Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "Nothing. The body was struck by an electrolorry on the Elletch Guideway."

  "And the other three?"

  "They were also struck by vehicles. One was on the Northway, and the other two were on the Capital Guideway."

  "All guideways," mused the safo. "What would a cydroid be doing near a guideway? Did they have any special gear or equipment?"

  "They did. All carried microtronic repair packs of the kind used by security establishments. The commsec branch has investigated the power and comm lines under the guideways. They could find no trace of intrusion. A warning went to the major government agencies, including NorAm DomSec, but there have been no reports of any compromises."

  "Unless what they did was too good to be detected."

  "That is a possibility approaching forty percent."

  "And no one is doing anything about it?" asked Yenci.

  "They are monitoring the situation."

  "Monitoring? When someone has enough resources to lose four cydroids with unregistered DNA and sophisticated microtronic gear?"

  "There are no other reports on security actions, Officer Yenci."

  "Nothing? Not even in the captain's files?"

  "Those files are restricted even to Central Four."

  "Thank you, Central Four, for pointing out the limitations imposed on you and on all of us." Yenci snorted, then looked toward the virtual safo. "You're so brilliant. Why don't you use all those chips and circuits and fields and solve the mystery of the unknown cydroids?"

  Central Four did not reply.

  "Go ahead. Solve it, if you can ... you and your virties, you and your restricted cydroids." Yenci turned and left the stasis chamber.

  Solve it, if you can. The conditional did not invalidate the order. Solve it, if you can. Central Four did not remove the virtual image of the female safo until after the door closed.

  Chapter 12

  Tuesday dawned gray and drizzly, which fit my mood, but I ran anyway. After that, I did my weight workout, and then the handful of commando exercises I'd kept in my repertoire, just to prove that I could, more than anything. After that, I got cleaned up and dressed. Clutching another mug of Grey tea, I made my way into my office, where I looked out at gray clouds.

  I hadn't heard yet from the Centre, but whether Uy-Smythe said yes or no, they'd still owe me for the ten hours. That wasn't bad, not at my rates, especially for a proposal. My accounts showed I'd received the credits from Prius, and although they weren't that much, every bit helped.

  As he had promised, Wong's contract for the SCFA had arrived on Monday afternoon. I'd read it immediately, but I wanted to think about it. There's an old saying about something that looks too good probably is. I couldn't figure out what the hook was. The association was real and long-standing. Wong and his members wanted a primer on prodplacing, a high level, bottom-line primer written by an expert. There weren't any tie-ins. None of their members was in conflict—not yet—with any of my clients, and there was no guarantee that they would be. Then, there was no guarantee how long any of my clients would remain clients. If SCFA members decided to compete in the English-language market, that would be another thing, but I couldn't see turning down a decent fee because five years from now, there might be a conflict.

  I had still hesitated, and left it hanging. So the first thing I did Tuesday after settling into my chair was to spend another hour checking out Wong and SCFA. I got nothing new, just more of the same. It did help to confirm that SCFA was a long-established organization—or that someone was going to a great deal of trouble to pay me credits for something that I would have presented for free at any number of conferences. So I sent back the contract, with a standard link authentication. SCFA didn't even need a GIL verification.

  Then, I finished the mug of Grey tea and started on the next phase of my work for Reya. That was a cross-net comparison of prodplacements, designed to see if there were discernible differences in placements as a result of the differing rezchords used on the Latino nets.

  No one interrupted me for almost three hours, until close to noon, when the gatekeeper announced, Tan Uy-Smythe.

  Accept.

  "Dr. deVrai."

  "Director Uy-Smythe."

  He smiled. "Both the Board and I were very happy with your proposal, and I'm pleased to tell you that it was accepted unanimously, without any recommendations for changes. The payment for the proposal has already been transferred to your account. We would hope that you could begin as soon as possible."

  "I'd be happy to. You do understand that I'll still be working on other projects as well."

  "Oh ... absolutely. How you handle the report is your business, so long as the December deadline is met. We'll send you a confirmation, and if you'd return an authenticated copy indicating that you'll be undertaking the work as you proposed..."

  "I'll be happy to do that." Offering a professional smile wasn't hard.

  "We look forward to seeing your final report. Very much." With a smile and a bow, Tan Uy-Smythe's image vanished from the projection.

  I was looking past where he had boon projected toward the windows and the grayness of the day beyond. For several moments, I just looked. Then I got back to work on the PowerSwift cross-comparison analyses for Reya.

  Sometime after two, I surfaced and decided to take a break. When you live and work alone, there are just times you need to get out—even if you are a loner. That afternoon was one of those times. I decided to refill the fuel cells in the Altimus, although I could have waited another week with the limited travel I was putting on the car.

  The closest place was only about half a kay away. It was what might have been once called a corner market, but also had the hydrogen dispensers for the Altimus's fuel cells. Dominic's was definitely low-budget. The whole market was in a single long room, not much more than six meters by ten. The place was run by his extended family, but the family was so extended that I was always seeing someone I'd never seen before.

