Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "Thank you very much, Dr. deVrai. You've been most helpful."

  "Before you go ... have you found out any more that you can tell me about the cydroid? They're not cheap, and that would indicate either invisibles with lots of credits or out and out theft, which is difficult."

  She smiled. "I can't say officially, Dr. deVrai." There was a pause. "Let me put it this way. There was an identifiable commercial gene pattern registered on Earth. That's really more than I should say, but you were most helpful, and kept this from being very ugly. Jameston hasn't had an assassination-style killing in years. Captain Bentsen would like to keep it that way."

  A commercial gene pattern registered on Earth. What that really meant was that either the cydroid had been stolen, or cloned illegally from a standard gene pattern belonging to one of the six cydroid/clone multis. There was no way that one of them would knowingly allow that, and if a client did, they'd have released the information immediately.

  "Thank you. I assume that the owner of the pattern has issued a formal denial."

  "I can't comment on that. When a pattern has been copied illegally, that is standard procedure."

  I liked Olafson. "Thank you. Is there anything else I could provide?"

  "No. You've been very helpful. Thank you."

  And she was gone.

  She'd actually told me two things. The Jameston Safety Office was treating it as an attempted assassination, and that the cydroid/clone pattern had been illegally used.

  I thought it over, and then keyed an inquiry into the worldlink. Certainly, someone had to have noticed what I had the day before: the coincidence of attacks against PD candidates. After several minutes, the response came back—nil. I didn't have all the facts the newsies and their analysts did, and I couldn't have been the only one to notice it. That meant that someone—lots of someones or someones with a great deal of power—didn't want the story out... or not yet.

  Again ... there wasn't much I could do about that. I was feeling that way about too much lately, but I didn't have many illusions about how much real power I had in the scheme of things. I hadn't even had that much power as a light colonel in the Marines.

  The quiet lasted until three in the afternoon.

  Aliora.

  Accept.

  The background showed Aliora in her office at the Health Policy Centre, a modest corner office with a view of the mountains. Whether she was actually there, or working from home with that as a background was another question, but it really didn't matter. She was telling me that she was linking from work, wherever she was.

  "Hello, sister dear."

  "You haven't linked, Jonat, and we'd talked about dinner on Thursday."

  "I haven't, and I'd love to, if the invitation's still open."

  "Of course it is. Just the three of us around seven-thirty. The children eat earlier." Aliora smiled. "You can read them a story."

  "I think I can manage that. By then, it'll be about my speed."

  "Lots of projects?"

  "Just one, really. It's huge, at least for me. That's good, because there's not much else right at the moment. Not that pays enough, anyway."

  "You really ought to think about joining a larger firm, someone like Vorhees and Reyes. Oh, I know you don't care that much for Abe Vorhees and the way he does business, but they're very successful."

  "Aliora ... first, I wouldn't recognize Abe Vorhees if I ran into him with a groundcar. Second, I think it would be fair to say that, even if I crawled into his office and offered him a fortune to hire me, he'd probably refuse."

  "Jonat... don't tell me that he's another multi director you've offended?"

  "I don't know about offended," I fudged, "but I was asked to evaluate their efforts on behalf of other clients, and Vorhees was collecting exorbitant sums for no results at all. I've been told that they weren't happy with me." After the episode of that morning, I felt that was an accurate statement.

  "Oh, Jonat... you'll always be doing things the hard way, I suppose."

  "That's a definite possibility." I smiled. "Haven't I always?"

  She shook her head. "I need to run. Thursday ... by seven if you want to read to Charis and Alan."

  "I'll be there."

  After the projection vanished, I sat in the ergochair for a time, thinking about her words. Always doing things the hard way? Because I didn't want to be beholden to someone who knew less than I did? Or who gouged clients because he could?

  I didn't have any answers. These days, it seemed like I seldom did.

  Chapter 36

  The rest of the week flew by, mainly because I didn't get much in the way of new work. Reya Decostas contacted me with a straight analytical request. PowerSwift wanted an estimate on the potential effectiveness of prodplacing on a series of action shows on the PanAsian Net. PanAsian kept their audience figures to themselves, but there were ways around that, even though the figures wouldn't be quite so accurate. I agreed to the contract, as if I were going to turn down one of my biggest continuing clients.

  Thursday morning, Methroy linked to assure me that he'd have another project in late October after the election, and Bruce Fuller linked to ask for a clarification and a rewrite of one section of his report. Then he said he'd be sending another batch of information with another contract, not terribly large. I promised I could work it in. Every bit of work helped.

  Dinner at Aliora and Dierk's was pleasant—just the three of us, although I did read Charis and Alan a bedtime story. Aliora restricted linktime to a few hours a day for the children, and reading and story-telling were a must. I enjoyed it, before the adult dinner. I didn't mention the more explosive events in my life. I didn't want my sister thinking I was even crazier than she already thought. I did tell her that I hadn't heard anything from the safos ... and that was that.

