Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  I pushed aside the thought that I hadn't gotten to Bruce Fuller's analysis, either, and turned back to the Centre report. At first, that was hard to do because I wondered about the Carlisimo security tie-in. Mitch Zerak had to have given the Epaso safos my name. No one not in the campaign would have even known I was there and how to reach me. Was that just to harass me? Or another kind of warning? Did Zerak even know about the other security types? I had no idea what Menendez might have told Zerak, but I doubted it was much. The fact that Menendez did have my name bolstered my suspicions that my problems didn't lie with Zerak and the campaign. In fact, it could be that Zerak had been having his own problems ... and he'd thought I was part of them. This meant I was in even bigger trouble.

  Despite that, though, I had to get back to work on the Centre project. There wasn't that much on the worldlink on the Clerihew campaign, but I did find a link address for his campaign, and actually talked to a coordinator there, working late in the day. Jewel Marshal promised to forward all the campaign materials, as well as a list of Clerihew's forthcoming appearances.

  Kagnar had a series of tailored linksites, as well as a linkprint effort. I'd also turned up her campaign rally schedule, and had decided to travel, reluctantly, to Fargo one week from this Friday to take in her big rally. That way, I could catch Damon Erie's rally in Jameston on Saturday afternoon. I'd have to come back on Saturday night, but I didn't want to spend another night in the High Plains. Other than assembling information, I was still a long ways from completing the comparative analyses, let alone writing the actual report.

  I leaned back in the ergochair, looking at the sunset on the Flatirons.

  Why was I doing all this? What had happened to the man who had joined the Marines because he'd wanted to do what was right, the man who had wanted to change things?

  The same thing that happened to most people, I told myself. Reality hit. You discovered that people didn't want things to change for the better; they wanted things the way they were, except that they wanted to be the ones deciding, the ones who told everyone else when to jump and how high.

  It was only around five, and I really just wanted to stagger out of my office ... anywhere. That was when the gatekeeper announced, Eric Tang Wong, SCFA.

  Accept. I wondered what Director Wong hadn't liked about my white paper—or what he wanted changed.

  Wong was immaculate in a pale green jacket and white trousers. He was smiling broadly. "Dr. deVrai. Your report was perfect. It was precisely what we needed. Several of the key media executives have looked at it. They were most impressed."

  For a moment, I was silent. Someone actually liked something, without changes?

  "I was wondering if you'd stop by our Denv office—it's not that far from the Capitol—and join me for lunch on Friday. That way, we could also go over some of the points and questions you might have to cover on the link session."

  There were other things I'd rather have done, but Wong seemed genuine, and it was refreshing to have a client who seemed happy the first time around. "What time?"

  "Would one o'clock be satisfactory?"

  "I can manage that."

  "Here are the directions." He link-flashed the codes.

  "I've got them. I'll see you on Friday."

  I just sat in the ergochair for a time after the holo image blanked.

  Was that life? Was that who I was? A interpreter for sale to the highest bidder? A man who had come to understand the subtleties of prodplacement better than almost any analyst in the field, and who could track how the position of a product in a hololink show could affect sales? An expert in unreality? An analyst who was a flash inside?

  I just sat there, looking at the orange-crimson, pink, and blue sunset over the Flatirons, exhausted.

  Chapter 23

  I actually reached Friday without feeling like strangling one or more of my clients and without seeing any more snipers, although I was running a different route at varied times every morning. I'd even managed to get through all the material on the four campaign races suggested as "illustrations" for the Centre study. I'd also picked out four other campaigns across NorAm with similar demographics to use as my personal control studies, just for some peace of mind, although, in politics, there were really no valid "controls," just comparisons. I'd studied those, if not in as much depth.

  I was spending an inordinate amount of time on the Centre study, but that was because they'd requested an incredibly broad set of analyses, and supported the breadth and depth of analysis required by an equally generous contract. This was one reason, among many, I knew it had an ulterior purpose. The fact that it did, and that the study would likely be exposed to scrutiny and criticism from every wavelength of the political spectrum, were reasons why the project had to represent my best work. There were always hidden costs to big projects, including more than a little stress and worrying.

  That stress wasn't helped by the worry over who had tried to kill me and why, or about whether the Epaso safos would come back hard on me. I'd heard nothing, and that was probably good.

  In between the Centre work, I'd made a start on the H F report and gotten off the next revision of the PowerSwift studies, the Latino cross-cultural comparisons, to Reya Decostas. I hadn't heard back. That was good and bad, good because I wasn't getting tied up with revisions, but bad because I couldn't bill and get paid until she was satisfied. I hoped that after two sets of revisions she was happy, and that was the reason she hadn't linked back.

  Methroy had actually left a message saying he appreciated what I'd done, and that he was having funds authorized for transfer, plus a "small" bonus. Knowing PPI and Methroy, I was sure it wasn't much, but that he'd offered anything at all was little short of miraculous.

