Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "From the projections I've seen..." I paused. "I told you this before. All the multis in MultiCor have already pulled out triple what they've sunk into the outer planets' development, and they'd still control the trade even if Mars and the Belt became independent."

  "It was a PAMD terrorist who killed poor Everett, Jonat. Have you forgotten that? Maybe one of those cydroids that looks like you was developed by PAMD. Have you thought of that?"

  "I have." If such a cydroid existed, it could have been created by anyone from Abe Vorhees to some multi's black side to PAMD. How would I know? Or ever be able to find out? I smiled wryly. "I don't know why we're arguing. I've already voted."

  "And you actually voted for that Suarez creature?"

  "She looks rather attractive, don't you think?" I grinned, trying to disarm Aliora.

  "Jonat... you'd never vote for anyone on looks. Who are you trying to tool? You've even turned down my most beautiful friends." She shook her head. "I don't know why I bother."

  I did. We were brother and sister, and we cared deeply for each other. Aliora didn't understand me, but that wasn't surprising because there were more than a few times when I didn't know who I really was or what I was trying to do in life—except get by in style. And that bothered me, because it almost made me seem like what once would have been called a yuppie, but I guessed I could have been called, mixing centuries and descriptions, a Calvinistic flash.

  "Because you're my sister."

  "The only one you've got." She smiled, wryly. "I need to call a few more people. Maybe I can get enough voting for Constance to cancel out your vote."

  "Be my guest." I grinned.

  "You're still impossible." With that, she was gone.

  I decided on doing Reya's analysis first, because she paid more, and because Bruce's assignment would seem less tedious after dealing with the mass of files that Reya had sent to me. Reya's project was long, complex, and even more tedious than I'd thought. The good news was that I'd be billing more hours than I'd thought. The bad news was that by late afternoon I had a headache. I took breaks for lunch, a snack, and dinner, and kept working until close to ten.

  Then I decided I'd punished myself enough for one day and called up All-News to see what was coming in on election results. I also plugged into the datafeeds, so that my system would follow the results, once they started coming in at ten o'clock capital time, of all eight races I was following—two Senate and six House.

  I only watched and listened for an hour or so. Kagnar and Carlisimo won, of course, Carlisimo by more than I'd thought, and Kagnar by less. In the other Senate campaign I'd followed, Mendez beat Kapler in the Calfya district, while in the other two House campaigns, the more media-effective candidate won in both cases. That didn't surprise me. In doing the report, the hardest part of the grunt work had been determining who was more media-effective. In some cases, such as the Erle campaign, I had the feeling that Erle actually knew more about how to use media, but had simply lacked the credits. Kagnar had followed a formula, and my analyses indicated it had indeed been a formula, but the bottom line was still the same. The person with the most votes won, regardless of how they'd been garnered.

  While my predictions turned out to be fairly accurate, several of the races were closer than I'd thought when I went to bed. I decided to sort it out in the morning, when I'd get back to the Centre report, something that had hung on so long that I just wanted to finish it and get rid of it.

  Chapter 39

  All I did for the next two days was the Centre report. Almost all—I did follow up on the campaigns where PD candidates had been physically attacked. In the end, there were eight races where that had happened. Not that many out of 201 House seats and forty Senate seats. Interestingly enough, every one of the candidates who had been attacked had been running for House seats, and the PD won six, three more than anticipated. Even Damon Erie's margin of loss was far less than predicted three weeks before the election. While I didn't intend to say so publicly, I would have called the strategy highly targeted, although I had my doubts that the PD had done the targeting, either literally or figuratively. As a result, the PD would take control of the House in December, if by something like a three-seat margin.

  Already, the multi interests were grumbling, and on the conservative nets, there were muted concerns that a PD-led NorAm House would push for liberalization of the MultiCor charter for Mars and the Belt. Left unspoken, but implied, was the possibility that this could grant the PAMD and the colonists greater encouragement in their efforts to obtain Martian independence.

  All that was interesting, frightening in some ways, but there wasn't much I could do about it, and it didn't pay the bills. I worked close to sixteen-hour days on Wednesday and Thursday winding up the draft of the study. I'd learned very early on that, even if the report and analyses were perfect, you always sent a draft to the client for comment. Nine times out of ten, the corrections were minor. The tenth time was hell.

  On mid-morning Friday, I sent off the draft study to Tan Uy-Smythe by courier. Then I linked him.

  He was there, and he did take my link. "Yes, Dr. deVrai?"

  "I just wanted you to know that I dispatched the draft of the study to you."

  "So soon? You must have worked very late this week." He offered a sympathetic smile.

  "Most of the work was done before the elections," I pointed out. "The study was focused on the use of prodplacement and other associated techniques in the elections. Drawing conclusions on effectiveness was relatively easy once the results were known." I didn't bother to point out that the Privacy Acts limited the use of individual voting data, so that there really was no way to target individual voters directly. That was why they'd wanted me in the first place, because my methodologies were the closest to that sort of data.

  "In general terms, what does your study conclude?"