  The weekend was all work, but the Centre report was coming together, somewhat more easily than I'd anticipated. I even managed to dig up some link and appearance holos from two of my "control" campaigns. The report was going to have more depth than the Centre had requested, but since that would provide cover for their ulterior motives— or those of the Centre's backers—I didn't have any doubts that they would pay for the additional material.

  It was hard to believe that we'd reached the first days of October— unless I looked to the mountains, where the few aspens I could see had long since changed from gold, before dropping their leaves altogether, leaving bare limbs. There had been some light snow on the higher peaks, and more than a few nights around freezing.

  I still had to worry about the link-conference with SCFA, and with finishing off the technical paper for the seminar ... and about Vorhees, snipers, and cydroids that looked like me. I tried not to think about any of them, at least not too much, because I'd done what I could, and there wasn't much more that I could do, and nothing that I wanted to do. So I was very cautious in my exercise and appearances outside the house. And I kept working.

  Chapter 37

  For all my worries, and all my concerns ... nothing happened. There were no more servies petrified of me, no one at Dominic's claiming they'd seen me in places I'd never been, no snipers, and no explosions. There were no more contacts from safos in Epaso or Jameston. More than two weeks went by, and I was close to 90 percent finished with the Centre report. I couldn't do the last 10 percent until after the mid-October election results were in, but those were less than a week away, and I'd filled my time with the work from PowerSwift and H F. I also finished my technical paper for AKRA, and sent it off. Chelsa Glynn replied that it was just what they needed, and that she was very much looking forward to my participation in the seminar in mid-January.

  I spent some time linking with Director Wong to finalize the arrangements for the link-conference with the SCFA membership meeting in Tyanjin, and going over the issues of interest one more time.

  Before I knew it, I had to set up for the link-conference for the members of SCFA. It was arranged for four o'clock in the morning on Thur
sday. The night before, I'd set up everything, including the extra holo-projectors I'd borrowed from Aliora and the Health Policy Centre, and I'd run test projections to ensure that everything was operating correctly. Those were not tasks I wanted to attempt at three in the morning.

  I did manage to get to bed at a decent hour on Wednesday night, but getting up at three-fifteen in the morning was still not exactly my finest performance. I managed, but barely. So far as I could tell, black was an acceptable color for addressing the Sinese, and I hoped green wouldn't pose a problem. I made the first link with the SCFA Denv office at three fifty-five, an hour at which I much preferred sleeping.

  "Greetings, Dr. deVrai," Eric Tang Wong said, looking more awake than I felt. "They're ready in Tyanjin, if you are."

  "I thought I'd check with you first, just to see if you had any last minute changes or notes."

  "No one has told me of any changes," he said.

  "They don't always," I offered with a smile that felt very forced at that early hour. I'd decided to stand, with the bookcases behind me. That way I could move around some, so long as I stayed within the linkcam parameters.

  "That is true."

  I made the last link, and faced the larger projection—one that displayed a group of about fifty men and women, mostly men, seated in four tiered rows of seats in what looked to be a small auditorium or theater. They all wore somber clothing, many more jackets than I'd have seen at a NorAm conference.

  Greeting's... Wong's remarks came through the gatekeeper, because he was addressing the group in Sinese. I'd set it up that way, because I'd been warned that some members of SCFA would address me in Sinese and some in English. That way, all I would hear was the original words, in whatever language was spoken, without a later auditory back-feed that might be confusing. You have all been presented with Dr. deVrai's excellent report... This session is to allow any questions that you might have and for Dr. deVrai to address any comments that you might care to make on the report or upon the subject of media product placement.

  For several moments, there was silence. I kept smiling, wondering if I would have to give a talk to get things started, or if Wong would pitch me one of the questions we'd discussed.

  A man in the top row cleared his throat, and spoke slowly in Sinese. As his question ended, the translation followed. From what you wrote, the costs of product placement are comparatively quite high. Does this not restrict its use? Are there particular product areas where it is more useful?

  I had the feeling he'd only read the first section of the report, but I smiled and answered. "Prodplacing has just accelerated a trend that was already in existence a century ago. Some goods are generic in nature, and of a relatively uniform quality. People buy these upon price, and even fifty years ago, advertising was of marginal use. Long before then, certain manufacturers had attempted to use advertising to establish their brand as higher quality. Eventually that failed, even with what I've termed 'captive media advertising.' Prodplacing is cost-ineffective and unsuited to products that cannot be differentiated by quality and function. Ideally, prodplacing is best suited to luxury goods, or to unique products. It can also be used effectively to establish a higher sales level, if the number of products competing for a given market is small, provided that the profit margins are high enough to sustain the costs." My answer was probably too long, but the question wasn't as simple as it seemed.

  A man in the front row gestured, and then spoke, in English. "Isn't this technique limited by being highly culture-centric?"

  "It is highly culture-centric, as you put it. It's generally only effective in markets catering to a large, superficially homogeneous population, or in extremely targeted niche markets. It won't be cost-effective, for example, in approaching the Tatar market in Russe."

  There were a few faint smiles.

  From then on, the questions came more frequently.

  How much, on the average, will use of this technique increase product costs?