  I'd managed to set up comparative matrices for all eight campaigns, and was beginning to get a better feel for those I hadn't visited, and those I probably wouldn't. In the back of my mind, I still worried about the three goons, and who might have been behind them, and why. But I didn't have the evidence to link them to anyone, nor the time to track down possibilities.

  For all that, right after noon on Friday, I was walking down to the local maglev. The SCFA office was so close to the Capitol Complex that I couldn't have driven the Altimus if I'd wanted to. Private vehicles were banned from the area, and had been since the PAMD riot two years earlier. PAMD still insisted it had staged a peaceful demonstration and that outsiders had started the violence. I had more than doubts about that.

  All I carried was a small remote recorder, clipped to my belt under the black dress jacket that was my standard uniform for visiting clients. My shirt was pale green, rather than a rich green, complemented by a deeper green cravat. Despite the threatening thunderclouds, and the gusting winds, I enjoyed the walk down to the station. My timing was good enough that I only had to wait five minutes before I swung onto the maglev, the first car.

  The Platte River was low enough that the cottonwoods flanking it were showing more than traces of yellow in their leaves. I always enjoyed that stretch of the ride, where the maglev passed the floodplain park. Hard to believe that the Commonocracy thought the way to control floods was to hem in rivers with concrete.

  As always, south of the center of old Denv, where the former state capitol building still held sway over a declining area, the number of passengers picked up so that we were almost jowl to jowl until the first of the Tech stations. The maglev was still half full when I got off at the Capitol Complex station, the north one. According to the directions, the SCFA capital office was two long blocks north and one east. I thought I'd been by there before, but since I hadn't had the association as a client, I hadn't mentally marked the location.

  The second "block" was a winding pathway through the Capitol greenbelt, a pleasant enough walk, if I ignored the excessive number of young lovers who were everywhere. Most were merely talking, or exchanging those glances that seem so meaningful when you're young. Sure enough, the shimmering blue building almost across th
e border path from the greenbelt held the SCFA—and, by the directory on the foyer wall, a good fifteen other associations.

  The SCFA was on the second level on the north end—away from the Capitol, which doubtless made the rent slightly less.

  When I walked through the open door, two things were obvious. SCFA's presence in Denv was minimal—no receptionist, not even a virty, except maybe when Director Wong was out, and three very modest rooms. There was a small anteroom, a conference room with a long oblong table, and a corner office not any larger than mine at home. The doors to both the office and the conference room were open, and Wong was walking forward to meet me, smiling broadly.

  "Dr. deVrai, it's a pleasure to see you in person."

  "And you, too." I wasn't hard-pressed to smile, and followed him into the small office.

  Wong left the doors open, which was understandable, and settled into the chair beside the console set against the inside wall. I took the chair across from him.

  "You've got a rather ... intimate operation here."

  " 'Small,' I believe, is the most accurate word. My job is not one of influence. SCFA very seldom attempts to inform the NorAm Legislature. I am here to report on how developments may impact our markets and members." Wong laughed. "I believe I've been asked to lobby or inform legislators all of four times in the past five years."

  "What about your predecessor?"

  "The office here is a new development. I was the first and only director." The boyish-looking Wong shrugged. "For a time, SCFA doubted the effectiveness of such an office, but recently there have been fewer doubts."

  "I see. You're the Western districts director. What does that entail?"

  "I report on the Legislature and on any NorAm regulations that may impact us. We don't have a large presence in NorAm, but about five percent of the association's overall production is exported to NorAm. That's up from less than one percent ten years ago. And, just as important, perhaps more important to the association, I'm here to help straighten out any regulatory or bureaucratic problems that affect members."

  I nodded.

  "I was very impressed with your report. You clarified many aspects of product placement, and you did so without using jargon and without talking down to whoever reads it. That is a rare combination."

  Especially for occidentals—Wong might as well have said the words. I laughed, softly. "In what I do, I'd better be able to do that, or I won't have many clients." After a pause, I asked, "You said there were some issues that you wanted to go over with me..."

  "Not too many. I thought we could go over those, and then have lunch at Kyron's."

  Wong had definitely discovered who prepared good food at reasonable rates, and there were few enough of those near the Capitol Complex. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

  "Someone is almost certain to ask you how your background fits into your practice. It really doesn't have anything to do with the report, but we've done several of these link sessions over the last year, and it always comes up." Wong offered another shrug.

  "I can go into great detail, but, basically, I got a doctorate at Darden in advanced economic analytics, and when I left the Marines, after some time traveling and thinking, I set up my own shop using that expertise. That was about nine years ago."

  "You make it sound so simple. I'm sure it was not."

  I debated telling Wong the whole story, then settled on the abbreviated version, since that much of it was available on a linksearch for anyone who wanted to look beyond the obvious. "Actually, it was simple. Not easy, but simple. When I resigned from the Marines, I was too young to be eligible for retirement and too old and had too much of the wrong kind of experience to join a standard consulting outfit. So I had to develop an angle that no one else was willing to exploit. I realized that there wasn't really a link between prodplacing and tracking its actual effectiveness. So ... I went to work and developed a methodology. My supporters swear by it; my detractors swear at it. It works."