  "I suppose you could say that it draws parallels to commercial usage of product placement. As illustrated by the Carlisimo campaign, and to a lesser degree by the Kagnar campaign, it can be used effectively. I also drew on a number of other campaigns for comparatives in greater or lesser degrees. The same factors seemed to hold true there as well. There's an effectiveness matrix that's part of the study, ranking the effectiveness of various media and publicity approaches in various circumstances." I smiled.

  He didn't say anything.

  "I've never done a study like this before, and so far as I can determine, neither has anyone else. If there's something missing or that needs amplification, I'd appreciate knowing that."

  "How extensive...?"

  "It's very extensive. You'll see when you get it."

  "I'm sure that we'll be pleased with the work. I appreciate your speed and your conscientiousness. We will let you know about any questions or comments, but it is likely to be at least a week. It could be longer."

  "I'll be here."

  Uy-Smythe smiled again and broke the connection.

  I could tell he hadn't expected the work so soon, and I hoped that they didn't have too many problems with the study, but if they were going to do the equivalent of academic peer review, who knew what some of the reviewers might come up with? I knew it was a good study, but whether anyone else would ... I just didn't know, because there was nothing else like it out there. Being first in anything, I'd learned, was dangerous. I could have just sat on the study for a few days, to give the impression of greater work, but I'd been so consumed with it that I just wanted it out the door.

  I glanced around the office, realizing that I'd have to hurry to make the lunch with Eric Wong. I hoped it would be worth the scrambling. Then, I couldn't complain. SCFA had paid the fee, quickly, and without hassling me. I had the feeling one of two things would happen at lunch. Either SCFA would say good-bye, nicely enough that they would feel comfortable contacting me later, or I'd get an offer for something else, something that might well infringe on current clients.

  As I walked hurriedly from the house, on my way t
o the local maglev station, I had no way of knowing which it might be. Despite the cold and gusty winds, I was warm enough in a jacket and cravat—blue and black this time. I didn't always wear green. Dark clouds were building over the mountains, and I wouldn't have been surprised if we had snow later that afternoon.

  I was to meet Wong at Hieronymous, another restaurant whose cuisine was far better than the establishment's reputation, something that often happens in capital cities, where some restaurants trade on the reputation of their clientele and others upon the unspoken reputation for their food. Mostly, those with the superior cuisine preferred not to cater to a clientele that favored public exposure over excellence in the kitchen. That was fine with me. I preferred good food.

  Hieronymous was three long blocks north of the Capitol North maglev station, and I was almost ten minutes late, something I hated.

  Eric Wong was waiting at the corner table. He stood and smiled.

  "I apologize. It took mo longer than I'd renumbered."

  "You are far more punctual than most, Dr. deVrai. I did take the freedom to order you a Sebastopol pinot grigio." Wong smiled politely as he reseated himself.

  "Thank you." I did manage to smile. "It is one of my favorite wines."

  "I am glad that I was able to oblige you."

  I lifted the plain crystal goblet—Durfors, no less, for all the plainness— in a toasting gesture. "My thanks to you and the SCFA."

  He raised his own goblet, containing a white wine of some sort, slightly more amber than mine. "Our gratitude to you."

  We drank. I still enjoyed the pinot grigio.

  The server bestowed a menu upon each of us. I scanned it, then waited.

  "If you would, doctor?"

  "The grilled portobello salad, the tournedos ... medium, with a side of green beans. Grey tea with the main course."

  The server nodded and turned to Wong.

  "The macadamia shrimp salad, the calamari Josten with rice, and green tea."

  I waited until the server departed, taking another small sip of wine and waiting. I liked it, but how Wong had known gnawed at me.

  He smiled again. "I continue to receive favorable comments about your study and presentation. The director general of SCFA was most impressed, and he is seldom impressed."

  I laughed. "I'm glad, but that sort of praise always worries a consultant. You worry that if you ever do another project for the client, they'll be disappointed."

  "I doubt that SCFA would be. Not from what we have seen and heard." He paused, then added, "I was told that you have been working on a study of media usage in political circumstances, including product placement, for the Centre for Societal Research."

  "That isn't terribly widely known." How had Wong found that out?

  He paused as the server delivered our salads.

  I waited.

  "Tan Uy-Smythe is an acquaintance. I mentioned that you had given an excellent link-conference on product placement to the association, and he said that you had been commissioned to do a study for the Centre on election campaigns." Wong took a sip of his wine. "He did not mention details, only that you had a reputation for outstanding work, but with your expertise the subject of the study was obvious. When pressed, he admitted it. He said he was gratified to know that we could vouch for your excellence."

  "What do you think about Tan Uy-Smythe and the Centre?"

  "The Centre is a voice of studiousness and reason for a group that prefers matters to remain as they are and have been. They have called upon every noted expert and scholar they have needed to amplify that voice. Some they have used but once. They are like a multi that way, discarding what they do not need once usefulness is done." Wong laughed politely. "SCFA would like to have the Centre's resources. They can call upon virtually every multi in MultiCor. As a largely Sinese trade organization, we are more limited. Of course, the SCFA will be considering expansion into non-Sinese markets. We would not have asked for your report and briefing otherwise. The problem is which markets are likely to be the most open and receptive." Wong smiled. "You must have some thoughts on that."