  While the dispensers were working on the fuel cells, I walked down the ancient shelves—no automatics at Dominic's—glancing over the candies and everything from polishing cloths guaranteed not to scratch solar cells to a set of miniature probes to take readings on every microtronic device squeezed into a modern vehicle. In the end, I passed on the gadgets and ordered two handmade tamales—although I had the feeling that the corn husk wrappers had been formulated, rather than grown, and a peach empanada.

  I actually had to use a bearercard. A dark-haired and dark-eyed young woman scarcely more than twice Charis's age watched as I swiped it through the reader. She was another of Dominic's family I'd never seen before—or I'd seen her years ago when she was younger and I hadn't made the mental adjustment.

  "Must be traveling mega-kays."

  "Just around Denv." I pocketed the card.

  "Saw you here the other day, no?"

  "I'm usually here maybe once a month, but I haven't been here in almost two." That was because the last time I'd been low, I'd filled up at a place near Aliora's—and paid a 10 percent premium for the truly upscale surroundings.

  "No? You got twin? Guy just like you?"

  "Just coincidence. We all have one double somewhere." I gave her a smile, took the bag with the tamales and empanada and headed out to the dispensers and the Altimus.

  Someone like me? Just like me? In my own neighborhood7 It was probably a mistake. There had to be lots of green-eyed men with dark brown hair who were somewhere around 195 centimeters tall. I was a little taller than average for an ascendent Anglo, but not that much.

  I kept thinking about it as I drove the Altimus back to the house. I told myself it just had to be a coincidence. But... coincidence or not, it bothered me. Still, what could I do? I couldn't exactly run around looking for a double. Where would I start? Besides, what good would trying to double me do someone else? There were lots of single ascendent males with more credits. There were many more with better connections or more influential positions. I could tell m
yself that... but I worried, especially when I thought of the opera incident.

  Worried or not, I had work to do, and as a consultant, you have to work when you've got the projects, because you don't always. So, once I was back at the house, and in the office, I switched my mental focus to the analyses that were due to Lynia Palmero at RezLine on the Chix prodplacings. I'd put those on a lower priority because my initial readings had shown me that prodplacements for RezLine, even on a hot show like Chix, weren't likely to be all that cost-effective. I'd even voiced that concern to Lynia, but she'd told me that there was "pressure" to continue the effort. Her boss was pushing for more prodplacing through Vorhees and Reyes, an overrated outfit, in my opinion.

  The credits were RezLine's, but I hated to see anyone's credits wasted. On the other hand, I did need to keep working—the consultant's eternal dilemma: ethics versus income. In this case, I rationalized the situation by noting that Lynia and RezLine needed harder facts and analyses to make the judgment on whether to continue with prodplacing. Multis have bureaucracies, and those bureaucracies need lots of facts and figures, and they'd pay for someone's analyses, and the ones they paid for might as well be mine ... especially since mine were the best.

  Chapter 13

  While the identity incident at Dominic's nagged at me every so often over the rest of the week, nothing came of it. The rest of the week was productive. I'd managed to finish a first cut of the Latino-Anglo comparison for the PowerSwift prodplacements, and I'd worked out the structure and the methodologies for Uy-Smythe's project. I'd even finished a very rough draft of the SCFA presentation. I'd struggled with the RezLine analyses, but finally managed to finish them and get them off to Lynia by Thursday. The RezLine study was one I hadn't really wanted to do. That was because I knew the results even before I ran a single analysis. Prodplacing wouldn't work for RezLine.

  Lynia Palmero knew it, too, but she'd finally admitted that she'd commissioned the study to prove that it wasn't cost-effective because her boss was convinced that it was, and they'd agreed to abide by my results. That's what she'd told me. I had my doubts. Her boss's circuits were locked to those at Vorhees and Reyes. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been on a private "retainer." If my results disagreed with what her superior wanted, he'd just dismiss my study as flawed and find someone else who'd take the multi's credits. That was one aspect of business that hadn't changed in centuries. Stupidity and cupidity proliferated until they bankrupted a business, and then everyone said that the failure had been inevitable.

  Where they didn't proliferate, success was attributed to charismatic leadership, good economic conditions, luck ... anything but the simple expedient of just avoiding doing stupid things and keeping excessive greed out of the mix. All the qualities that everyone extols mean absolutely nothing in a climate of stupidity and cupidity. Those good qualities only flourish when the climate frowns upon and punishes the aforementioned two vices. That's true in families as well, something for which I had to hand high marks to Dierk and Aliora.

  By Sunday afternoon, as I was getting ready to leave for Charis's party or dinner, I was more than happy to have a break. On Monday, I'd have a last chance to clean up everything I hadn't. On Tuesday, I was headed to West Tejas to take in some campaign appearances by Carlisimo. Unlike most politicians, who seemed to only work on the weekends, he was working a town about every single day, from what I could tell. I needed to see whether what he was holoing and putting on-link was what was happening at the rallies. I couldn't say that I was looking forward to traveling. Even in the Marines, I'd liked seeing new places, at least before we'd gone into action, but I'd never cared much for the process of getting there. Or the results, I reminded myself.

