Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "I can't see doing a study for the Centre being a problem, and Vorhees wouldn't place three taps on your system. Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure." Except I wasn't as sanguine about the Centre as Aliora was, not after Wong's warnings, and after Uy-Smythe's reaction ... almost as if I'd finished the study too soon.

  "Would you like to stay for dinner? It's just the children and me."

  "I'd love to, but I have a pressing project for a paying client who doesn't cause outside troubles, a long-standing client."

  "It must be Reya Decostas."

  I nodded. "Oh, do you know the name of Dierk's security firm?"

  "They're in the system. Here." She paused. "I'd better show you where the system keys are, as well. It's not something either Dierk or I want written out or put into any system. Dierk and I have been meaning to tell you for months, but you know how things go."

  I did, indeed. The keys were simple, just a code attached to the side of the pullout in Dierk's desk, looking as if it were a furniture ID number.

  "You just enter emergency override, that code, and your name, your full given name."

  "Got it."

  After that, I made one more link, setting up an appointment on Wednesday at my house with Southway Security.

  On the way back from Aliora's, I considered what I'd said, but whatever I'd done to offend whoever had to be linked to the Prius mess and the Centre study. The Prius thing I understood. How I'd avoid Vorhees acting was another question. I could understand why someone might be unhappy over the Centre study. I just couldn't figure out who had the most to gain by removing me. It could be almost anyone, and that didn't make me feel any better.

  Besides upgrading security and being extremely careful, I didn't see what else I could do. I also couldn't puzzle anymore about Safo Athene— or Central Four—because I had to get back to the PowerSwift analyses before I got another link from Reya. The Centre report had taken more time than I'd planned, and while it had been a big contract, it was a one of a kind, but Reya and PowerSwift were there month after month.

  Chapter 42

  Tuesday came and went, and so did Wednesday, and I contracted with Southway Security for a complete screen and upgrade on everything, which would wipe out a good quarter of my immediately free credits. That was sort of a "your credits or your life" situation. Without savings to fall back on, a consultant faces miserable times. But even with beefed-up security, I was facing real difficulties, and without it, a much greater probability of being dead. Either way, I lost, the only question being which loss was lesser.

  Southway couldn't fit me in until the following Monday, which scarcely helped my mood or my outlook. Still, by midmorning on Thursday, I'd gotten Reya's project off to her, and had settled into Bruce Fuller's latest assignment, another H F "special."

  I managed to work, generally uninterrupted, until nearly three in the afternoon.

  Tan Uy-Smythe, Center for Societal Research.

  Accept.

  "Dr. deVrai." Tan Uy-Smythe was smiling politely.

  "Director Uy-Smythe."

  "We've had a chance to go over your study." He kept smiling.

  "And?"

  "It's a fine piece of work. Outstanding. There are several areas where we think some amplification and clarification would be helpful. We're not talking about changing anything you did, but some of it is, shall we say, intended for those familiar with certain methodologies..." Uy-Smythe smiled.

  I understood. They not only wanted the study, but they wanted those parts presented in simpler language for the politicians. "What about a summary following each of the key sections, with simplified explanations of what was done and why?"

  "That might be very useful. I could send you the references to the sections where there were questions."

  "If you would."

  Uy-Smythe frowned. "Would it be possible for you to add those by next Wednesday?"

  I thought for a moment before nodding. That was almost a week. "I could do that."

  "Good. Could we meet then, along with some others?"

  I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that, and I didn't say anything immediately.

  "The meeting would not be for criticism or changes," Uy-Smythe added quickly. "I'd like you to explain the study to several of our fellows. One of the reviewers declared it was brilliant. The other ... he wanted to talk to you. He also thought it was a fine piece of work."

  There wasn't much help for it. I hadn't been paid. "What time did you have in mind?"

  "Two-thirty, if that would be agreeable. Could you bring five copies of the study, the final draft with those summaries included?"

  "Five copies it is."

  "Next Wednesday, then."

  I smiled, and he kept smiling as he nodded and broke the link.

  The idea of discussing the study with five academic or political types didn't exactly appeal to me, but I'd known from the beginning that the study was destined to be a political tool. I did wonder how it was going to be spun out, and who would do the spinning in support of what initiative or political assault. That was something that would doubtless become all too clear on Wednesday.

  I went back to work on the H F study—for all of forty minutes.

  Miguel Elisar of Prius.

  Accept.

  Elisar was wearing dark, dark gray. His expression was politely somber.

  I waited for him to speak.

  "Dr. deVrai, I promised I'd let you know about the notification process. The action we discussed will be filed in the district judiciary on Monday. We don't anticipate releasing a witness list for several weeks after that, at the earliest."

  "You're basically charging Vorhees and Reyes with fraud and misrepresentation, I take it?"

  "I can't comment on that, not until it's filed."

  I just nodded. There wasn't anything else that Prius could charge, no matter what Elisar said. He knew it, and he knew I knew. "Thank you for letting me know."

  "I thought you should."