  Wong nodded. "Will product placement become necessary in all markets everywhere?"

  "No. It's really a form of subtle product differentiation. If one of your members competes in a market where the only real concerns are quality and price, prodplacing won't help much at all. I've done studies and made reports to clients that told them they'd be wasting credits to try it. There are other kinds of markets where it isn't effective as well, but I'd almost have to discuss those on a case-by-case basis..."

  Wong had several other questions, all of which were to be expected, and I answered them easily enough. Wong nodded and said, "One of the issues raised by one of our members is really a concern that goes beyond the scope of your white paper," Wong said slowly. "He didn't say that he would bring it up, but I wouldn't wish you to be caught unaware."

  "No matter how hard I try, I often am." I managed a laugh.

  "He wanted to know if these techniques of product placement were being used in other areas, such as media news or entertainment. He expressed a concern that its subtlety rendered it a possibility for abuse."

  Had Wong been informed about the Centre study? Or was the question merely a coincidence? While I wasn't a big believer in coincidence, the question was certainly logical for someone worried about implementing rez-based prodplacing. I managed to nod slowly. "That has always been a question in NorAm. That is one reason why its use is forbidden on news shows. The fines and penalties are quite high. There's no prohibition on its use in entertainment—either on or off the worldlink or the nets, but generally, given its high cost, it is a technique only used for products with either a high margin in clearly defined niche markets or products with wide appeal in markets with broad appeal."

  "That would address his concerns, especially if you could point out the costs involved."

  "I can only do that in general terms. My other clients wouldn't be too happy otherwise."

  Wong laughed politely. "Those are the issues I wanted to go over with you." He stood. "You would not mind joining me at Kyron's?"

  For the fee and work involved? Hardly, and, besides, I was hungry, and it wouldn't hurt to find out more about SCFA and Eric Tang Wong. Later that afternoon, and over the weekend, I'd have to work, especially on Bruce Fuller's study, because he needed that within two weeks and I was running short of time. I also had more than a little work on the Centre study. But I'd reserved Saturday afternoon for Charis. Aliora had agreed that I could take Charis to lunch before we went shopping at Antoinette's. I was looking forward to that. Charis would be far more grateful than the majority of clients, and I didn't have to pretend with her. Maybe that was because I'd never gotten into that habit with her.

  In the meantime, I did intend to enjoy the food at Kyron's.

  Chapter 24

  Marlon looked into the reporting screen at Antoinette's. The receptors confirmed that he was good-looking by human standards. His teeth were even and white. His dark eyes and black hair were close to a match for Jose Almado, the Latin lover, who wooed and robbed his victims. Marlon was not Almado.

  The image of a safo parole officer appeared in the screen. There were receptors throughout the area, but parolees working as servies at any of the approved work locales were not told of those.

  Marlon looked at the safo image and adjusted his black tunic. He used the styler to lay down the unseen molecular net to hold his hair in perfect position. "Be here, Central Four."

  "You do not have your persona unit in place, Marlon."

  "Friggin' ... you 'n everyone else ... tellin' me ... like no way good ever be." Marlon's fingers were angry tentacles, fingering and then slipping the millimeter-thin persona projection unit into the slit pocket in his tunic.

  "You could be good at this job."

  "Not friggin' 'nuff. Servie shit... not good 'nuff..." His face contorted momentarily, and he swallowed.

  "We all do what we must. You could do it well."

  "Friggin'..." A greater contortion flashed across Marlon's face. "Projection. It's too much t
rouble to fight." His mouth twisted, then smoothed into a pleasant expression. He took a deep breath and adjusted the exterior feed loop. "I'm here."

  "Your presence is noted." The imaged safo smiled, and the screen blanked.

  Marlon continued to smile. He stepped out of the adviser lounge into the boutique. His form-fitting black tunic and pale cranberry chemise emphasized his latte complexion and dark hair.

  Within moments, a slim woman in shimmersilk gray walked through the portal and approached Marlon.

  "Madame ... our Rochet collection would make you a vision of elegance." Marlon's eyes flashed. Sensuality projected from the unit and sublimated anger from behind the imposed persona combined to create excitement and enticement.

  "You advisers are all the same." The woman smiled pleasantly. "But you make life so much more pleasant. It's so nice to be in a place where manners still exist."

  Enticement without fulfillment or obligation for one, fulfillment of an obligation without enticement for the other—it was a transaction accepted by both, satisfying neither. That was the nature of transactions, of programs and routines.

  Central Four watched from the hidden receptors.

  Chapter 25

  On Saturday, I got up early and squeezed in three hours or so of work on the H F report. For once, unlike what I'd suspected, it was going to be easier than I'd thought, and I might be able to bring it in at a little over twenty hours.

  Then I drove to Southhills. I pulled right up under the rotunda precisely at eleven-forty, because I'd told Aliora that I would be there between eleven-thirty and quarter of twelve, and because my limited experience with children had convinced me that they were most literal. A few minutes early or late for an adult is expected. Children expect you to be on time, if they're happy children, at least.