  As I was tying my cravat—Charis laughed at my being formal, but, for all the laughter, it pleased her, and I had to live up to my past, at least with her—I listened to All-News. The news I had to follow, because it impacted what I did, but I tried to filter out the purely political posturing and concentrate on what might have longer-term economic impacts. In what I did, there was little that I could do to factor in immediate political scandals or international crises.

  ... Senator Chelmers will spearhead another round of hearings on the abuse of cydroids ... has charged that HPIus has provided unregistered cydroids for the high-end Caribbean pleasure trade, as well as for private clients. HPIus is the only licensed provider of cydroids in NorAm ... other out-continental multis include BioT, ANatal, Chiaro...

  I had to wonder about the senator's charges. I had no doubts that there were more than a few unregistered cydroids in NorAm. There had been another news story a few days earlier where one had showed up right in Denv. I got a queasy feeling when I wondered whether one of those cydroids might not be based on some of my DNA. If it were a total clone/ cydroid, the safos should have contacted me, but... partial usage—that was something else, since too many humans shared too much DNA.

  As for the sex trade, the economics and practicality of using a cydroid didn't make sense, except for an astoundingly wealthy individual—and those were the sort of people who didn't want something like that to be traced to them. That was in NorAm. There were other places in the world where that certainly wasn't the case, but in those places, people could buy any kind of sex partner they wanted without resorting to extraordinarily expensive genetic/cybernetic technology.

  Cydroids were useful in certain limited areas, and even in those, there had been questions raised about their cost-effectiveness. The most practical use was for well-off individuals—like Everett Forster and Bianca—who were either physically incapacitated or for whom public appearances were necessary but dangerous. Even with forced growth, though, it took nearly a year to create the bioframework for a cydroid.

  I couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to be hooked into a cydroid's shunts. How much did you feel? Was it close to being in your own body? I'd never known anyone who had used a cydroid—not anyone close enough to ask that kind of personal question—and I supposed I never would.

  ... More unrest in Serenium ... CorPak safos dispersed demonstrators in the major dome ... two safos injured, and three demonstrators were killed ... PAMD issued a statement supporting the Martian independence movement. Sinoplex Foreign Minister Wang called for a tripartite military force to restore order, if necessary...

  Senator Dieter Almundo of the Arizona district denied reports that he was considering a bid for continental executive...

  I finished tying my cravat and pulled on one of my black dress jackets, then walked down to the lower level and the garage where the Altimus waited. Impractical as it was, I still loved driving it. I keyed the house security system and stepped into the racy two-seater. The garage door closed, and I got a green status from the security system at exactly three-fifteen.

  As always, I took the back roads, winding down past the School of Mines and the Collapse Museum that was housed in what had once been a county government building. Hard to believe that the old USA Corn-monocracy sometimes had four, five layers of government. People back then had had this belief that splitting government into different pieces would preserve their freedom. Splitting ineffective government into different levels, or adding more ineffective layers, didn't create checks and balances, and it didn't make government effective, just more costly. Without effective government, freedom becomes irrelevant, and then merely an excuse for anarchy. If you want checks on government, they have to be something beyond the control of the specific branches of government. That had been tried, too, in the early days of the commonocracy, a series of checks and balances, but they didn't last. The politicians and vested interests managed to whittle them away over the course of a century or so, always in the name of accountability to the people. The problem, as I'd experienced all too directly in the Marines, was that the people are selfish and refuse to be accountable to themselves, not unless forced to be.

  As I swung past the Chatfield Lake complex, I could see hundreds of people enjoying the sunn
y afternoon, some sailing, some playing various games on the wide swathes of turf, and, of course, the chess corner ... I'd once done well with that.

  At ten minutes to four I swung into the guest carpark below Aliora and Dierk's house, and made my way up the familiar path through the arboretum where some of the trees were showing faint hints of yellow.

  Charis opened the front door. She wore loose trousers and a short-sleeved blouse. Both were a pale cranberry, except for the collar of the blouse, which was cream. Her shoes were black patent leather. Her hair was sandy blonde, the color Aliora's had been when she was that age. Mine had been blond, and yet now it was darker than hers, a brown that verged on black.

  I suspected Charis had worn the same outfit to church. While I could most charitably be described as a skeptical agnostic, Aliora took the children to the sole remaining Unity Church in the Denv metroplex. Dierk sometimes accompanied them.

  "Uncle Jonat." Charis inclined her head almost formally.

  "Charis. I like your outfit. You look beautiful."

  "I'm too young to look beautiful. I look pretty."

  "You look beautiful, and your outfit suits you wonderfully."

  "Yours does, too, Uncle Jonat. You look distinguished."

  I wasn't sure about that, but I enjoyed hearing it and I couldn't help grinning as I stepped through the door. I avoided looking at the nebulae windows.

  "You don't like the star windows, do you?"

  "No," I admitted. "Your mother does."

  Charis looked up at me, solemnly. "Will you ever get married? Like Mother and Father?"

  "I don't know. She'd have to be special, like you." I grinned at her.

  "I'm too young for you. Besides, we're related."

  "I said ... like you," I teased back.

  "She'd have to be different special," Charis declared. "That's what Father said."