  After Elisar broke the link, I got in almost two hours of work before the gatekeeper announced, Byron Mientano of BASA.

  I smiled. About once a year, I got a link from BASA, usually from some harried junior staffer, but occasionally from Byron. He always wanted some offbeat analysis of something someone else had done, and usually within a day or two. I charged him double for that kind or service, and he always paid—promptly.

  Accept.

  "Jonat... you're looking good."

  "So are you."

  "Still operating that one-system show, I see."

  "It suits me. What can I do for you?"

  "I've got a client who's thinking about purchasing one of the smaller niche nets. It's a cooking net. Twenty separate program lines, each one an ethnic cooking line..."

  I didn't wince, but I felt like it. Half the globe used reformulators, at least for synthesizing basics, and the other half was so poor that they ate what they could get—and Byron wanted an analysis of a cooking net? "Is your client going to get a good deal?"

  "I don't like the numbers, but I don't have any way to vet them."

  "I can tell you it they're consistent, and I can give you some basics on exposure numbers, but niche markets are tricky..."

  "Anything you can give me is more than I've got." Byron flashed his million-credit boyish smile.

  "How soon do you need it?"

  "Yesterday is when I needed it. Anything you can get me by noon tomorrow."

  "That will cost you," I pointed out.

  "It always does." He laughed.

  "And it won't be as good as it could be."

  "It'll be better than anything anyone else can give me."

  "You couldn't get anything from anyone else." I grinned.

  "You've got me."

  I did, but it would be a real struggle. "How soon can you send me the data?"

  "It's on the way."

  That was how I ended up Thursday, struggling through numbers on a niche market cooking net, mumblin
g under my breath.

  Chapter 43

  Ghamel stepped into the permaglass walled corner office on the top floor of the ISS building. The wide tinted windows displayed the mountains to the west and the Capitol Complex to the south. Mydra followed Ghamel, and the two women crossed the six-century-old carpet and seated themselves in the upholstered chairs drawn up before the table-desk that predated the carpet. The man behind the table desk nodded, and the humming of a star-class privacy shield enfolded the three.

  "You requested to see me?" asked Tarn Lin Deng.

  "We did," replied Mydra. "What more have you found out about Jonat deVrai?"

  "Rather interesting information." Deng's voice was polite, but low.

  "Don't just say it's interesting. Tell us what it is." Ghamel's tone verged on snappish.

  "DeVrai is most resourceful. He found out something that will surprise even you two."

  There was a snort from the redhead.

  "He did a search on those PD candidates who were attacked, and he linked the search to the election results."

  "Why?" asked Mydra. "Erle was the only one in his study."

  "He did not note the reason in his system, dear Director Mydra. He did record some fascinating statistics, although they are not in his report to the Centre. Eight PD candidates were attacked—but none were killed—and six out of eight won. That was three more than predicted a month before the elections."

  "Did you verify that?"

  "We did—ISS research did. Even SPD had only known about six of the attacks."

  "What's the point?" queried Ghamel.

  "Is it not clear? The attacks were staged. They were a campaign tactic, and they were effective enough to switch House control to the PD."

  "Consuelo isn't that smart. He also wouldn't risk anything like that," Mydra pointed out.

  "Exactly. Who is that perceptive?"

  "Can't be any of the Sinese. They don't work that way, and we've got Wong tracked and traced to a milli-nanoflash."

  "Thank you for that perceptive analysis of my general genetic background, Ghamel."

  "You're welcome. I'm not interested in guessing games."

  "The probability calculations are close to unity that it was van-Holmek—the black side of PAMD."

  "PAMD ... deVrai can't be working for them."

  "No. If he were, those notes would not be on his system, and his system would be far more secure."

  "What do we do, then?" Ghamel's eyes narrowed as she studied the older Sinese.

  "It presents a golden opportunity. We can leverage the situation on two fronts. We employ deVrai's study, and we use deVrai."

  "That's too dangerous." Mydra's tone was matter-of-fact.

  "Did you not suggest to Abraham Vorhees that he refrain from acting with regard to Jonat deVrai? He no longer must withhold action. DeVrai has not put together any documentation on Prius. He might do so any day..."

  "... And the safos will find the suspicious documentation on the eight election campaigns printed out in his office?"

  They will ... but there will also be some pages tucked into the back of one of the studies that deVrai supplies to Uy-Smythe. DeVrai will obviously have had them on his mind. He was so concerned that he inadvertently left them there by accident. When we have heard about deVrai's tragic end, however it manifests itself, we will bring forward the pages. In time, Senator Crosslin will point out these sad incidents—and the abuse of media techniques by Senator-elect Carlisimo—to illustrate the need for immediate campaign reform. He will also point out the danger that the PAMD poses. Someone else will observe that every one of those eight candidates has backed Martian independence."

  "But they were attacked..." Ghamel objected.

  "That is the precise point. Exactly what is the probability in this age of effective weaponry that all eight were either wounded in such a minor fashion or escaped totally unscathed?"

