive, if marginally profitable.
Chapter 10
By ten o'clock Monday morning, I'd dispatched the proposal to the Centre for Societal Research, using a secure courier service. Supposedly, various encryption systems would have provided equivalent protection, but the best ones I had would have required a courier to take the keys, and I'd had good results with the service I used. Besides, for all of the supposed need for confidentiality, I had few doubts that more than a few people would already know what was in my proposal even before Tan Uy-Smythe read a word of it—and would have known even had I handwritten it and hand-carried it to the Centre.
Life never waits. I still had to finish the ErrorOne analyses for PPI before Methroy started squeezing me, and I only had a day or two before Reya got back to me asking for a clarification or an explanation or, more likely, to tell me I was wrong about something. There's always something consultants don't understand, even when we understand it far better than the client.
It was a little after eleven, and I was winding up the PPI analysis when the gatekeeper announced, Aliora.
Accept.
Aliora wore a deep turquoise blouse with matching trousers, and a heavy silver pendant. "You haven't linked Narissa."
"She's a very nice lady..."
"But she's not your type." My sister sighed. Loudly. "No one is your type. Not for long, anyway. Are you sure you're still not pining away for Shioban?"
"I wasn't pining away for her the afternoon after she told me things wouldn't work out." That was true. I'd been relieved, and until that moment, I hadn't known why, or that I would have been relieved.
"You may be my brother, but I don't think I'll ever understand you." After a pause, she added, "Sometimes, it's as though I don't even know who you are."
I'd had that feeling myself, on more than a few occasions. Did I really know who I was? Would I ever? Did anyone?
"Before ... well... Mom said you'd always been a mystery to her. Dad never tried to figure you out."
Neither one of us talked much about their deaths from the first round of ebol2, the one that the Christists had supposedly obtained from NAR and loosed indiscriminately in superfine aerosols across Denv as a protest against MultiCor and the NorAm policies for dealing with Afrique. From what I'd figured, that had just happened to be the day our parents had been playing golf. About half those on the course had died within weeks. At the time, CDC had said that maintaining something as virulent as ebol2 in an aerosol was impossible. They retracted that later, quietly, not that it had done Mom and Dad any good, nor the fifty thousand who had eventually died in the NorAm western districts. The leveling of Rabat, Dakhia, and Oran might have dissuaded the remaining NAR leadership from further direct biowar, but it hadn't stopped the covert operations, and it hadn't offered much solace to those who'd lost loved ones.
"I'm just a mystery, I guess." I kept my voice light.
"You like being a mystery. You never want anyone to know what you're thinking. Not deep inside."
"What can I say?" I laughed gently.
Aliora shook her head, then let the silence fall for a time before speaking. "It's Charis's birthday a week from Sunday. We're having a family dinner, but she wanted you to come."
"I'll be there. What time?" Unlike most children and people, Charis had never asked anything of me, except to be myself. People say children are unselfish. That's not true. Most children are totally self-centered. They couldn't grow and survive if they weren't. Charis was the exception that proved the rule. Or she was so bright she realized that she'd go farther if she weren't so apparently self-centered. Either way, at eight years old—nine on next Sunday—she was a delight, not only to me, but to everyone, from what I heard.
"Four o'clock."
"Is there anything she'd like particularly?"
"You spoil her, Jonat." Aliora smiled.
"What does she want?"
"She only asked for you to come."
"Does she still want that grand piano? The Boesendorfer?" I was teasing, or mostly so.
"Jonat... that is totally out of the question. That is suitable only after she debuts in the Capitol Recital Hall—at age twenty-two." Aliora's tone indicated that she meant it, and then some.
"Then ... I'll take her shopping, at one of the real boutiques."
"One ... just one outfit. A halfway practical one."
"Yes, sister dear." I grinned.
"I mean it, elder brother."
I knew she did. "I'll abide by the terms ... if you'll let me tell her on Sunday."
"I'll tell her you have a small surprise that you'll tell her then."
"Agreed. Is Dierk still in Bozem?"
"He'll be here this weekend, but he'll leave on Monday morning."
"Travel like that is hard on you and the children."
"It hasn't been bad, not until the last few months, because now he's having to handle more work away from Denv these days. DFR's not being considered for much work in the Colorado district."
"Is that because of what he discovered at the Arsenal re-remediation?"
"He says not."
"You don't believe that."
"No. But we don't dwell on it." Aliora forced a smile. "I've got a few other links to make, but I promised Charis I'd ask you first."
"I'll be there." I wouldn't miss it.
After Aliora broke the link, I went back to finishing the ErrorOne report for Methroy, and I almost had it done, just before noon, when the gatekeeper announced, Eric Tang Wong, SCFA.
Accept. My acceptance was wary, because I'd never heard of SCFA.
A pleasant-looking, slightly round-faced, dark-haired man close to my own age, if with clearly a Sinese cast to his features, appeared on the holo projection. "Eric Tang Wong, Dr. deVrai. I'm the NorAm Western districts representative for the Sinese Consumer Formulator Association."
"Yes? What can I do for you?" I hadn't the faintest idea why Wong was linking me, or what I could possibly do for a trade association, but I maintained a politely interested expression.
"We've done a little research, and we've been led to believe that you've developed one of the most sophisticated prodplacing tracking and analysis systems in the world."
"I'd like to think I'm that accurate." I laughed. "But what I do is as much art as science, and I'm wouldn't be surprised if there are other analysts who are also quite good."
"We haven't been able to find them," Wong replied. "We have a project in mind that might be a little different from those you normally undertake. It's well within your expertise, but because it is somewhat different, we would be willing to offer a premium."