  What percentage of NorAm multis use product placement? Do you know how much of their product line is featured in such uses?

  "Is this often used as a cosmetic presentation, just to say that the product is getting exposure?"

  "What is the difference in general profitability, based on your experience, between multis using product placement and those not using it?"

  The questions, and my answers, went on for almost an hour and a half before a man at one end of the bottom row nodded, ever so slightly.

  At that, Eric Wong cleared his throat and began to speak. Again, I got the translation. It appears that we have reached the end of this session. On behalf of SCFA, I would like to thank Dr. deVrai for his clear and useful answers, and all of you for such penetrating and insightful inquiries.

  There was a polite round of applause, and then the SCFA broke their end of the link.

  Wong did not. He turned slightly. "Dr. deVrai, I must commend you. I think the members have learned more about this subject in this session than any would have thought possible." He smiled. "Could I prevail upon you to have lunch with me a week from Friday?"

  "I'd be honored." How could I say no? I hadn't yet been paid. By then, the elections would be over, and, with some hard work and luck, I'd have turned over the draft report to the Centre. And I would need more work. That's the thing about consulting. You're always on the lookout for work. You have to be.

  Once he broke the link, I headed for the kitchen and a mug of Grey tea—maybe two. On the way, I took off the jacket and cravat. The back of my shirt was soaked. It usually was when I gave a presentation.

  Chapter 38

  Elections were on the third Tuesday in October. People had once speculated that voting would take place from home consoles, and it was tried, but by the middle of the previous century, fraud had become endemic. Anything remote can be copied, duplicated, bypassed, and defrauded. Human ingenuity is that great. So, even before I tried getting to work, but after running—cautious in my choice of route—and exercising and cleaning up, like all the good ascendents and the dutiful sarimen, I trudged down to the voting station at the local secondary school, another institution that had been forecast to go out of existence but had not, once the drawbacks of the alternatives had become fully obvious. There, I took my GIL check and then marched into a small booth. I couldn't say I really knew either candidate for the House seat, but I voted for Felicia Suarez over Willa Constance. I'd grown awfully tired of Constance's posturing, and her all-too-well publicized efforts to be both a friend to everyone and the last word on everything and anything. She certainly wasn't what everyone thought. Besides, Suarez was a PD, and although I had my problems with the populist views of the Popular Democrats, I had even bigger concerns about the LR agenda. I supposed that made me a traitor to my class—except that "present socioeconomic grouping" was the current term in political vogue.

  Usually I split my vote, but this year I would have gone PD all the way, because the Senate was overwhelmingly Laborite Republican, and the last thing I wanted was LR majorities in both houses of the Legislature, or an overwhelming majority in either house by either party, but there wasn't a Senate race in the district.

  I left the polling place feeling vaguely dissatisfied and not at all virtuous, and walked the two kays back to the house, using enhancements and paranoia to survey everything and everyone along the way. Most were virtuous voters, along with a handful of parents with small children.

  Back at the house, I put in a link to Reya, to ask her about the way I'd presented some of the material in the Latino report, but more of a pretext to see what else might be coming my way from PowerSwift and when. I got her simmie and left a brief message. Then I tried Methroy with the idea of asking about how the reorganization was going, but he was also off somewhere.

  So I wandered into the kitchen and fixed a mug of tea and headed back to the office.

  There wasn't that much more I could do on the Centre report until after the elections were over, and I didn't want
to get to work on either of the two honest assignments I had. One was the analytical work for Reya that wasn't due for a week. It was essentially checking the accuracy of something out of her media department, which was a good idea, because they did strange things with numbers, as I'd discovered in the past. The problem wasn't the numbers—any good system could check those—but the sources, assumptions, and conditions behind them. While those had to be stated, they were always buried and qualified in the addenda or appendices. Reya could have done it, but it was a tedious job, and I knew she hated tedium. Besides, if I found the questionable stuff, she could blame me.

  The other was Bruce Fuller's project for a small multi, and it was literally a reorganization of their whole approach to multimedia, not quite a template/cookbook job, but close.

  I sat and sipped my tea, knowing I had to get to work, but dreading it. I also wondered about the quiet. Was it the stillness before the storm, or had the storm come and gone without my knowing it? That had happened before, and people had closed down whole departments and missions and not bothered to tell me, leaving me looking like a fool when I asked about them.

  Aliora, the gatekeeper announced.

  Accept.

  She was dressed in almost semiformal navy and white trousers, jacket, and blouse. "You've already voted, haven't you?"

  "Early," I admitted. "Why?"

  "I was linking to see if I could persuade you to vote for Willa. They're saying that the race for the Denv district seat is likely to be closer than anyone thought."

  "I thought you didn't care much for her."

  "That's personally," Aliora said. "She's far too full of herself. But Dierk and I are worried that the PDs are too close to PAMD, that some of their candidates might even be PAMD backed, and Suarez is one of them."

  "Why? Because she favors Martian independence? Because she doesn't think MultiCor should have a captive market?"

  "You don't think they should be repaid for the hundreds of billions of credits they've already sunk into the terraforming and colonization efforts on Mars?"