  "Call them the phantom attacks," suggested Mydra.

  "Poor Jonat deVrai saw this, and was eliminated," mused Ghamel.

  "He has also made an appointment to have his security upgraded."

  "Better yet."

  "In a fashion. He is using Southway. That is not entirely without merit from our perspective. It will keep ISS out of the lasers' foci."

  "You won't have the embarrassing problem of explaining any leaks in deVrai's security," added Ghamel, dryly.

  "That does provide an added advantage," admitted Deng. "Slight, but useful. That is, if Vorhees is effective."

  Both women smiled.

  "That will allow us to concentrate on resolving the Martian situation," Deng went on.

  "You're still going to ship the wide-band neuralwhips to Serenium?"

  "So long as they're shipped as components, that is acceptable. We cannot continue to lose CorPak safos to the violence."

  "If someone like Carlisimo finds out..."

  "There's no difference between the safo version and the one we'll ship, except for the controller, and that won't be changed until they're off-Earth."

  "How soon?"

  "Not until after the first of the year. The controllers..."

  Ghamel nodded. Mydra frowned.

  Chapter 44

  After I did the crash project for Byron, along with the billing, I spent all of Friday afternoon and evening, as well as most of Saturday, working on the H F report I'd put aside. That was because, late on Friday, Methroy had linked and offered another project. It followed the slant of the previous one, in order to educate a management structure that I felt wasn't ever going to understand. But, since no one else was blasting holos at me with large fees, I took it. Sunday, I spent some time on H F, but the afternoon and evening were devoted to the additions that Uy-Smythe had requested for the Centre report. Those were easy, but time-consuming.

  I had the feeling that I wasn't going to be getting much work done on Monday, and that was another reason I'd worked all weekend.

  Southway Security appeared promptly at nine o'clock on Monday morning, barely after I'd finished getting cleaned up after my run and exercises. As I'd suspected, the two techs were there until almost four o'clock in the afternoon. They not only found the three traces that Central Four had discovered, but a fourth, more recently installed.

  I asked how that had happened.

  "It happened when you were out of the house sometime," replied the master tech.

  "But I did have a security system. Not the best, but certainly not the cheapest."

  "Look," the master tech replied, "like you said, you had a good personal security system. Good, not great. Class three. Whoever put these in ... they were at least class two, maybe class one. They don't look like star class. What we've put in will react to even star-class intrusions."

  "React?"

  "Unless you got a reinforced permacrete wall around everything, there's not much way to stop someone from breaking in. But your system will neutralize it, and let you know. If it can't neutralize it, it lets you—and us—know. Either way, we link you and come out and reset and check things. That's one of the services that comes with this kind of installation."

  I was glad I was getting some level of service from what I was paying for it.

  Then, after they left, I spent nearly an hour getting more familiar with the new system.

  I should have gone back to the H F report. Two more days of work could see me through that, but I worried about my own safety enough to want to make certain I understood all the features of the new system. Because I had to wonder just how Vorhees would react when he learned that the Prius lawsuit had been filed, I did put in another search for accidents, deaths, and injuries associated with legal actions against Vorhees and Reyes. There were more than a dozen. Just as a comparative, I tried the same search against each of my clients. Only PowerSwift showed more than two—three over the past two years. While the Vorhees numbers certainly weren't proof in the legal sense, they were both suggestive and disturbing.

  Eventually, I got back to
Bruce Fuller's assignment for H F.

  Around five, just as I was really hitting my stride, Aliora linked.

  "Jonat... are you turning back into a hermit?"

  "No. They just finished installing the new security system. I had to work all weekend because I knew I couldn't get much done today."

  "That's another form of excuse," my dear sister pointed out, not quite gleefully. "You use work as a form of retreat."

  She was probably right about that, "From what am I retreating, then?" I offered a laugh. "Certainly not from work."

  "From life, from people ... from finding out who you really are."

  "You're cruel, Aliora."

  "Truthful... and concerned." Her smile held sisterly warmth. "I've said this so many times you're probably sick of it, but you've always been so busy doing what you thought you ought to that you never discovered who you are."

  "And going out and blindly seeking the right woman is going to solve that problem?"

  She laughed. "You don't discover yourself by sitting in a cave. Or under the Boda tree, or whatever it was. Or fasting solitary in the wilderness."

  "You've just cited all the standard and theologically approved ways," I pointed out.

  "They're all wrong."

  "What's the right way, wisest of sisters?"

  She grinned. "I'm only the wisest of sisters because I'm your only sister. The right way is interacting with people. Ever since the Marines, you've avoided it."

  She was right about that, too.

  "I got tired of being continually disappointed."

  "Jonat... that's the nature of people. There's an old saying something to the effect of you really only become human when you understand that the world will break your heart... and you keep on going."

  "Cheerful sentiment."

  "Maybe, but you need something to kick your ass out of your shell." She sighed. "I can't seem to kick hard enough. Dierk won't do it. He says we each make our own hells, and we have to find our own ways out. Even Charis said that you seemed sad."