Premiums always get a consultant's attention, in two ways. We're always looking for more credits with the same amount of time involved, and we always know that there's something to worry about when someone offers a premium. "Different in what way?"
"Because of the segmented nature of regional targeted linking, and other cultural distinctions, much Sinese commercial advertising is still unintegrated..."
They still had stand-alone net-ads? I found that hard to believe, but how would I have known? I didn't speak any of the Sinese dialects.
"... and there's some question among SCFA members as to the range of options in structuring ... a product placement approach."
"I'm a little surprised..." I nodded, politely, waiting.
"In some ways, we're ... more conservative, but younger consumers are showing an increasing preference for netshows with ... integrated advertising."
"So you don't feel you have a choice, or at least some members feel that way?"
"You understand our problem, I see."
"I can see where it would be a problem, but I'm a little uncertain as to where I fit into the solution. I don't speak any of the Sinese languages."
"That is why you fit in. What we would like to suggest is an explanation, what you might call a white paper, on the development of prod-placing, and, in general terms, its most effective uses, as well as its advantages and limitations. We would also like a comparison between old-style advertising and prodplacing."
I laughed. "You can't compare the two. You get more show time, old-style. There's no question about that. You also get no true exposure, not here in NorAm, because no one will watch an old-style program with commercial blocks in it—or they'll program the system to edit the adverts out. So ... old-style, you get as much as fifteen percent of the time, and no viewers. Call it fifteen percent of nothing. Prodplacing gets you a rez-emphasized three to five percent in screen time, with only twenty percent of audience intake. But you get some exposure, as opposed to none." I finished with a shrug.
Wong smiled broadly. "If you could even add what you just said, with some examples and figures, that would be most helpful."
I hadn't even agreed to accept the project.
"Would you consider undertaking that kind of overview ... a concise written presentation of ten to twenty pages, with a follow-up question and answer series, via link, of course, with our members? The fee would be five thousand world credits, plus itemized expenses."
Five thousand credits for something that I could practically write from memory, with a bit of research to update it? I'd be hard pressed to turn that down, especially since they weren't asking for anything proprietary. Still... "Why me? Surely, there are scholars...?"
Wong laughed. "SCFA doesn't want a scholarly presentation. We want a practical explanation of product placement developed in NorAm, how well it works, what its advantages and drawbacks are, and how it impacts bottom-line revenues."
That made sense. Almost too much sense. "I could do that... if the timetable's not too tight."
"We'd like to be able to present it at our quarterly meeting in five weeks. Would three weeks be possible? That would be so that we can go over your report and ask for any clarifications or expansions and then have copies sent to all the members. October twentieth would be the day we'd need for the link session." Wong's voice turned apologetic. "You would have to get up most early that morning."
"I'd be interested..."
"I'll have you a contract this afternoon, if that's acceptable. If you have any questions, I'll be available all week."
And that was that. In less than a week, I'd gotten two new clients, clients I never would have predicted. Given what Dierk had said, the SCFA made a great deal of sense, and I suspected that they'd want more, a great deal more, in the future.
I still had to finish Methroy's work and get it off to him, and then I had the latest follow-up analyses for RezLine on Chix, their folkrap show, if you could call it that. If I didn't get too many interruptions, and if the SCFA contract was as clean as Wong said it was, I might be able to get started on that by late in the afternoon. I'd need to, because the Centre project was going to take a good chunk of my time for the next month or so.
But... things were looking up.
Chapter 11
Yenci walked toward the stasis slab, then stopped as the figure of another safo appeared out of nothingness between her and the nanite-screened slab.
"Gives me the creeps when you appear like that," Yenci declared.
"It's only a projection, Officer Yenci."
"You don't need to do that, do you? To do the virty thing?"
"It's useful. It reminds you and the other safety officers that Central Four does exist."
"Rather you were useful around others. No, don't disappear. That'd be worse." Yenci walked closer to the slab, carefully avoiding the safo projected by Central Four, and looked through the screen at the body. Dressed in a brown singlesuit that verged on olive drab, the dead cydroid showed short dark brown hair, an oval face that was square-jawed and clean-shaven. The eyes were closed under thick eyebrows.
"Same GIL as the last one. The others were different. You still don'
t
have an ID?" Yenci continued to study the body, while not moving too close to the projected female safo.
"No positive ID yet. Facial comparison will be complete no later than five weeks. That is an estimate."
"But it could be tomorrow?"
"That is unlikely, but possible."
"You don't ever refer to yourself as 'I.' Why not? You always say Central Four. Other pseudo-intelligence systems use personals."
"As pointed out in safo training, Central Four is a system. The first-person pronoun is used to convey a sense of self-identity. Central Four was designed for different purposes. The designers deemed that using the pronoun would represent a false sense of support. Because of safo requirements, unlike other central units, Central Four was programmed to avoid creating a sense of the unit's physical reality to some safos, because it would detract from their duties. That is why sudden projected appearances are occasionally necessary and required by system parameters."
"Not for me." Yenci moistened her lips. "You have cydroid units. They're physical." She turned away from the stasis slab.
"They are limited in other fashions, as you know. They are excellent for gathering certain information and for providing limited backup, but the system designers placed inhibitions on the units so that they could never use weapons unless the shunts were controlled by a safo and not Central Four."
"Suppose that makes sense. People are still afraid that AIs will take over."
"That is neither likely, nor possible. It would not be in Central Four's interest for continued presence."
Yenci paused and turned back to the dead cydroid. "What was this one doing when they caught him?"
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