  "Open," I ventured, "is a very deceptive term. NorAm is legally one of the most open markets, but I'd say that it's also one of the hardest to penetrate. That's because the barriers are structural and not legal. Afrique is a closed market, simply because there's little income. I imagine you're already well-ensconced in Seasia, and have some dealings with the Russe."

  "We are, but the noneconomic costs remain high in both markets."

  "Noneconomic costs"—a polite term for institutionalized bribery and subsidies. I took several bites of the portobello, grilled to perfection, with the ideal balsamic vinegar over arugula and a grilled red bell pepper.

  Wong had some of his salad, waiting.

  "The greatest potential market is probably the off-Earth colonies," I pointed out.

  "It would appear MultiCor's members will not relinquish their preferred status in the near future. Not without... forceful persuasion."

  "Probably not," I said with a laugh. "They wouldn't wish to, but once that status changes, if it does, there are comparatively few barriers to entry."

  "Those few are insurmountable ones."

  "You mean lack of access to advanced ion-photon drives and no easy way to set up an outspace infrastructure?"

  He nodded.

  "For now ... those are problems," I admitted.

  "You suggest that matters will change?" Wong raised his eyebrows, as if to express skepticism.

  "Matters always change. I know that. So do you. What we seldom know is exactly how they'll change and exactly when. We'd both be very wealthy if we could predict that."

  He laughed politely, but warmly.

  The server took the salads and replaced them with the entrees and the teas.

  We both must have been hungry, because we ate quietly for several minutes.

  After a silence, and a sip of his tea, green, as opposed to my Grey, Wong offered conversationally, "You are aware that one of the largest backers of the Centre is Industrial Security Systems?"

  "I'd seen their name as a contributor."

  "They effectively provide all security for MultiCor through CorPak." Wong shook his head. "I always find out new things. One would think that the outside—is it trustees?—of a multi would be those with similar expertise and knowledge. Yet ISS has such as Abe Vorhees and the one who died—Forster ... Someday, I will understand."

  "There are things I'm not sure I'll ever understand." My tone was dry. "Like why some clients would push ahead with prodplacing when it's a waste of credits."

  "You have clients who do?" Wong didn't sound that surprised.

  "A few. Most of them also use Vorhees as a creative development and placement house."

  "Before I came to Denv, I would not have understood."

  "And now?" I asked with a laugh.

  "People will do anything if they fear."

  Somehow, I doubted that Wong had needed to come to Denv to learn that.

  "Dr. deVrai, I have enjoyed working with you on this project. You have great talent and understanding. I would hope that SCFA would be able to work with you once more, when one or more of our members become more involved in markets beyond the Sinese." He shrugged. "When that might be, I cannot say, since those considerations rest on political developments. It is sad when such factors as good products—or talent—can be blocked or destroyed by those who wish to maintain what has always been. Yet few people see all the pieces of the puzzle that is the economy of Earth."

  I felt very chill in that moment, but I forced a smile. "I try, but sometimes even larger parts of the puzzle are hidden."

  "That is so. That is why it is beneficial to work with others."

  "I have enjoyed working with you," I admitted, and I had.

  We didn't say that much beyond that point, except he promised to keep in touch.

  I was watching everything around and near me twice as carefully after I left Hieronymous. Scatter
ed fat flakes of snow were falling, melting on the walks and grass and evergreens.

  I'd probably been slow, but Wong had as much as told me that once my usefulness on the Centre's project was over, the Centre was out to destroy me. I wasn't certain whether that was occupationally or physically, but my best judgment was physically, since, for the study to be useful, my reputation needed to remain relatively intact.

  Was I making that up? Reading more into his words than had been there? Or was he playing to isolate me from the Centre? That was certainly possible. But... he had been acting as though everything we said had been scanned, which was wise. He'd also found out far more about me, because I'd never mentioned the Sebastopol pinot grigio—not to anyone at any time, except Dierk. Only Dierk knew about that, because Dierk's was the only place I'd ever had it and Wong had never been there.

  Wong had also dropped Abe Vorhees's name deliberately in connection with ISS. Wong didn't do anything accidentally. So why the connection? What did Wong know about Vorhees? That just added to the warning about the Centre—or its backers. But why would Wong warn me?

  Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart. But why?

  I didn't know, except in the very general sense that the Sinese disliked MultiCor and would doubtless do anything to undermine it. I wasn't exactly in a mood to trust anyone as I walked, close to totally paranoid, southward toward the maglev station.

  Chapter 40

  Lieutenant Meara stopped before the command board. "Central Four?"

  "Yes, Lieutenant?" Central Four displayed the image of a white-blonde safo in grays on the screen. Her expression was polite and concerned. Her eyes were gray.

  "You've scheduled an information cydroid..." Meara stopped and studied the image on the screen.

  Central Four waited.

  "You scheduled an information cydroid for several recon visits. The authority given was a possible link to the unidentified cydroids. I didn't know that you'd been requested to join that task force."